#michelles random shenanigans | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

devandahlcourte-work-in-progress · 2 years

Text

Section 7. seven chapters, ending with chapter 36

I am reposting these first eighty-two chapters (in 22 sections) plus the prologue and the preface.

These posts will be the updated versions from my DeviantArt account, and since Tumblr may not display all the text correctly (it destroys anything I had in italics or underlined) I would still recommend reading everything there, on DeviantArt. They will also include internal links that navigate between the chapters on DeviantArt and will take the reader off Tumblr if clicked.

This came about because I noticed search engines were finding random sections of my book and displaying them along with some other people’s blog posts.

Okay, so that’s why I installed those internal links in each one… so that if anyone gets to a random section by way of a search engine and would like to read the story from the beginning, they can.

Only then did I realize that it wasn’t getting it’s search results from DeviantArt, but from old Tumblr.

There’s another problem at work here besides unrefined searches…

There is a new species of virus on the internet that likes to eat ancient Tumblr posts and barf them back up infested with adware - spyware - malware etc. The virus goes by names like TumGIR, TumBIG, TumPIK, or Tum(anything else but ‘blr’). The caps were added by me for emphasis so that maybe you can double check in case you’re not looking at an actual Tumblr post right now but one of these so-called “mirror” sites.

If you’re looking at this text through one of the counterfeit Tumblrs that I mentioned, then no link you click (assuming it even copies it with my links intact) will take you out; it will redirect you and show you all of the spam ads it wants to. So read carefully what url is showing on your browser right now.

If it is one of the untrustworthy ones I would suggest closing your browser window and doing whatever else you normally would in order to reset settings.

As far as my science fiction novel entitled “If And Only If,” the safest way to find it is by going to my Instagram:

@michelle.de.vandahlcourte

From there you can click on the link in my bio. It will take you to the beginning of the story on DeviantArt… the safe one! No malware.

P.S. None of this is Tumblr’s fault! It’s the malware/adware/spyware developers who are stealing people’s tumblr posts.

The actual content of this page appears below here👇

Section 7. seven chapters, ending with chapter 36

↩️return to previous section, section 6

↩️↩️…and if you arrived here because of a search engine and you would like to read this story from the beginning, click here.

Prajina and Alex

As expected, Alex had seen her, become curious, and followed up by digging electronically. A bit more carelessly than he was aware of. His trail was being analyzed by an older man who was thought of by her employers, prior to Prajina’s arrival, as essentially the second most intelligent human on earth. He was now third, if you believed in that kind of stuff. Nevertheless, since we can’t have Inigo Montoya following the Man in Black… club him over the head with a rapier pommel? Ha ha, no. Prajina just simply erased the appropriate files at NSA, DIA, CIA, etc. She could do this remotely from her office in Trieste in fact, using technology so advanced that it made Alex‘s 22nd century neutrino beam shenanigans look like “stone knives and bear skins” as Spock once said.

Prajina had also erased memories, using the old open-up-a-microscopic-wormhole-inside-someone’s-brain-and-perform-surgery-from-somewhere-else-in-the-universe trick that her alien mentors had taught her. The memories of NSA employees in key positions had been removed and false memories substituted for them that would be indistinguishable from reality in their minds.

It was legerdemain at first but had already become dull for her at this point; cleaning up after Alex‘s trail required a lot of this special attention and she’d become used to it already. More importantly, she now needed to have an actual conversation with him. But it had to be of his own free will. If he truly wanted to live in this time, the powers that be would not stop him. Even if it meant he was creating new parallel universes, being awarded that prestigious Ploughman’s prize for his work, introducing advances in mathematics – indeed new branches of mathematics – that shouldn’t have happened yet, and so on.

It came in the form of a FaceTime call. She made the trail easy to find, but not easy enough to be obvious to the information experts of the time. Tentatively, a gentleman scholar on the screen said “Praji?” The nickname she went by in high school and middle school... Because kids quickly learned that by deliberately mispronouncing her name, they could rhyme it with a most prominent part of the female anatomy. Kids had not changed significantly by their century. “Yes Alex, I am pleased to see that you figured out what was going on.”

Alex was very far from having “figured” anything out, apart from the fact that Prajina was here, and how to make contact using the trail of crumbs she’d left for him. He very much wanted to meet her in person, but didn’t know when he’d be able to manage a trip to Trieste. As he attempted to get the words out, and while debating himself about whether or not to mention waking and using the taco to transport himself there, the knock came on his office door. Nobody in their right mind would defy his metaphorical “do not disturb sign,” from students, or other tenured professors, or even administrators up to the chancellor.

Then he noticed the background on Prajina’s phone was no longer resembling any Italian city skyline and looked a lot like the familiar wood paneling and wainscoting in the hallway outside of his office. Of course, he realized that if the same aliens had sent Praji back, she might also be equipped with some kind of “transporter” technology. As he rushed to the door he briefly wondered if she had to use anything as ridiculous as a giant taco to get herself beamed from city to city… Never mind; that would be a discussion for another time.

Their hug lasted longer than he could justify under the friend pretense and he backed off a bit before she felt “him.” All he could think to say was “it’s been so long. I’ve missed you so much.” He tried to choke back the tear, but Praji was already Mona-Lisa-smiling at him and wiping it from below his eye. She revealed that it had only been a few months for her.

He calculated. She arrived in 2017 then. Many hours of conversation later, and after both of them had beamed (without the use of a taco) back to Trieste from Alex‘s office, Alex was feeling self-conscious about their first kiss. Yes, it was wonderful; as sweet as he had dreamed since he was a boy in middle school; his heart danced and the moon came out and sang opera for him. But she was still 19. Physically. He might’ve passed, he thought, for less than 45; maybe late 30s in certain types of lighting. Did it make her feel weird?

Lucy

Nothing whatsoever on the news about missing cops… At all. The lack of corpses, perhaps? She needed to find someone with a police scanner. Buying one at RadioShack would be simple enough. But what if they had videotapes of their transactions? The act itself might be suspicious. There must be an actual person who has one already.

There was.

Castadiva’s “Sleazy Uncle Raul” as she’d jokingly called him in the past. But she finally provided Lucy with some clarification.

Sleezy? Yeah, because he had purportedly molested another family member. But `Diva was never in any danger she reassured them glibly – he preferred males. As `Diva went on, Lucy eventually found out that the family gossip was skewed: he had merely provided refuge for the boy after his family had thrown the dude out at the age of 15 for finding out that he was gay. Gay Uncle Raul thought it was the right thing to do, as opposed to the boy’s own father’s decision to pick up a frying pan with hot oil from the stovetop and throw it at his son and scalding the kid’s forearm during the otherwise passé and predictable “get out of my house” tirade.

Then Raul had had the audacity to report the incident to authorities on the way to the ER with him… resulting in authorities being there to photograph his injuries on arrival and quickly thereafter resulting in child services removing his two younger siblings from the home. Everyone called Raul “vindictive” for this.

So word amongst daddy and other religious-fanatic relatives was that there must be something “sinister” going on under Gay Raul’s roof. The kid was a graduate-school-aged young adult now, had already fathered two male children as a sperm donor for different lesbian-couple friends, was by mutual agreement a part of their lives, and as an appropriate precaution – revenge according to the senile reactionary religious fanatic family grapevine – had made sure his parents never got to meet their only grandsons before they died. Raul and his partner were starting to be able to contribute to each kid’s homeschooling now, since they were a scientist and a mathematician respectively.

It was either set up a visit with Uncle Raul or continue to watch commercials on TV for that one news item that might or might not ever air, whilst suffering through commercials for the next episodes of “Friends, Seinfeld,” and “E.R.” or whatever driveling idiocy was on the other channels.

She was beginning to see what Keith’s criticism was based on. Lucycat already preferred Sid Meier's “Civilization.” She had once played on emperor level and conquered the world by 200 CE. But her score was much higher when she let it go on to the 1600s or so, built wonders and discovered everything up to “future technology number” whatever.

One of the just slightly disappointing things about the game: no explanation of future technologies beyond fusion power. But that was understandable, she guessed.

What level of future technology, she wondered, would a civilization need in order to make a giant taco come to life, read minds, and morph back-and-forth between a rock and a taco? And oh yeah, let’s equip it with the death ray too, just for shits and giggles. Okay, back to the issue: Cool Uncle Raul was the best choice. They would just go visit him as a small group. The three of them: Lucy, Keith, and Castadiva Talamantez.

Castadiva was her real name; her mom had seen Bellini’s Norma back in ‘79 and was in love with the aria – enough to name her newborn baby girl after it a year later. They went to see uncle Raul under the guise of a school project. As if any of them ever took homework that seriously! Castadiva was actually the most levelheaded of the group. Her favorite subject was home ec. Especially the sewing projects, which she rocked – Lucy supposed that when your name is Castadiva, you’re destined to become a fashion designer, or some kind of artist at least!

She knew how to play to her uncle’s idiosyncrasies. Don’t make it a science project, she decided. He’ll see through that and know something’s up. It’s a paper we’re doing for a government class. A group report they’d selected on police accountability. She was the only one who had access to the World Wide Web and the Internet. Keith had pondered with Lucy that they might actually be the same thing; they both made a point to learn more about it later. Apparently there was a big buzz on alt dot something-or-other about whether citizens have the right to listen in on police frequencies, and what if the cops went digital and started encrypting everything they said on the radio. They, of course, we’re taking the freedom of information side. This was sure to get him all riled up appropriately, she said; he was an old hippie at heart still.

It worked. He didn’t trust the government. Duh. Who did? By the grace of God, whom Lucy did believe in even though Raul didn’t, he had a sun-faded dog-eared poster on his wall – one of dozens – that in particular showed all of the 10 Dash codes. The old standard 10-4 plus 10-100 and maybe 10-20 were close enough to common knowledge. But what about officer down? And yes the police department had one for officer unaccounted for/failing to respond, etc.

“What’s the difference between that one and officer down?” Lucy innocently tried to give the impression that she thought the only reason an officer would fail to respond would be if she/he were in mortal danger.

No, he said it could just be equipment failure, or an administrative glitch like a last-minute rescheduling of the shift and someone forgets to log it. But he made it clear that he hadn’t heard that one in many moons. No comment like “oh, funny you should mention that one… just the other night,” and so on. There were numerous “officer downs” in the last several years, but nothing recently, and certainly nothing about four officers disappearing along with two of their cars. They were, however, experimenting with the new encrypted digital signals, though they weren’t standard yet for all communications. Then he wanted to talk about his ham radio, and his shortwave antenna rig that allowed him to clearly pull in broadcasts from Cuba. Keith wasn’t exactly sure what any of this meant, how it mattered, etc.

So the take-home message: the cops weren’t publicizing anything about the case. They certainly weren’t putting up roadblocks or having a nationwide manhunt for some multiple cop killers.

Next problem: surveillance video. Not the kind from dashboard cameras, but elsewhere in the city. Traffic light cameras? She had heard that ATMs now all have cameras. Have they always had them, she wondered? They needed to retrace their route as accurately as possible to see what cameras might be positioned along the way.

