and thinks his father's given up on him as he thinks he's done before

3

History

Decided to combine these two requests. Hope you like it!

Your eyes were growing heavy as you continued to stare down at the history assignment that was currently sprawled out on Archie Andrews’ kitchen table. The smell of pizza was wafting through the kitchen as the greasy box sat untouched on the kitchen counter; it was enough to make your stomach growl in anticipation but there was no time for that – not until you finished.

Keep reading

Full Esquire Interview - CHRIS EVANS IS READY TO FIGHT

“HIS SUCCESS AS CAPTAIN AMERICA HAS MADE CHRIS EVANS ONE OF HOLLYWOOD’S SURE THINGS, WHICH MEANS HE CAN DO WHATEVER HE WANTS WITH HIS FREE TIME. SO WHY JUMP OUT OF AIRPLANES AND GET INTO IT WITH DAVID DUKE?

BY MAXIMILLIAN POTTERMAR 15, 2017


The Canadian commandos are the first to jump. Our plane reaches an altitude of about eight thousand feet; the back door opens. Although it’s a warm winter day below in rural southern California, up here, not so much. In whooshes freezing air and the cold reality that this is actually happening. Out drop the eight commandos, all in black-and-red camouflage, one after the other. For them it’s a training exercise, and Jesus, these crazy bastards are stoked. The last Canuck to exit into the nothingness is a freakishly tall stud with a crew cut and a handlebar mustache; just before he leaps, he flashes a smile our way. Yeah, yeah, we get it: You’re a badass.

Moments later, the plane’s at ten thousand feet, and the next to go are a Middle Eastern couple in their late thirties. These two can’t wait. They are ecstatic. Skydiving is clearly a thing for them. Why? I can’t help thinking. Is it like foreplay? Do they rush off to the car after landing and get it on in the parking lot? They give us the thumbs-up and they’re gone.

Just like that, we’re at 12,500 feet and it’s our turn. Me and Chris Evans, recognized throughout the universe as the star of the Marvel-comic-book-inspired Captain America and Avengers movies. The five films in the series, which began in 2011 with Captain America: The First Avenger, have grossed more than $4 billion.

The two of us, plus four crew members, are the only ones left in the back of the plane. Over the loud drone of the twin propellers, one of the crew members shouts, "Okay, who’s going first?”

Evans and I are seated on benches opposite each other. Neither of us answers. I look at him; he looks at me. I feel like I’ve swallowed a live rat. Evans is over there, all Captain America cool, smiling away.

While we were waiting to board the plane, Evans told me that as he lay in bed the night before, “I started exploring the sensation of ‘What if the chute doesn’t open?’. . .”

Oh, did you now?

“. . .Those last minutes where you know.” As in you know you’re going to fatally splat. “You’re not gonna pass out; you’re gonna be wide awake. So what? Do I close my eyes? Hopefully, it would be quick. Lights out. I fucking hope it would be quick. And then I was like, if you’re gonna do it, let’s just pretend there is no way this is going to go wrong. Just really embrace it and jump out of that plane with gusto.” Evans also shared that he’d looked up the rate of skydiving fatalities. “It’s, like, 0.006 fatalities per one thousand jumps. So I figure our odds are pretty good.”

Again the crew member shouts, “Who’s going first?”

Again I look at Evans; again he looks at me. The rat is running circles in my belly.

I look at Evans; he looks at me.

Another crew member asks, “So whose idea was this, anyway?”


That’s an excellent question.

I ask Evans the same thing when we first meet, the evening before our jump, at his house. He lives atop the Hollywood Hills, in a modern-contemporary ranch in the center of a Japanese-style garden. The place has the vibe of an L.A. meditation retreat—there’s even a little Buddha statue on the front step.

The dude who opens the front door is in jeans, a T-shirt, and Nikes; he has on a black ball cap with the NASA logo, and his beard is substantial enough that for a second it’s hard to be sure this is the same guy who plays the baby-faced superhero. Our handshake in the doorway is interrupted when his dog rockets toward my crotch. Evans is sorry about that.