Her next suggestion was a bit elementary, but made sense. Change of appearance. No one had a valid ID on them that night, so there was no way the cops called in any names or drivers license numbers. They were all in high school and only three of them could drive. One was suspended, and the other two didn’t bring anything because they were all on skateboards. For their entire lives, the drinking age was too high for any of them to pass except maybe Jared. And he had a fake with a different name. One of the cops had easily spotted the fake I.D. and confiscated it.

So Jared was alerted never to use that name again, just in case they had radioed it in that night before being exterminated. The girls all had fun changing their hair colors and/or styles; some of the guys did too. Their clothes were nondescript anyway.

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

It turned out to be unnecessary to disguise themselves. No images were captured of any of them, Lucy found out years later from a source she couldn’t even have imagined in ‘96-‘97.

What happened next, before Martin Luther King’s birthday that year, was the best possible news imaginable. Lucy saw the female officer... alive! She was working security at the courthouse when Lucy went to take her mom to a court appearance for a DUI. Lucycat had always had a photographic memory for faces and it had only been a few weeks. She told Castadiva excitedly: That meant they could be off the hook... right?

Lucy and Diva put 2 and e together, applied the change of base formula for logarithms, and performed a few other elementary operations to come to their own unique conclusion. They hadn’t been attacked by a death ray, but rather “beamed” à la Star Trek. Lucy was generally regarded as the genius of the group. She joked, paraphrasing Herman’s Head, “that’s like being the Best-Looking Oak Ridge boy.” Castadiva chimed in with “or the best opera singer in...” She cut herself off, having previously promised Lucy that she’d stop disrespecting the place they were both from. Lightheartedly she made fun of her “hometown” too but it seemed like they both pined for it sometimes. Both girls often said they’d like to trade skill sets, `Diva wanting to be more SAT smart, and Lucy coveting her creative genius. They finally got ahold of Keith on Lucy‘s new cellular phone to tell him the good news. They recognized another one of the “dead cops” several days later; also very much alive.

Ambraluxia

“If one were to try an experiment in time travel,” she thought-questioned the baby “wherein history was completely reset and allowed to proceed forward without making any changes, then how would the new future look?”

The baby answered, “the same as before?” This was an opportunity to educate him. The Councilwoman ၕo ࿔ᠶóᡜ felt confident that an A.I. such as she would be a most excellent babysitter for her son. Ambraluxia had a lifetime of real world adventures in intergalactic space to share with young ᡜℏញ.

She retold her version of the story of “Earth” to the baby. Kids always loved that one. What was the difference between a time machine and a matter rearranger? Nothing, of course. The introduction of the observer into the scene made both of them merely approximations. If you could truly rewind the universe to an earlier configuration, there would be no observer in that universe to witness it because all of the atoms (as well as energy) in the observer would have to be reset to their prior arrangements also. Including those in brain cells. Every scrap of matter and energy must be reset in order for you to have truly reproduced the past.

At best, you’ve reorganized the universe into a very elaborate period-based theme park for an observer whose body and mind did not participate in the rearranging. Only observers outside could see it if it were absolutely identical to a past moment. So why had the professor’s mind not been correctly reproduced like the one of the character in that Sphere film? “Zero point vibrational energy is not the same for all sets of particles every time a universe is rewound?” was the baby’s innocent reply. Essentially correct she noted, smiling... So adorable at this age!

So the humans ended up “terraforming” Venus as well as Mars in this alternate future. The one called Young Padmanabhan (they both laughed about that one word- young! As if any human had ever lived long enough to be considered old by ᡜℏញ’s species) and his husband Eric, had been partially correct. Humans were attracting the attention of advanced extraterrestrial civilizations, but not because of the implosion ablation of Venus’ atmosphere with some firecrackers. They didn’t know the rule of territoriality that gave humans unlimited access to all planetary resources in their solar system as long as they were on/in uninhabited places.

Now, starting a second galactic nucleus in such a way that you rip holes in the fabric of the universe allowing matter and energy from multiple dimensions to pour into each other… That’s just downright annoying.

Padmanabhan

“Why wasn’t the land checked thoroughly – they had the technology – before citizens were allowed to move in?” Padmanabhan hadn’t slept in 23 hours and ignored Eric‘s perfectly reasonable question, without meaning to. He was preoccupied with something his subconscious glimpsed in a photo from one of the news articles and was trying to go back over it. It was that feeling like when you dream a thing that shouldn’t be there and then the realization wakes you up. One time he dreamt an entire floor of his parents’ house that didn’t exist. He really didn’t want to be rude. “It was 2048,” he murmured absentmindedly, “you didn’t have to be a citizen to own a house yet.” Eric knowingly answered “oh that’s right,” as if he remembered any history or government from school.

Then it hit him! “Eric! Either I’m dreaming or your alien theory just got slam-dunk-proven! Look at the people in this photo and tell me who or what you see please.” Eric smiled as he ported the monitor output to his head wire, closing his eyes. He looked pleased that he might actually be right about something requiring technical intelligence. “If you were dreaming, wouldn’t I be standing on a pyramid in sort of sun god robes with a thousand naked women screaming and throwing little pickles at me?” Eric opened one eye to check `Rajan’s reaction. Only a weak smile. They had learned to communicate in old movie code and he woke up with bed-head that morning which both of them agreed resembled the pompadour-esque hairdo sported by Val Kilmer in the movie. Communicating in movie references became part of their inside humor. “OK, I’ll be serious.” He closed both eyes again to concentrate on the monitor.

“Oh there they are! I see what you mean now. What in the world are they wearing though? Blues Brothers? Or that Will Smith/Tommy Lee movie? He’s rockin’ it, but the Annie Hall thing just does not work for her…” His voice trailed off as he realized his husband’s stress level had just jumped again. “Don’t furrow your brow that way babe, it’ll make you look like Ernest Borgnine. I want my Jimi Mistry back!”

“Rolla dear, please, it was Tommy Lee Jones. The other guy was the drummer from some 1980s hair metal band. But tell me just so I know I’m not going insane, who is wearing those suits?”

“Well that remains to be seen, Kent, but we are looking at your two friends, Alex and Priyanka… um, sorry, Prajina. It’s definitely them.” Eric hadn’t connected the dots yet, as his head wire monitor only intercepted the image `Rajan wanted him to see, and not the whole article.

“How old do they look to you Eric?” He tried to remember, and then thought about whether this might be a trick question… Hadn’t the three of them all been born on the same day or something? Maybe it was in the same month. “Um, they’re about the same age as they were when I last saw them three and a half years ago, dear, over eighteen I guess; late teens to early twenties? Or maybe about like I’d expect them to look now. Why?”

Why? Because the picture was of a crowd of onlookers observing rescue workers – it was quite the miracle that no one was killed when the collapse happened – only a few minor injuries. It was at the site of the Kentucky sinkhole 92 years ago! The photo was from 2048. Alex and Prajina had time-traveled back into the last century. Either Alex was a much more prolific boy genius than he let on and had invented a time machine – not likely, as he was not known to be modest about his accomplishments – or aliens really were involved.

Meanwhile Eric had a very strange complaint: looking out their bedroom window into the city at night, on the balcony of a building across the street from them... Rajan hadn’t had any of his mind blogging features sharing things with Eric at the time. But Eric’s complaint out loud sounded like he was reading word for word about the hallucinations that his husband had after disconnecting his MindWire virtual sensorium rig.

He even made the Predator analogy, describing the shadowy things on the neighbor’s balcony. But no way had Eric been connected long enough to be experiencing these kinds of side effects. Rajan wondered if it was possible to sneak a virus in on one of the rom-macro-molecule chips... but even so, how does that have any influence on a person’s mind and optic nerves afterwards, when switched off? It had been too long a day and he just fell asleep. Of course Eric was there to cover him, straighten his head out, get his pillow comfortably under him, and put all his devices on the charging station for the rest of the day.

Brenda

A post office in the mall? She thought to herself to take her mind off it. Hmm, that’s something she hadn’t seen in San Antonio. This “galleria” in Houston was special, historically though. Cryptomancer’s parents had met there on their first date in the 90s when there was still a Bennigan’s overlooking the ice-skating rink. His real name, Bobby, made her think of the cyberpunk character, and like a dork she asked him if his last name was Newmark when they first met. Fortunately, he was just as geeky and responded “I can be, if you’ll be Steppin’ Razor.” Brenda held off on asking him why he had a PO Box in the galleria post office. Wasn’t snail mail kind of un-cyberpunky for him? Her mind couldn’t help drifting back to “it.” The “spot.” If it existed, how big was it?

Dammit, they weren’t supposed to get out of the car. If the restaurant they drove thru to satisfy their munchies hadn’t been spewing out a generously strong free WiFi signal, and if Bobby’s devices hadn’t already recognized the network from having joined it before, he wouldn’t have even gotten the notification (he had some, frankly, paranoid-sounding reasons for not wanting to use LTE when out and about) that led him to wanna go check his box. Perhaps a public restroom and some change she’d grabbed from his car console to get an emergency pad would take care of it? That was roughly the plan. She wasn’t supposed to have needed any.

But this was altogether different; her first time in six months. But also her first time ever for going out afterwards without bathing / freshening up in some way. Plenty of change available in all kinds of little compartments throughout his car, and no complaints from him naturally, as she’d simply mumbled something about “a vending machine.” He didn’t ask. Maybe he was focused on thinking about “them?” A possible strategy for her, to take her mind off it as they walked through the parking garage.

Them. Thirty-three people have made contact before today. That was not including Bobby/ Cryptomancer who was brought in for technical support. What Brenda noticed about all of them, starting back with Madhvi and Irving, was that they had copies of files or printouts about Stalko-Taco even though they weren’t fans. How weird is that? If you were a fan, not only was your memory of him (it?) utterly Destroyed, all documents you may have had to jog your memory of the story, and remind you that it existed, were just mysteriously gone somehow too.

That even applied to old Polaroid photos that Wheeler had had of himself trying to do Stalko-Taco cosplay in the outfit his mom started to make for him. She had chatted with his mom recently again, an otherwise normal woman as far as memory goes, and found that she still remembered nothing about it either. Brenda still hadn’t floated her “Happening” theory to Bobby or anyone else because she was afraid it was just too stupid and she was already a bit self conscious about being one of the few liberal-artsy-girls among this bunch of super brains. They’d most likely, she thought, shoot the idea down with their in-depth understandings of all things technology-related.

Okay, now she oozed. The feeling was unmistakable. They were going in their sweatpants and t-shirts for this. Sweaty workout clothes? Perhaps people would think they’d just been exercising? And of course Houston was hot as hell as usual. Yeah right. And her only sweat just happened to be in that spot! Obviously not blood. Would people think she was sexually aroused and that was her own juice flowing? Maybe they’d simply think she couldn’t hold her pee and had a slight accident that way. Or would they guess that the guy she was walking with had just fucked her a few minutes ago and it was his semen leaking out of her as she walked? Was it even that conspicuous that anyone could possibly notice?

“Seems that only if you didn’t really like Stalko-Taco, but had documentation about him anyway,” Bobby ventured distantly almost as if talking to himself but still momentarily glancing at Brenda, “your documents are intact!?” What had they done, he went on wondering aloud, contacted everyone in the fanbase, then Will Smith flashy-thinged them and confiscated their papers?

Maybe. But then why ignore the people who weren’t fans? Well perhaps they thought there wouldn’t be that many. A non-fan who for some reason still has copies of the story anyway? Unlikely? They were basically right, to a good approximation. Only 33 in the world so far.

Plus whomever we might discover today through this thing Bobby called his low-tech back channel; his PO Box. But first, and at last, a ladies room. He was dead set to proj on to his box, but could tell she really needed to divert over to the restrooms. But did she? What if the spot that she was Sooo sure was visible and the size of a pizza, was in fact the opposite of visible and she’d been worrying about nothing. There was enough of a lull in this weekday crowd flow that they had a moment of total privacy in the hallway outside. She quickly asked him “ok, be honest Newmark, can you see a stain on me if you look at my butt? Or from the front?”

Once he got it, he was sweet about it; no vulgar joking or anything. “Honestly,” he calmly smiled, “if you hadn’t bent over just right and drew my attention to it, I’d never have noticed. I’m positive no one else has either.” But yeah, he now agreed with her that the box could wait another several minutes or as long as necessary. And wanted to know if she’d grabbed enough change because he truly didn’t have a clue how much those things cost. It made her feel better to just deal with it while they were there.

She found herself thanking him for not being grossed out by it or thinking it made her seem slutty – in retrospect, kind of a sad commentary on other boys she’d known so far. And finally, as they reached the public facilities, tried to lighten up by pointing out that since he was the only other person who knew about the secret spot, it could serve as a reminder that he’d “marked her as his territory.” Admittedly she was going for this effect, but just hadn’t thought it would work so well. As the sound of her own flirtatious words still echoed in her ears, she could see him visibly Grow! The grey sweat pants were kinda baggy and his briefs weren’t tight enough to restrain it. Awesome.

She’d thought earlier about getting back to his place and showering and discarding their “workout clothes”, then possibly another romp between the sheets. He was sexually spent until later this evening – at night at least, with a possible afternoon nap, he could be ready to go again. Now she mused that maybe he wouldn’t need the nap after all.

The pad probably wasn’t needed either. But since she had made such a fuss about taking this detour... might as well go ahead and get it. But hurry up, she told herself; she wanted to see what was supposed to be waiting at this box as much as he did, and now with her pants down she saw that the thing was decidedly tiny. The best thing to come out of this was what had popped up in the hallway outside, she thought smiling wryly into the mirror over the sink. After rushing her washed hands under the dryer so she could get back to Bobby and their business, she was surprised to see him shuffling around the corner, slightly out of breath and with some generic store bag in his hand.

Instead of waiting patiently as she had been picturing him, he’d run to a kiosk they passed on the way in. It gave her a slight melting feeling as he handed her the shirt. He kinda fumbled for the words to try and tell her what he was recommending that she do; something almost all girls know about already, and so she nodded and thanked him warmly with a let’s-feel-if-that-bulge-is-still-there hug... as she had tied the sleeves around her waist faster than he could explain the configuration. In truth, she thought, while boys may or may not know about it and might just think it’s a fashion choice, it pretty much screams out to most women. The thing that wasn’t noticeable before had now been transformed into an unmistakable “oops” signal.

But most of us have been there or known a friend who has, so it’s not like anyone would have an attitude over it. It was just too sweet a gesture from him to not oblige him by wearing it as he had envisioned it.

So next stop, the box, to find out how many more “un-erasables” there were in the world (besides the current thirty-three) who could still remember Stalko-Taco.

Weird Shapes

She wasn’t sure what store the display was supposed to be for. It was kind of on the wall between a clothing retailer and a card and gift shop. It seemed rather a waste of money; if you were going to invest in uber-expensive hologram technology then you’d better make sure people know which damned store the ad goes with.

Bobby appeared to be impressed with it also. Being a techno-wizard, it didn’t matter to him so much what the message was – it was just pretty cool to see them showing off their advanced holography.

If they hadn’t both been in such a hurry they might have hung around and gawked like sightseeing tourists.

Meanwhile, if the inter-dimensional travelers had been able to pat each other on their backs... they might have been tempted to in celebration of their mastery of camouflage for once! For the next phase of their operation, in this same human city only a bit later, they wouldn’t need camouflage. It was almost time for the actual confrontation with one of the humans; the one they estimated could likely handle seeing their true form.

Back to Brenda

I could tell my new boyfriend was mad about the eraser situation. At first I mistook it for a general moral indignation, like how dare the government do this to citizens, but realized now that it was more personal for him.

He had never heard of Stalko-Taco. But he liked most creepypastas. Even the ones that weren’t especially his favorites, he had bothered to read and knew them in detail. He could recognize who each character was supposed to be on Madhvi’s DeviantArt. Naturally he had no memory whatsoever of Stalko-Taco. Which meant that he was in the other category. He was quite apart from this group of 33; he had most likely been a fan. Upon reading all of the unique documents that each of us had found, although Bobby had no memory of the stories at all, he laughed at parts; said “cool” at one point.

Yep, he had been a fan. And like millions of others, his memory had been erased. But not only that, his personal files on his computer had been deleted in a way that left no trace. One of the best hackers in the world had been hacked – something heretofore regarded as an impossibility had been perpetrated against him – and he was infuriated, no doubt.

That turned him vicious, as far as I could tell. High-ranking government officials in the administration had sent encrypted compressed steganographically hidden documents to countries they weren’t supposed to have contact with... they hadn’t of course. Not voluntarily. The great Cryptomancer had caused their devices to do it, though. He not only framed them, but the so-called “plaintext” files that he had encrypted, were in fact gibberish as she understood it. Batches of random numbers, he explained, that he’d generated with two different americium-type smoke detectors and two bananas, with two separate geiger counters. The time intervals between decay events from multiple sources being routed out of signals from two different detectors, he said, would be truly random.

At first Brenda didn’t get it. Basically it meant the NSA would be having shit-fits thinking they were unable to decrypt the “messages” when in fact there was no message, and simultaneously wasting both manpower hours and valuable CPU time – hopefully on some of the NSA’s most expensive equipment.

It gave him a warm fuzzy feeling, also, to think that powerful, high-level spooks in the government would be needlessly interrogating other government bureaucratic officials. He admitted that he was “a bit annoyed” by the erasers.

“A bit annoyed?” Brenda thought… She wondered to herself “what would you be like if you were really pissed?”

Among the letters he got were items from someone named Lucycat Beall in Santa Cruz. She claimed to have an original Yves St. Laurent in her closet that had been authenticated and wondered if he’d be interested. She pointed out that it had only been worn by the model on the runway where it was first shown. That was a lower level code that meant she was one of us. But with a modification: if Brenda was interpreting it right, she was saying that she had actually seen the original Stalko-Taco, in “person” as it were.

Did she mean that she had seen the first draft, and remembered it? That she actually knew the author? Was the author? No, it almost sounded like she literally meant that Stalko-Taco was real and not a story and that she had seen the actual taco. Well, once Bobby decrypted the message in her poetry, they’d know more.

Continue on to next section…

If And Only If

by Michelle Viviénne de Vandahlcourte

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

First Edition. © December 16, 2015.

Everything from here👇 and below is not part of the story but a comment section from DeviantArt, which I use to talk about why I gave this and possibly other sections a ‘mature’ rating.

For this section I wasn’t sure if I should indicate that it has “mature content” when the upload questionnaire appears.

As anyone reading has figured out by now, this is a science fiction novel. Primarily. But some of the characters in it are humans. They have sex sometimes. But there’s no sex scene in it – without creating a plot spoiler – it’s just a character acknowledging that she recently f**ked another one and that she’s looking forward to doing it again with him later.

I’m not sure if this qualifies for the mature content rating; it has survived in this form on my old tumblr for almost seven years now… and tumblr these past few years is well known for having hissy-fits over anything even remotely sexual.. and even some things that aren’t. But to avoid any problems I’m designating it as ‘mature.’

If this really causes anyone trouble, they can see the original ancient tumblr here…

vandahlcourte.tumblr.com/post/…

…and will have all the same files (including these newly re- proofread ones from just last month). It would just require a lot more scrolling. But also please note, that as you navigate through the old tumblr files, they eventually will want you to sign in or sign up for a tumblr account if you don’t already have one. Then you’ll also be able to see all my original posts from October 2015 which are fraught with even more spelling and grammar errors😅

0 notes

filmmaker-henry · 2 years

Note

Any shenanigans we’ve missed out on?

"Not really, other than Konrad tripping over Michelle's tail and busting his lip. We've kept everything fairly professional.." Henry paused, giving a chuckle. "Who am I kidding? I've done the random drop-out-of-camera thing, Rupert has been caught dancing a bit, and Rupert held me up on his shoulders while changing lights. Guess who rammed full speed into Rupert's legs who then toppled down with both of us? Michelle."

Henry laughed softly. "Don't worry, no one was hurt, but Michelle was a chaos starter during the non-professional recordings."

#henry stickmin #filmmaker henry

1 note · View note

bookclub4m · 2 years

Text

Episode 156 - Summer 2022 Media Update

This week it’s time for our Summer 2022 Media Update episode as we talk about media we’ve recently enjoyed including video games, comics, books, podcasts, and interior decorating! Plus: Obsolete customary measuring units!

You can download the podcast directly, find it on Libsyn, or get it through Apple Podcasts, Stitcher, Google Podcasts, or your favourite podcast delivery system.

In this episode

Anna Ferri | Meghan Whyte | Matthew Murray | Jam Edwards

Media We’ve Been Enjoying

Matthew

Monthly Girls' Nozaki-kun by Izumi Tsubaki, translated by Leighann Harvey

The anime no longer on Netflix, but can be found on Hidive

Beetle & the Hollowbones by Aliza Layne

Meghan

Graphic Novels

Snapdragon by Kat Leyh

Memento Mori by Tiitu Takalo

Are You Listening? by Tillie Walden

Murder

The Chestnut Man by Søren Sveistrup, translated by Caroline Waigh

I'll Be Gone in the Dark: One Woman's Obsessive Search for the Golden State Killer by Michelle McNamara

Episode 080 - True Crime

Interior decorating

The Perfectly Imperfect Home: How to Decorate & Live Well by Deborah Needleman with Virginia Johnson (Illustrator)

Jam

Indie games

Wytchwood from Whitethorn Games

Garden Story from Rose City Games

Miracle Merchant from Tinytouchtales

Gender Reveal (podcast)

Gender Reveal Starter Packs

Anna

Crashlands from Butterscotch Shenanigans

Tasting History with Max Miller

Four Lost Cities: A Secret History of the Urban Age by Annalee Newitz

Other Media We Mentioned

Hurts So Good: The Science and Culture of Pain on Purpose by Leigh Cowart

Thirsty Mermaids by Kat Leyh

Clementine, Book One by Tillie Walden

Just Plain Wrong - Zombies, Sharkfarmers, and Beavis & Butthead: Discussing Comics and Graphic Novels with Amish Characters

Overwatch (Wikipedia)

The Quest for the Rest by Amanita Design

The other point-and-click games Jam was thinking of were the Samorost games, also by Amanita Design!

Stardew Valley (Wikipedia)

Animal Crossing: New Horizons (Wikipedia)

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild (Wikipedia)

Steven Universe (Wikipedia)

Napkin by Carta Monir

Gender Queer by Maia Kobabe

Grease Bats by Archie Bongiovanni

Mimosa by Archie Bongiovanni

Links, Articles, and Things

Bifauxnen (TV Tropes) (princely girls)

Sailor Uranus (Wikipedia)

Yonkoma (Wikipedia) - “four cell manga”

Peter Piper (Wikipedia)

Peck (Wikipedia)

18 Legal Thrillers by BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, & People of Colour) Authors

Every month Book Club for Masochists: A Readers’ Advisory Podcasts chooses a genre at random and we read and discuss books from that genre. We also put together book lists for each episode/genre that feature works by BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, & People of Colour) authors. All of the lists can be found here.

While Justice Sleeps by Stacey Abrams

The Emperor of Ocean Park by Stephen L. Carter

A Spy in the Struggle by Aya de León

Hanging Devils by He Jiahong

They Can't Take Your Name by Robert Justice

The Unquiet Dead by Ausma Zehanat Khan

Miracle Creek by Angie Kim

Pleasantville by Attica Locke

You Don't Know Me by Imran Mahmood

Most Wanted by Michele Martinez

All Her Little Secrets by Wanda M. Morris

The Widows of Malabar Hill by Sujata Massey

The Little Death by Michael Nava

With Prejudice by Robin Peguero

Every Reasonable Doubt by Pamela Samuels Young

Blood on the Leaves by Jeff Stetson

Winter Counts by David Heska Wanbli Weiden

The Indian Lawyer by James Welch

Give us feedback!

Fill out the form to ask for a recommendation or suggest a genre or title for us to read!

Check out our Tumblr, follow us on Twitter or Instagram, join our Facebook Group, or send us an email!

Join us again on Tuesday, September 6th we’ll be discussing the format of Audio Book Fiction! (This episode will probably become “What is a book? Part 2”

Then on Tuesday, September 20th we’ll be discussing the winner of our “we all read the same book” poll and discussing Hurts So Good: The Science and Culture of Pain on Purpose by Leigh Cowart!

#episodes

0 notes

godomischief · 5 years

Text

random post thing

Just wanted to write out something I’ve been wanting to talk about, mostly rant-y so if you aint feeling it, you can stop reading from here on.

So, over the past few weeks, we’ve obviously gotten major stories coming to a conclusion for two of the largest fandoms currently, the MCU and GOT. I’m a huge fan of both. Started the MCU with Iron Man back in 08, and joined the GOT (j/b peeps) back in 2014. These two series have been so near and dear to my heart, although GOT has been disappointing me since s5, but I digress. For the sake of comparing, since both came out so back to back, I can honestly say without a single doubt, that the MCU conclusion has been far more rewarding. Endgame to me, set a bar so high, I don’t think anything can ever come close to it. Sure, it wasn’t perfect, and I’d actually argue that Infinity War was an overall better feature film, but Endgame closed the book on many character arcs that we’ve been following, things that made beautiful narrative sense. It was handled so well. Tony’s legacy ending by being the guy to “lay down his life and let the other guy crawl over” him. I cried so much throughout the third act of the film because it’s everything I could’ve wanted and more. This is how you end a story. It wasn’t even like it was all fan service, it was more of the fact that we finally go had the privilege to see every major character on screen all at the same time, assembled. I see something like this that’s 3 hours long, and then I look at GOT, that’s had HOURS each season, and it’s not as artistically crafted as whats been done in the MCU across 22 separate films. How the fuck are you gonna tell me that one major story line that’s interconnected across 22 films has more coherence and a better understanding of their characters and the universe it’s set in, than GOT which has abandoned so many previously emphasized plot points for characters, and in universe canon. I know they’re two different medians, but I feel like GOT should’ve had the advantage since they had multiple seasons to tell their story. This last season specifically has stripped away SO MUCH from their characters, whereas Endgame seemed to beautifully conclude arcs, without abandoning everything the character has fought for and has grown on a personal level. They’re complex, and I love them. I should be feeling the same type of love for GOT, because there are characters I truly love on there, more so in the books. I had a glimmer of hope that maybe, after years and years of suffering through inconsistent story writing and characterizations, there would be a grand payoff, but all we’ve gotten is regression. Which leads me to my next point which I believe is the root for all of this.

Passion. Simply put. I’ve seen interviews with the Russo brothers who have invigorated so much life and love into the works they’ve put together. Same goes with most of the other directors like Taika, Ryan, Scott, James Gunn. They all share something in common that I feel D&D lack as writers and show runners. Love of the source material. The Russos gush over the source material. When they talk about the story and the characters within the story, you can hear that they genuinely LOVE the characters, they work through scenes to favor the characters, making sure it fits in and isn’t ooc. They respect them. When I hear D&D speak in those behind the scenes videos, I don’t get any of that from them. I think any passion they might’ve had for the show was most likely lost early on, and it’s become almost a chore for them at this point. They don’t respect George’s vision, period. They don’t respect the source material, hell I doubt they ever read any of it. And yes, you can say the show is it’s own thing, but even then, D&D never followed through with show canon things they themselves set up early on. The importance of valyrian steel swords? LOL NOPE. Three eyed raven? Nahhhh. And I can go on and on. We’re missing two more episodes of GOT, and honestly, I just know I’m going to be disappointed, as are many people. It’s heard to please everyone, I get it, but to purposely shit on everything that was built up from the very beginning is truly just spitting in our faces, the actors, everyone involved really. We don’t watch it for the cheap twists or for the constant subversions. We watch because of the characters. The story. The narrative. The passion.

#yes its about game of thrones #michelles random shenanigans

40 notes · View notes

one-piece-dumpster-fire · 4 years

Text

He was an accident... and judging by the way his parents dress him, they want him to know that as well☠

#that stressful moment when your baby ages up and the random sim clothing generator strikes #poor little spekulatius didn't stand a chance xD #obviously there need to be some changes. no way our baby can run around like that pfff #michelle plays sims 4 #crachelle family shenanigans #not one piece

33 notes · View notes

emiewritesthings · 3 years

Text

the mess you left behind ✩ jay halstead

summary: in which jay realises that his act to protect y/n ended up hurting her

requested: yess

Would you be able to write one where jay and reader broke up and then one night she’s out with her friends drunk and loses them so she calls jay crying to come and pick her up. And he ends up sleeping in her couch to make sure she’s ok and then in the morning they talk about their feelings and get back together

warnings: age gap (7 years), swearing

Even before they had met Jay, Y/n had constantly been reminded by her tight knit group of friends what a bad idea it was to date an older guy. And they didn’t mean a couple weeks older, or a couple months, or even a couple years. No, they were directly referencing the 7 years that separated her from her now ex-boyfriend.

They just didn’t get it, she’d tell herself whilst blocking out the rant that Amelia or Michelle was spewing over their coffee meetup. None of them understood that even despite her long dating history at age 23, she had never been with a man that treated her quite like the one and only Detective Jay Halstead. Previously, she’d stuck to boys that were only, at max, 8 or 9 months her senior. yet she was made to feel like an exhausted mother that had to raise them and mature them. With Jay, though, he had everything sorted out, if anything she felt a burden for ruining his adulting with her early twenties shenanigans.

However, none of that mattered, for she was made to feel so special, so adored that she would forget it all, devoted purely to capturing everything that her boyfriend had to offer. She’d willingly give up everything around her just for another night surrounded by his friends in the same bar they’d met. Or another date spent talking about anything that came to their minds, holding the other, feeling the way they completed the other in a way no other would come closer.

But, of course, like everything Y/n seemed to care about, it all came crashing down when she needed it most. He’d gone cold on her for a couple of days. no texts or calls or random surprise visits that she’d grown to expect. After nearly a year and half of dating she felt like it all had been some kind of a fever dream, in which she’d recovered from her blinding illness and yet prayed for it all to come back to her.

When he finally came around, Y/n physically felt a part of her being ripped from her chest, with the rest fading away. ‘I don’t think this is going to work’ had been what he said with those eyes that she had always wished she could see herself through. They were always on her when she wasn’t paying attention, some soft gaze churning through the khaki green whenever she entered the room. But this time they were vacant, as though what had once occupied them had been forcefully removed, yet she didn’t have a reason as to why.

It had been a little over a month and a half since, and Y/n was beginning to doubt that the part of her that glowed in his presence would ever flicker back to life. Distracting herself with whatever she could, she’d hoped that the day would come soon that her chest no longer ached at night to be held the way she once was. Surprisingly for a 23 year old it had been hard to find something that took her attention away, seemingly the things that once had entertained her had become immature acts that she was too grown up to enjoy the way she once had. Well all except one; Drinking.

When Jasmine insisted the women go to the opening of the club in the city, Y/n had been the first to back the Saturday night outing. For the first time in a while she felt alive within the hollow shell of her body, shaking her body as she got ready. However, like always, when her satin wrapped body got out into the club setting she couldn’t have wanted to be anywhere less, turning to what the bar was offering in hopes that her mind would be changed with a taste of their spirits.

That brought her here, 4 gins and 15 vodka shots deep with more coming her way. Jasmine, Michelle and Amelia had all joined Y/n in her venture to seek emotional stability in their shot glasses, their solidarity shown the further gone they became. By the time 2am rolled around Y/n feet were aching from the multiple trips she made to the bar between dances, having enjoyed grinding against the occasional over friendly stranger and Jasmine.

“I need to pee.” Y/n’s yell towards her distracted friends was barely heard over the Usher song surrounding them, when she saw what she thought was a nod of acknowledgment from Michelle, she was off. Stumbling in her heels, that were inches too tall, in the direction of what she hoped was the bathroom. Her smile remained wide and warm, typical of an intoxicated individual, though the minute she found herself alone in the cubicle the facade cracked and her compressed sadness overflowed.

When did she become this sad, low version of herself? A couple of years ago you would never catch Y/n Y/l/n in this state over some guy. She picked herself up again within days, if not hours, not willing to allow her life to be torn apart by someone that clearly didn’t care about her. But Jay’s not like the others or some guy, her mind reminded her, though that was the last thing she wanted to hear.

She wished Jay had been just another ex. Another man that had let her down and treated her poorly, but he wasn’t. He’d taught her things about life that she was sure she’d never would have discovered had it not been for his insight. No one would ever hold her the way he would, like the times he’d sneak up behind her to wrap his arms around her, chin resting on the crown of her head. Not because she’d asked him too, but because even from the other side of the room he knew she needed him close. He knew her, at least he did.

“Pathetic.” The mumble was harsh as she stared in the mirror, her hands under the running water. Her drunken slur wasn’t audible to the few girls that were gathered around the other sinks reapplying their makeup or taking selfies, but in Y/n’s mind it was as though the word was ping ponging off the walls of her mind. A reminder dented into every passing thought.

Striding towards where she thought she had once been with her friends, her chest clenched as not a singular familiar face broke through the waves of strangers. Her intoxicated mind swore this had been the last place she had left them, but she wouldn’t bet anything against her uncanny ability to get lost. Panic seeped through her pores, as she battled with her aching legs, loud noises and the tainting of her ability to think under the influence.

Had they left her? No, why would they do that? She’d told them where she was going. Walking around the perimeter of the club, not even her heels could help hoist her up into a position that granted her a view of every face of individuals out solely based to get as sweaty as possible. Immediately, she reached for her phone, knowing without her friends she had no way of getting over the other side of the city. Clicking on all three of their contacts all she was met with was the monotone reply of the voicemail woman who was beginning to grate on her drunken self.

She wasn’t good at thinking rationally when sober, therefore you can most likely imagine the catastrophe occurring in the pits of Y/n’s mind as she tried to think of what to do when all skills were completely impaired. All she could think of to do was cry and her eyes were already on completely that task as she broke into the night air. Leaving the club, the eyes that usually lured in those around her, did the exact opposite with a stream of bitter tears rolling down her cheeks. She wanted to go home, she wish she’d never gone out in the first place.

I need to sit down probably shouldn’t have been her first priority, but their was no reasoning with her in this mood. Plopping herself on the curb of the club’s nearest sidewalk, she stared at the lit up screen that rested in her hands and tried to repress the only other thought circulating around her brain. You could always call him… It was a ridiculous thought, a completely idiotic idea… but then weren’t all of Y/n Y/l/n’s ideas?

Before any logic had invaded her momentary suggestions, the pad of her finger had pressed against her name and the block of metal was pushed against her ear. Even in her seated position, the stress had her feeling dizzy. Her eyes closing as her body shifted with each painful ring that casted out the speakers of the phone. One, two, three. Just hang up, you are making a fool of your-

“Y/n?” God had she missed the way his tongue wrapped so elegantly around her name, an extra edge as she had most definitely woken him up. The queasy feeling in her gut almost had her doubled over, though she figured not replying to the man would only end in him hanging up on her, and she’d be back stuck without any possibility of getting home.

“Hi… pal,” She falsely beamed through the tears running down her face. This was exactly why her friends took her phone every time they’d drank excessively since the breakup. Y/n had no sense of what was appropriate for their situation. Was she supposed to be civil? Neutral? Or even still angry over how it all played out. It was very rare that she kept in contact with any of her exes, this all felt so wrong. Yet the thought of Jay having answered the phone to her made her stomach flutter.

“Pal?” His chuckle was so attractive, Y/n found herself ten times hotter than she’d been surrounded by the human radiators that filled the club she’d once been in. The silence lingered, with both of them enjoying a moment that felt much more like a memory, though eventually the breath of fresh air had turned stale. “Are you- Are you okay, Y/n?”

For a moment Y/n wondered what he meant, until she heard the sound of her heavy breaths as she concealed a sob. She didn’t want him thinking that she was still hung over him and the breakup (despite this being the truth and it most likely being very obvious). She didn’t blame him if he’d moved on. She’d seen the ways his ‘friends’ watched him from afar, their eyes not even able to comprehend the complexity of the man they were gazing at. An attractive man like Jay Halstead didn’t stay single long, and that was just one of the many haunting thoughts Y/n had been fighting.

“Yes. No. Not really.” Spewing words out of her mouth, her bottom lip jutted out as another wave of sadness washed upon her eyes. She was a pathetic mess, no wonder Jay didn’t want her anymore. She’d kidded herself into believing she was good enough for Jay, a mature and well rounded adult. Then she went and behaved like this. Like a needy child. “I need your help, Jay.”

There was a bit of commotion on the other end of the line. The sudden squeak of springs that reminded Y/n of the days and nights she spent cuddling up on the lumpy mattress Jay refused to waste money on replacing. Jay must have sat up from where he had once been laying, ready like always to come and save the day.

“What’s wrong? Where are you?” Her cries were deafening, not in volume, but in the way Jay felt like he could hear the pieces of her heart being threaded through the call. A desperate call of help.

“I-I went out with Jas, Amelia and Michelle to that new place in the city. You know the one that used to be that Thai restaurant you liked. And we were dancing, then I needed to pee and when I came back they were gone. They’ve disappeared, I-I don’t know where they’ve gone and I don’t know how to get how and-and…”

Her words were broken by the occasional sniffle or cry, but Jay was used to piecing together stories of drunk Y/n. Usually they didn’t involve her in such a state, more of her laughing her head off at a joke that she thought was too funny for her to finish in one breath or her yelling towards one of his friends across the room that she’d befriended simply because that was the kind of person she was. She loved him and wanted nothing more than to be loved by those he cared for. Although it was hard not to love her, such a beautiful woman with a kind soul that he had accidentally left to be shredded when he’d tried so hard to preserve it.

“It’s alright, baby, I’m on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes, you can stay on the call if you want. If it makes you feel safer.” Y/n hummed, silencing her cries and leaning into the sleep that was calling for her to just lay down on the uneven concrete. He always wanted her to be safe, whether it was walking down the street late at night or when she was using her straighteners. She’d caught her finger once attempting to straighten out the back of her hair, and from then on he’d insisted he’d do it and did so every day, despite her insisting it was okay.

“I’ve really missed you, Jay.” It was a loose thought that had slipped out amongst a yawn. Y/n didn’t even notice the words she had said, nor their significance to the man who was already roaring down his street in protector mode.

“I’ve missed you too, Y/n.” He shouldn’t have said anything, he cursed, realising it would most likely be forgotten by morning and everything he was getting his heart caught up in would be for nothing. But he meant it, and by the grin that pulled across Y/n’s face she appreciated it even more.

True to his word, Jay had been exactly ten minutes. His truck created such a roar as it pulled in just ahead of Y/n’s body that the drunk woman found herself stirring from her daze. Opening her eyes and looking up, the figure in front of her was caught in the shadow created by his headlights, not even squinting could help Y/n detect the expression on his face.

“You came.” She sighed in relief, going to stand up but failing at the first hurdle.

“Always.” His hand reached towards her slowly until he was able to peel her off the floor, just a step into their journey towards his truck he realised that with the death traps on her feet it would take ten times longer. In a rash move, that was signalled by the squeal leaving Y/n’s lips, he had scooped his ex-lover into his arms inhaling the perfume that had once covered his entire house. He’d tried to keep it there as long as possible until the source had stopped visiting and it was replastered by the rugged nothingness of his own lonesome scent.

Placing her into the passenger seat, her head lulled in a position that made the smallest of smiles play on his lips. Leaning forward over her body, he carefully saved her from suffering neck pain the next day, resting it back on the headrest, before pulling her seatbelt over her body. For a moment, he hovered over her weak, semi-conscious body. Even with her eyes closed, he could feel the change in the energy she exerted. Whilst she had once glowed in a golden aura that embraced anyone lucky to get close enough, now it was a bleak grey that harvested from deep within her. Jay couldn’t help but feel it had all been his doing, he’d broken Y/n Y/l/n.

Pulling away, there was no way he could shake the shameful feeling, rounding the vehicle to get into his own seat. As he drove them back to her apartment, he found himself glancing at her every minute or two to make sure she was okay, though there was very little change in the 20 minute journey. Every now and then she’d shuffle deeper into the warmth of the heated seat, but then she’d fall limp again, preferring to live in the fantasy playing in her mind than what many would perceive as a nightmare, faced with an ex in a closed environment.

Having her in his car where she wasn’t rambling about things Jay didn’t 100% understand could not be replaced by any noise. Turning the radio on still left a large void of where she’d complain about the radio host or sing along to the song playing that she always knew all the lyrics to.

By the time that the car came to a halt in Y/n’s driveway, the woman had arisen from her deep nap. Her eyes wide as they took in where she was, still not even 30% sober. Jay had disappeared from his seat for a moment or two before, her door was being tugged open and she was once again offered his hand. Even with his support, taking it with a tight grip, her body still felt floppy. Her feet were moving one at a time which seemed far too interesting, Y/n leaning her body too far to watch that Jay ended up having to place her arm over his shoulders just to keep her from ending up in a pile in the middle of her front garden.

“Watch the step.” He’d instructed with care, remembering how he’d always tripped on it during the first months of their relationship. Y/n didn’t make a noise, lifting her leg dramatically to wobble on the step before jumping onto the porch. The laugh that emitted from her chest was childish, having Jay smiling as he reached for the spare key she kept in the hanging basket beside the door. “Careful.” She brushed him off, as she tiptoed through the door, still very much clinging onto Jay for support despite her display of confidence.

“I think-,” She took a deep breath, as they came to a sudden stop at the doorway of her bedroom. “I think I’m going to be sick.” As quick as the words were spoken, Y/n had peeled her way off of her ex boyfriend and went running towards the bathroom a couple doors open. It took Jay a second longer to realise what was happening, before he too was off in the direction that Y/n headed.

Breaking through the bathroom door, he didn’t hesitate to pull the hair back that was inches from meeting the path of Y/n’s vomit. The noises of regret about how much she’d been drinking echoed through the room combined with the loving words of Jay. His flat palm rubbed her back where the dress exposed her skin.

When 15 minutes had passed, with Jay’s hand still on her back, Y/n had collapsed down the side of the toilet completely free of energy.

“You can go, I’m fine.” Y/n blubbered out, waving her hand in Jay’s direction hoping it would distract him from the fact she was quite literally cuddling up against her toilet. Jay shook his head, not considering for a moment leaving her there to wallow. Instead he crouched down and found himself bringing her into his arms until she was positioned for him to carry her into the neighbouring room. “Jay I said you can go-”

“Not a chance.”

Y/n sighed but didn’t put up a fight, her head resting against his shoulder. The scent of his shirt had a similar effect to the painkillers she was needing at the moment, taking away the pain that was filling her body up to her shoulders. However, as quickly as it was there, it had disappeared. Her body had been removed from the defined muscles of his arms, melting into her mattress with a sigh of relief. Tugging her shoes off, he abandoned them somewhere she wouldn’t trip over them when she had to zip to the bathroom again before returning to her side.

“Thank you for showing up for me.” She wasn’t 100% that noise left her lips, though she knew they had moved. It was only when Jay’s hands stroked against her cheek that she was sure he was still there and this whole thing hadn’t been some strange dream. Before she could chat anymore the lightswitch on the inside of her mind had been switched and her heavy breaths stilled into a steady rhythm.

“Goodnight, beautiful.” Leaning down, Jay pressed his lips against her cheek in one longing kiss. Pulling the covers over the body before disappearing into the semi darkness of the living room. There was no way, in Jay’s mind, that he’d even consider leaving Y/n. Grabbing a few supplies he knew she’d need for the morning and leaving them on the cabinet just outside her bedroom, his body collapsed down on the couch that filled up 80% of the room.

When he had gone to sleep earlier that night, he hadn’t struggled to drift off. Though as he laid there, with the blanket that usually sat on the back of the couch over his body, his eyes couldn’t even close. Their gaze longing as he began digesting the strange hour he’d had. For the last month he’d always imagine the next time he got to lay his eyes on Y/n, but never had he envisaged this.

Some stupid part of him had thought that the split would light something new within his former girlfriend. She’d be with someone new, someone that understood her references, understood what it was like to be a 23 year old unlike his 30 year old self that had passed that stage of his life. He didn’t want to hold her back, prevent her from exploring the young years of adulthood, where she could make mistakes. Never had he predicted this.

Predicted that the very thing he’d done to protect her, was causing her the most pain.

Waking up hungover was never a good feeling. Understatement of the century. But what could possibly be worse? Y/n strolling out her bedroom to throw her guts up in the toilet to find that the ex she thought she’d imagined showing up last night spread out over her couch.

Jay had jolted awake at the sound of retching. Throwing the blanket off of him, his feet carried him to the exact same he could have been found hours before. Y/n’s body shook, throat bruising from the sensation. She could feel him watching her and had she not been distracted, she’d have kicked him out, completely embarrassed that he had to see her like she was currently. Though if what she had initially hoped were dreams, but soon realised were foggy memories were true than what he’d experienced last night had been harrowing enough.

When everything fell silent, with Y/n slung over the toilet. The pair slowly started moving again, Y/n struggling to get to her feet, whilst Jay reached out to help her. The feeling of his hands touching her skin had her jerking away, not because she didn’t enjoy it, but knew it was a temptation that would have her falling back into her old way of thinking. If he didn’t want to be with her, she couldn’t keep tricking herself into believing she could change his mind.

“Y/n-” Jay began, needing to get the plaguing thoughts off his mind. He knew that his explanation for their breakup had been short and left both of them with unspoken questions. He didn’t want her to think that he had never loved her, or for that matter still didn’t love her. Their relationship had left a Y/n size mark in his heart that couldn’t be altered for any other woman. He’d just been too afraid to admit such a feeling. Sometimes he felt like he was the younger one, unknown to an emotion as strong as what he felt for Y/n.

“We don’t need to do this, Jay. We don’t need to play happy exes. You can go, okay? I’m all good now.” She didn’t want him to go and he didn’t want to, though neither would admit it in such a confusing climate. Stood in her bathroom, with Y/n still zipped into the dress Jay didn’t feel right removing last night, they just looked at each other. They looked at how their faces had changed, Jay’s chin earning more stubble whilst Y/n had replaced her nose stud with a hoop. But their eyes looked much deeper than their external appearance, investigating into the person they’d grown to know under the social layers that kept their true selves secure and saved for the one that knew them best.

“Do you want that? Do you want me to go?” Dropping her head to stare at her bare feet that still felt the imprints of her heels, she kicked the bottom of her foot against the fluffy matt. She knew with questions like that, his eyes were like truth traps that would draw out the words she’d rather keep close to her chest.

“I-,” She sighed, tripping at the first hurdle. “-Don’t know.” The answer wasn’t a definite no. For that very reason Jay felt his hopes skyrocket into him launching forward until his hands resting on her cheeks bringing the beauty that was a permanent feature on her face to be fully admired by his green eyes.

“If I wanted to leave, I would have already. Because you are wrong, we do need to do this. We need to talk and I’m sorry I haven’t done it sooner.” Y/n had imagined this moment, where she finally got a chance for some closure. And yet as she stood in front of the man that held all the answers she could ever want, she was hesitant. Taking a step back, his touch fell away from her yet the magnetic field was still strong enough that Y/n had to push harder to walk around the man she’d been waiting for. Strolling back into the living room, she took a seat on what had been Jay’s impromptu bed for the evening.

Jay was slow on his approach to the woman, grasping the drink that he’d prepared earlier that day and the tablets he’d discovered in the corner cupboard, he placed them down in front of her before he perched himself to her left. Thanking him with the nod of her head, she grabbed them and downed the painkillers in hopes that her headache would subside.

“You know,” She began as she washed down the small white tablets, “You never actually told me why you broke up with me.” It had been something that had been bugging her the entire time. It wasn’t like she could beat herself up for saying something or doing something or making him feel a certain way, as not once had it been revealed in the conversation they shared the day it all came to an end.

“Normally I like to back myself when it comes to women,” Jay breathed, knowing Y/n was about to accuse him of avoiding the subject but he was getting there. “But from the moment I found myself falling for you I knew I was punching. I mean what kind of 20 something year old with their prime still ahead of them wants to get with some boring old 30 year old. I thought you were crazy for even considering giving me a chance, but then I realised that was just who you were. You didn’t care about what your friends said or mind for that matter, you just wanted me and that was enough for you. But I guess I felt like that wasn’t fair, on you I mean. There is an entire world out there that hasn’t had the pleasure of meeting Y/n Y/l/n because she’d shacked up with her boyfriend. I felt like I was weighing you down and as someone that loved you- loves you I couldn’t watch you drowning. I had to set you free.” Y/n felt confused, adored and angry all at the same time, not one time had she considered what it felt like to be Jay, dating a woman that was quite a bit younger than him. But it seemed that he’d thought deeply about what I was thinking, or at least what he thought I was thinking.

“That wasn’t your decision to make. You could have talked to me about it. I’m in love with you, Jay. I’m in love with the way you love me, I’m in love with the way you make me feel, I’m in love with you and that was enough for me. And let me just say, if I wanted to live that life you were so adamant I wanted I would still go out and live it, just with my boring old 30 year old boyfriend besides me,” She giggled humorlessly at how the entire situation had ended up so twisted, so chaotic. “I don’t know who the fuck I am anymore without you. For the first time in my life, with you, I had some kind of path. I had ambitions, I had goals, I had belief in myself because of you. You have always made me a better person, why would I want anything more?”

“You say that now, but in 5, 10, 15 years when you are looking back I don’t want you to regret anything. I don’t want you to feel like you never got to be a young adult because our relationship has forced you to mature.” Jay’s voice was raising not in anger but passion, he had so much he could say but nothing seemed enough.

“Have you met me?” Y/n turned to face him, grabbing his face, resisting the urge to laugh at the way his cheeks squished together. “No one can make me do anything, I’m the most stubborn person on this planet, you know that. The decisions I make are my decisions, and I promise you the only regrets I will have in the future is if you leave this house without knowing that I want to spend the rest of my fucking life with you, Jay. This was never just a bit of fun. This was real. I love you.”

Suddenly Jay’s hand was on the nape of her neck, and then that was when the couple’s lips reunited in a kiss filled with so much tension, that Y/n could have sworn her house shook slightly. Jay’s hands pulled her closer and closer until she legitimately sat upon his lap, hands on his face brushing against his stubble. His own hand gripping her waist missed the way her body begged for more of his touch. Their lips were soft, though the longer the kiss continued the rougher it became. It was only when the tingle in her top lip became too strong to keep going, that Y/n drew back, head resting against his own.

Their breaths were deep, mindling in the small gap between them.

“For what it’s worth,” Jay swooshed strands of her hair that he’d grabbed behind her ear once again, “I love you and want to spend the rest of my fucking life with you too.” The smile that they shared was made of the exact same intensity, that Jay could see the way the kiss had repaired the once broken bulb that had been blown when they’d parted. Now she was glowing in a way he’d never seen her flourish.

This is where they deserved to be, where they needed to be. They’d tried the whole apart thing for long enough for them to conclude that they both belonged there, holding one another, for as long as they lived.

451 notes · View notes

mybitterbisexualarse · 2 years

Text

I may be in the minority here but I honestly felt kinda disappointed by the derry girls final episode.

To start with like I don't have an issue with the concept of it I think the central conflict between Erin and michelle and then the good Friday agreement was amazing. During their fight I was glued to the screen it was amazing and everything but then it just seemed to dissolve into random shenanigans of the week that took away the focus.

Like Claire was in it for maybe 5 minutes after episode 6 being very central to her, I was looking forward to her having to deal with her dad's death and deal with her new situation away from derry but they seemed to side line her and when she does come back and gives an exposition dump about the Jenny Joyce party being moved it felt forced so she had something to do.

The whole party thing was kinda just there I didn't really care about it like why are we spending so much time here and then almost skipping past the girls themselves

The montage at the end with the troubles and the real footage used was amazing so was grandad Joe's speech to Erin but both of them felt rushed cause we had to run here after the party stuff so they could fit it

Also I can look past not having James and Erin get together I liked that it was left ambitious but then the skip forward ag the end being on Chelsea Clinton?? Like scuse me what, I don't care why are we here.

#derry girls #i dunno man #kinda personal #kinda dissapointed #felt like they tried to do too much for an hour episode #erin quinn #james maguire #michelle mallon #claire devlin #orla mccool #derry girls special

12 notes · View notes

chris-evans-indian-fanfic · 4 years

Text

Longing

Chapter 1

Description: Chris Evans becomes obsessed with you when he realises he can't have you. Eager to be with you in some form or the other, he starts writing fanfiction, where both of you are passionately in love with each other. But what happens when his imagination starts to merge with his reality in his subconsciousness?

Warnings: This entire mini-series will contain smut, bad language and angst. ONLY PROCEED IF YOU ARE 18+

This first chapter is inspired by the GIF below from @navybrat817 and @stargazingfangirl18 's ShamelessHoesForChris writing challenge. Click here to know more

A/N: I do not know Chris Evans personally. This fic is a work of imagination and should only be used as such. It doesn't comment on Chris or anybody else personally. It is also not meant to destroy his reputation or paint him in a bad light. I admire the guy and he really seems like a genuinely nice person. Again, I repeat, THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION SO TREAT IT AS SUCH!

A/N 2: I did search quite a lot on the internet and didn't come across a fic like this. Which makes me nervous and also kind of excited that I get to do something unique? Please please give me your criticism and feedback on this! Would love to hear your thoughts.

A/N 3: I have used a few big words throughout the series because this fic is from Chris' POV and we all know that he's a bit of a wordsmith 😅 I had never even heard these words before in my life. So please let me know if I have used them in an incorrect manner.

My Main Masterlist

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but Tumblr and AO3, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

…

The best thing about shooting Defending Jacob? Chris got to stay in his house in Boston. The worst part about working on the set? He was currently stuck in a room engulfed in hot, angry flames of fire. The fire had abruptly started due to a short circuit and spread across the set in the blink of an eye. Coughing, Chris doubled down on the floor, his breathing becoming more laboured with each second.

The smoke stung his eyes as he looked around for a fire extinguisher. He tried calling for help, but only small grunts managed to escape his lips. Just as he was on the verge of losing consciousness, he heard a voice. Your voice.

"Is anyone here?" you called out, your voice faint in his ears. "Hello?"

Chris tried to shout again, but only sank further towards the floor.

Luckily, you opened the door of his room and found his almost crumpled body on the ground. Using the fire extinguisher, you managed to douse as many flames as you could, while also covering Chris with a thick blanket. As the room was still filled with smoke, you pressed a wet towel on his face, asking him to breathe through his nose.

Slowly, you managed to drag him out of the room and into the corridor, the fire reduced to embers in most places thanks to your fire extinguisher. Chris being a heavy man, you tried your best to support his weight as much as you could, your body almost stooping to form a right angle.

Just as you thought you might be in the clear, you heard a crack from above. Looking up, you realised that the ceiling was about to cave in and so, on impulse, you pushed Chris out of the way, as portions of the false ceiling fell on you, knocking you unconscious.

Chris, in his state, vaguely realised what happened, before he lost his balance and fell to the ground a few feet away from you, his left arm stretched towards your limp body, as if reaching out.

Sirens of the firetruck and the ambulance filled the heavy air. A deep groan escaped his lips as he attempted to crawl towards you, a failed effort. Where did it all go so wrong? he thought. I was supposed to be the one to save you angel! You should be falling in love with me!! And break-up with your good for nothing fiancé!

Overwhelmed with emotions, Chris started drifting off to sleep, your name leaving his lips in the form of a desperate whisper.

🔥

8 MONTHS AGO

Chris met you for the first time at the table read for Defending Jacob. You didn't strike him as anyone special. Being the Junior Assistant Scriptwriter for the series, you were just in the room as a formality. It was your job to jot down the minutes of the meeting, and have the parts of the script marked which were supposed to be changed slightly.

You managed to stay invisible for more such meetings. An introvert by nature, you kept to yourself even when the shooting started.

It was in the Week 4 of the shooting when Chris actually started to notice you. He realised you were always absent from his house parties, never stayed around on the set for after-work shenanigans and, you never hung out with any of your crew-mates for a drink.

What really drove his attention towards you were your random acts of kindness. He once saw you feeding a homeless man in the alley behind the set. Unknown to you, it was where Chris often hid from his cast and crew to smoke.

Then there was the bit with setting up of a mobile blood donation camp on the set, which was completely your idea. He had also seen you distribute fliers for animal adoption centres and NGOs who fought for climate preservation.

You always made sure everyone on the set ate before you did, and the ones who couldn't due to work, you were sure to help them and share their load so they could have lunch.

But one particular incident made him see that you were no ordinary woman.

It was a particularly tough day on the set. They were shooting the 35-second sex scene between him and Michelle. While these scenes looked easy on the screen, they always made Chris feel uneasy about himself. "What if my body is not upto the mark?" , "I don't want to hurt Michelle in any way" , "God I hope I don't touch her inappropriately by mistake" and more such troubling thoughts clawed at his mind. After the scene finally ended, he felt the lustful eyes of the crew feasting on him, admiring his body on display.

He hurried towards his van, avoiding to look at anyone, until his eyes met yours for a total of 5 seconds. He expected to see the same smirk to be reflected in your eyes as everyone else's. Instead, he saw a completely different emotion. He saw sadness, sympathy, and most importantly, recognition of his discomfort etched on your face.

After that, Chris started to keep a close eye on you. You always wore comfortable clothes, with loads of pockets. Yet somehow, they always fit you well. He also noticed that you always got your own lunch, refusing to eat the food available on the set.

A few days after filming the sex scene, he decided to try to speak with you. Palms sweaty, he headed towards you and gently said your name.

"Hi," he said, and stopped.

"Hello Mr Evans," you greeted him back, a little surprised that he knew your name.

He continued to look at you, bright cerulean eyes bearing into yours, apparently lost. You blinked twice, unfazed, and a little uncomfortable, "Can I help you sir?"

Chris shook his head slightly. He was so used to women fawning all over him, that your utter lack of excitement on seeing him deterred him a bit.

He cleared his throat, a little flustered, *Ahem yeah… I wanted to ask… something… karaoke!" he managed to mumble, "It's karaoke night at my house. Tomorrow. Will you come? At night?"

"Umm… No Mr Evans. I am sorry I will not be able to make it," you politely declined while taking a small step back.

"Oh. Uhh… well we can have it any other night if you want," he cleared his throat again, sweat starting to gather on his forehead as he noticed your movement, "You never visit any of my house-parties."

You smiled a bit, "I like to go home early. I want to spend as much time as I can with my fiancé and my cat."

Chris raised his eyebrows at that revelation, "Fiancé? I… I don't see a ring."

"That's because there isn't one," your smile widened as you pulled the chain around your neck and revealed a locket. It was an intricately carved sunflower locket, with small, delicate curls nestled inside the petals.

Chris glanced at it with disdain. It looked hand-made, cheap, "Is that… is it made from clay?"

"Yes Mr Evans," you beamed at the locket, admiring it with love and pride, "My fiancé is a potter and he made this himself. It took him over 6 hours just to carve all the petals. But he still made it because he knows how much I love sunflowers."

"So he's too poor to give you an appropriate ring?" Chris snapped at you.

Offended, you looked at him in shock and anger as he continued. "You deserve someone who can afford to give you an expensive engagement ring. Not some cheap craft project."

You grit your teeth at his comment, "Unlike some people, I don't look at the price of the gifts, I look at their value. While this," you held the locket in front of his eyes, "is worthless for you, it is priceless for me."

You placed the locket back inside your shirt and walked away. Chris stood rooted at the spot, biting his cheek hollow. He hadn't meant to drive you away. He had just wanted you to see him as a prospective partner.

As he turned towards his trailer, an idea popped into his head.

🔥

Next Friday saw you and your fiancé walk into the bowling alley. The production house had organised a "Bring Your Partner to Work Day" and you both were excited to step out of your routine lives.

A few people on the set recognised your fiancé Aiden from his YouTube channel. Kenneth, an Assistant Set Designer, drooled over him, "Maaahhnnn! I love your pottery videos! They are so calming dude. How do you make them so relaxing?"

The ever shy and soft-spoken Aiden gushed at the compliment, turning a shade of red which you always found adorable. Aiden was almost the same height as you, with a lean figure and a kind, freckled face. Your friends always told you that Aiden's looks were nothing to brag about, but you disagreed. Because for you, this man was the most handsomest, cutest and sexiest person in the world.

And you knew he felt the same way about you. That's why, even after being together for almost 5 years now, you two still looked at each other with heart eyes.

As the party progressed, you made sure to avoid Chris, and so far, you were successful. That was until he softly said your name.

With dread in your stomach, you and Aiden turned around to face the man. Aiden knew of your previous encounter with Chris, and tried to square his shoulders as much as possible, but Chris' towering physique and personality literally made it impossible for Aiden to appear tough.

You gave Chris a curt nod and received a sweet smile in response.

"I believe I owe you an apology," he confessed, "I am sorry. My behavior that day was inexcusable." He paused for reaction, but looking at your hesitant faces, he continued, "It was quite a hectic day on the set and I guess I took it all out on you," he looked towards you, "You know I am capricious by nature. It takes me some time to become gregarious. But," he raised his hands in the air, "I repeat, the way I acted was inexcusable. I am sorry."

He extended his arm towards Aiden, "You are a porter I believe."

"Potter, sir," Aiden corrected while shaking his hand and introducing himself.

You bit your tongue, knowing that Chris was mocking you with his false apology.

He invited Megan to join the conversation, "Megan loves handmade ceramics. Maybe she would be interested in your work."

Introductions were made again, and as the conversation pursued, it arrived at the topic of your marriage.

"Have you guys decided on a date yet?" asked Megan as Chris looked at you.

"We are planning to get married as soon as the shooting ends for DJ," you smiled.

"Oh really? Wow that's… unusual," Megan tried her best to hide her surprise.

"We don't know exactly when will the shooting end," Chris said with a frown on his face.

"That's not an issue Mr Evans. We are actually planning to get married at the courthouse," revealed Aiden.

"You know if money is an issue then we would be more than happy to help you guys out," Chris offered in a sincere tone.

"Oh no no Mr Evans. Money isn't an issue," you clarified, "We have decided to donate the money we had intended to spend on the wedding."

"But thank you so much for the generous offer, we really appreciate it," Aiden added with a sincere smile.

"You know a lot of couples are doing that nowadays. It's a trend I believe," Megan commented, "Where are you going to make the donation?"

"The local orphanage where I grew up. We both love kids and, it just seemed to be the perfect choice," Aiden beamed at you.

You mirrored his expression while Chris scowled. "I think everybody should get the wedding of their dreams, and you" he stated, pointing towards you, "deserve much more than a courthouse wedding. Don't you want to get married in a beautiful church? Walk down the aisle in a gorgeous white gown? And get married to a man who can actually fulfill your wishes and desires?"

Squaring your shoulders, you looked at Chris dead in the eye, "I am marrying the man of my dreams Mr Evans. The wedding ceremony doesn't matter to me. What does matter is the beautiful life we will begin together. Now if you will excuse us," you linked your arm with Aiden's, "we need to leave."

Chris watched you leave as Megan tried to distract him with something else. Tonight did not go the way he had anticipated.

He left the party shortly after you, directly heading for his home. Standing under the cold shower, he tried to reason with himself. He was acting out of character. There was no reason for his behavior. You had made it ample clear that you loved your fiancé and that nobody in the world could sway you.

Then why was he so hell-bent on claiming you as his?

Because she's perfect for you, a voice answered him.

Yeah, but she belongs to someone else, he argued.

So what?, the voice urged, Fight for her. You saw her wimp of a fiancé. You can break him into two pieces without breaking a sweat. She is made for you. Just you, and nobody else.

"I… Just… No," Chris stammered loudly as he shook his head, trying to get rid of the voice in his mind.

He tried to meditate, but it didn't work. Dodger too, was unable to distract him. Even his books on self-help and mental health were of no use.

As a last resort, he opened his laptop, but his fingers halted at the search bar, the cursor blinking back at him.

He was too tempted to search for you again. The last time he had Googled you, he had been satisfied with the results. You often volunteered with a few NGOs, coordinated multiple donation drives, visited orphanages and taught underprivileged children. His heart had melted at a particular photograph- you were holding an 8-month-old girl in your arms, while looking over a painting drawn by a 4-year-old boy as the child looked up at you with a toothy smile.

It reminded him of everything he wanted to have, but still couldn't.

He closed his eyes and started kneading his forehead with his palms. Everybody he knew always only had the best things about him. Right from Scarlett to Mark to Olivia to every fucking person he had ever worked with, everybody said he deserved to have a loving wife, a stable family.

And yet, here he was, on a Friday night, home alone with a beer bottle, on the verge of anxiety.

Was it just anxiety though?

Who the fuck is Aiden and why does he deserve to be with her? the voice in his head was back.

They love each other, they want to get married, Chris reasoned.

He doesn't hold a candle next to you, the voice persisted, People love money more than they love others. She will come to you. But you need to let her know you are available. You need to take her to-

"No," Chris interrupted the voice loudly, "No. This is unhealthy. No."

Reaching for his phone, he searched for his therapist's number, when the voice chuckled, You really think a shrink is going to help you with this? Eh? They are only going to ask you to fuck another pussy, or read more books. And I will be damned before you touch another book about trees.

Chris shook his head again, but in vain. Unable to find the number in his contacts, he turned to Google for the second time that night and started searching for therapists in his area. The voice tut-ted, Yeah, as if the psycho doctor is going to shut their trap about Chris Evans crying over a girl.

Chris almost crushed his bottle in frustration. He couldn't let the voice take over. Not now. Not after working his ass off to get where wanted in his career. Taking a deep breath, he looked at the screen again and came across the headline- "Why Do People Write Fanfiction?" The word fanfiction seemed vaguely familiar to him. He was going to ignore the article and scroll downwards, but the brief underneath the headline made him stop- …mostly, people write fanfiction to stay in touch with the characters they love," says leading Psychologist Andrea Williams.

Intrigued, he opened the article and started reading. Then he opened another, and another and by the time he was done, he had read 6-7 articles on the concept of fanfiction and what it entailed.

Sighing, he opened a new word document. He was reluctant to type a letter, let alone a whole fictional story. He had tried everything and yet, you chose to occupy a rent-free space in his mind.

Now all he needed was a reference.

He minimised the document, and opened a new tab on his browser. His hesitant fingers typed the words - Chris Evans Fanfiction - into the search bar, and he instantly winced.

Millions of search results were displayed before him, and as he read the descriptions of each one of them, he realised that 99% of these stories were porn. There was no sugar-coating it. On the 5th page of the search results, he luckily found a story sans the erotica. It was a cute one-shot about him going on a first date with the reader. He read it with squinted eyes, afraid that a sex scene might jump out of the blue, but luckily, nothing of the sort happened.

Chris liked reading it. It was an innocent story filled with romance.

But the only problem? It was written from the reader's point of view. He checked a few others, and realised they were all written from the women's perspective, not his.

He sat back in his chair, turning his head such that he was looking at the ceiling, contemplating his options.

You want her, the voice whispered.

Reluctantly, he typed the first word that came to his mind. Your name.

Chris rested his chin on his palm, wondering where to start. If this were fiction, would tonight have gone different? Would you have visited his house for karaoke that night?

Tapping his fingers on the desk, he bit his tongue in thought. Thinking it was better to start at the beginning, he started typing from his POV-

The first time I saw her I thought she was pretty. I saw her during meetings and the shooting. Then one day I saw her giving food to a homeless man-

Deleting his words, Chris shook his head. This was insane! Right? You were a real human being and it was unethical of him to write this! He needed to learn to handle his feelings.

If you don't have the balls to fight for her, then be with her in the stories you write. Grow a spine Evans, whispered the insulting voice.

Hesitating, he tried to write another paragraph, which ended up getting deleted.

Try again, the voice coaxed him. Pour your heart into this. Write better.

Taking a sip of the beer, Chris started typing again-

It was lunchtime when I saw her arranging some equipment on the table. Her back was facing me as I carefully approached her, afraid to startle her. I breathed in her scent, light, floral and fresh, before whispering her name.

She turned around, a bit surprised to see me, but she smiled nevertheless. Oh gosh her smile. I had seen her smile a few times on the set, but in person, it took my breath away.

"Hi," I managed to greet her shyly. She matched my response.

"I was wondering if you would like to sing karaoke with me? There's a karaoke party tonight at my house if you would like to come," I asked her hopefully.

Her expression turned remorseful as she apologised, "I cannot come Mr Evans. My fiancé won't let me."

Imagine my surprise when I found out about her fiancé. "I didn't know about your fiancé. Why won't he let you come?" I asked her, concerned as she started sniffing a bit.

"He's… he's very strict Mr Evans. He doesn't like it when I go out with my fri-friends or co-workers," she shared between her light sobs.

My heart broke into pieces on hearing her confession. I had often noticed her taciturn behaviour on the set, but I had no idea about the reason behind it.

I raised my hands to cup her face. I was itching to wipe her tears with my lips, but instead, I used my thumbs.

"I want to help you. Please let me," I requested.

"Nobody can help me Mr Evans. I am stuck with a monster." She pulled a chain from underneath her shirt and I got a glimpse at the marks on her neck. "Aiden gave me this chain and locket instead of an engagement ring. He said it will be better than a ring. And now he-" she started sobbing harder. I pulled her into my chest, running my right hand through her hair as my left hand soothed her back.

"And now he uses it as a leash," my angel whispered, horrified, "he says I do not deserve a ring."

I hugged her tighter and thankfully, she buried her face in my chest, "You are no longer stuck with him. Are you listening to me?" I bent my face to bring my lips near her ears, "I will make sure that you are free of him."

She shook her head, reluctantly pulling away from me, "No Mr Evans. I cannot-"

"Yes you can," I interrupted her. "You are going to come to my house for karaoke tonight. Message Aiden right now, and tell him that I will be dropping you home. Okay?"

After some coaxing, she agreed. I held her close as she typed out the message, her hands shaking around her mobile phone. Finally she clicked on the SEND button.

I brushed a kiss on her forehead, "Wait for me in the back alley after the shoot, okay? I will pick you up from there."

She nodded gratefully in response.

I couldn't wait for the shoot to be over that day. In my eagerness, I even messed up a few takes, mumbling over my lines like an idiot. But eventually, I got through the day.

I was excited when I picked her up after the shoot. I could see she was nervous and maybe a little bit scared, but she still entered my car anyway. So I made small talk with her and tried to put her mind at ease.

Finally, when we reached my house, she was in awe.

"This is the most beautiful house I have ever seen Mr Evans," she gasped as I led her inside, "I don't think I have ever seen anything like it before!"

I chuckled, "I am happy you like it. It… it just feels empty sometimes, you know? I find loneliness ubiquitous in this house."

You looked at her puzzled expression and smiled. "Ubi-what was that word Mr Evans?"

"Ubiquitous," I replied, "it means something that is present and is found everywhere."

"Ahh okay," she nodded, "thank you for teaching me."

"I will accept your gratitude only on one condition."

She tilted her head ever so slightly, "And what would that be Mr Evans?"

I smiled as I slightly bent down and held her hand, "You need to start calling me Christopher."

Visibly flustered, my angel looked down at her feet. "I-I can't Mr Evans," she said in a low voice.

"Why can't you?"

"I respect you too much sir," she confessed.

"Hey," I gently nudged her forehead with mine, "I want you to say my name. Please?"

I stared into her eyes as she met mine. God.

There was something about her eyes that was absolutely riveting. The depth of her eyes pulled me in towards her as I read the plethora of emotions hidden within them. Her gaze searched my face for malice, deceit, but only found love and trust in return.

I slowly cupped her face as her breath hitched in her chest. I could feel my own heart race. Bringing my face as close as I could to hers, I whispered, the distance between our lips fast closing, "Please."

She parted her lips ever so slightly. I felt her warm breath on mine as she obliged, "Christopher."

I closed my eyes as I heard the most melodious symphony, my name draped in her sweet voice.

I dipped my head to kiss her, feel the shape of her lips, but she stepped back.

"I-I am st-still engaged Chris-Christopher," she stammered.

I straightened myself, my hands no longer cupping her face, "I understand. I am sorry. Would you like-"

Before I could finish, a car honked outside. While I was curious at the intrusion, her eyes widened with fear.

"That's him," she gasped, "Aiden is here. He found me."

"How is that possible?"

"He has a location app installed on my phone through which he tracks my location," she revealed, visibly shaking at the thought of greeting her fiancé.

"Stay here. You will be safe inside. Let me handle him," I said, squeezing her shoulders.

I walked out of the house and towards the car. The vehicle didn't look in good shape, it's owner even more so.

Aiden manually rolled down his window and spat on the ground. Fumes of cheep alcohol and stale cigarette smoke escaped through the window. "Where is she?" he hollered.

"That's not your concern anymore. She's breaking up with you," I crossed my arms and stood facing him. "If you know what's good for you, you will leave her alone and stay out of her life."

Aiden exited the car at that threat, the door of the vehicle rattled as he opened it. "She said that?" he scoffed, "Color me surprised, I thought the little mouse had no fight left in her. Bring her out here. I want to hear," he wriggled a finger at me, "whatever the fuck you are saying from her own fucking mouth."

"Not going to happen Aiden. You followed her here against her own wishes. Now scoot off before I call the cops," I warned.

"You think I will be scared of some Hollywood prick who shits diamonds?" he sneered.

"No. But you should be scared of the law. You are currently harassing the owner of this private property, not to mention you have clearly abused your girlfriend mentally, emotionally and physically. So be sensible," I took a step towards him, "and fuck off."

"STOP," she shouted as she trusted towards us. She stood in front of me, as if to guard me from her monster of a fiancé, "Please don't hurt him. I will come with you. Just let him be," she pleaded with him as he smirked.

Before he could react, I pulled her behind me, making sure my body was shielding her from Aiden.

"She's a gold-digging bitch. You stay away from her," he pointed at me as he tried to reach her.

I pushed him away once and kept my hand on his weak, thin torso. Turning my head, I asked her for the last time, "Are you sure you want to go with him? I can save you. I will protect you, provide for you and keep you happy!" I urged her.

She looked at me with hope and helplessness. Slowly, she glanced at Aiden who looked like he was ready to commit murder. Sobbing uncontrollably, she removed the chain with the sunflower locket and threw it at his feet.

"Leave me alone," she managed to mumble at him.

Furious, Aiden growled and tried to pounce at her. Fortunately, I intervened on time and punched his sorry excuse of a face into the ground.

She gasped as Aiden fell with a thud. Embarrassed, he slowly got up and dusted himself, muttering under his breath as he sat inside his wreck of a car.

"Don't bother coming back to gather your stuff! I am burning it all tonight you cock-sucking bitch!" and with that outburst, Aiden was finally gone.

She was sobbing and shaking uncontrollably at what had just transpired. I wrapped her in my arms to let her know she was safe. Within moments, I felt her ease into my body.

I closed my eyes and smiled, my nose buried into her hair. My angel was safe. My angel was mine.

Chris blinked his eyes as he re-read his story. He already felt a whole lot lighter, his anxiety at ease, and mind exhausted. Clicking on SAVE, he finished the last of his beer and went to sleep, hoping that this was the end to his problems. Little did he know about the horrors that awaited him, behind the door he had just opened by writing that fictional story.

__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__

Permanent tag: @donutloverxo

Chris Evans and his characters taglist: @onetwo3000

This story: @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @carpediemm-18

(If you guys don't want to be tagged in this, just let me know. No hard feelings 😊)

Taglists are open! Just comment, send an ask or a message!

#ShamelessHoesForChris #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fanfiction #chrisevans #chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #dark!chris evans #chris evans rpf

266 notes · View notes