We do the small-talk thing. Evans is from a suburb of Boston, one of four kids raised by Dad, a dentist, and Mom, who ran a community theater. The point is, he’s a Patriots fan, and with Super Bowl LI, between the Pats and the Falcons, just a few days away at the time, it’s about the only thing on his mind. You bet your Sam Adams–guzzling ass he’s going to the game in Houston. “Oh my God,” he says, doing a little dance. “I can’t believe it’s this weekend.”

Like any self-respecting Pats fan, Evans is super-wicked pissed at NFL commissioner Roger Goodell.

Evans won’t be rolling to SB LI with a posse of Beantown-to-Hollywood A-listers like Mark Wahlberg, Matt Damon, and Ben Affleck. For the record, he’s never met Damon, and his only interaction with Wahlberg was a couple years ago at a Patriots event. Evans has, however, humiliated himself in front of Affleck.

Around 2006, Evans met with Affleck to talk about Gone Baby Gone, which Affleck was directing. Evans was walking down a hallway, looking for the room where they were supposed to meet. Walking by an open office, he heard Affleck, in that thick Boston accent of his, shout, “There he is!” (Evans does a perfect Affleck impersonation.)

By then, Evans had hit the big time for his turn as the Human Torch, Johnny Storm, in 2005’s Fantastic Four, but he still got starstruck. As he tells it, “First thing I say to him: 'Am I going to be okay where I parked?’ He was like, 'Where did you park?’ I said, 'At a meter.’ And he was like, 'Did you put money in the meter?’ And I said, 'Yep.’ And he says, 'Well, I think you’ll be okay.’ I was like, this is off to a great fucking start.” Stating the obvious here: Evans did not get the part.

No, Evans will be heading to the Super Bowl with his brother and three of his closest buddies. Like any self-respecting Pats fan, Evans is super-wicked pissed at NFL commissioner Roger Goodell for imposing that suspension on Tom Brady for Deflategate. Grabbing two beers from a fridge that’s otherwise basically empty, Evans says, “I just want to see Goodell hand the trophy to Brady. Goodell. Piece of shit.”

In Evans’s living room, there’s not a single hint of his Captain Americaness. Earth tones, tables that appear to be made of reclaimed wood. Open. Uncluttered. Glass doors open onto a backyard with a stunning view of the Hills. Evans stretches out on one of two couches. I take the other and ask, “Just whose idea was it to jump?” Since we both know whose idea it wasn’t, we both know that what I’m really asking is Why? Why, dude, do you want to jump (with me) from a goddamn airplane? “Yeah,” he says, popping open his beer, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Settling in on the couch, he groans. Evans explains that he’s hurting all over because he just started his workout routine the day before to get in shape for the next two Captain America films. The movies will be shot back to back beginning in April. After that, no more red- white-and-blue costume for the thirty-five-year-old. He will have fulfilled his contract.

“Yeah,” he says, popping open his beer, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Back in 2010, Marvel presented Evans with a nine-picture deal. He insisted he’d sign on for no more than six. Some family members thought he was nuts to dial back such a secure and lucrative gig. Evans saw it differently.

It takes five months to shoot a Marvel movie, and when you tack on the promotional obligations for each one, well, shit, man. Evans knew that for as long as he was bound to Captain America, he would have little time to take on other projects. He wanted to direct, he wanted to play other characters—roles that were more human—like the lead in Gifted, which will hit theaters this month. The script had brought him to tears. Evans managed to squeeze the movie in between Captain America and Avengers films.

FOX Searchlight

In Gifted, Evans stars as Frank Adler. You don’t get much more human than Adler, a grease-under-his-nails boat-engine mechanic living the bachelor life in Florida. After a series of tragic circumstances, Adler becomes a surrogate father to his niece, Mary, a first-grader with the IQ of Einstein. He recognizes that Mary is a little genius, and he does his best to prevent anyone else from noticing. Given the aforementioned circumstances, Adler has witnessed what can happen when a kid with a brilliant mind is pushed too hard too quickly. Then along comes Mary’s teacher. She discovers the child’s gift, and a Kramer vs. Kramer–esque drama ensues.

During a moment in the film when things aren’t going Adler’s way, he sarcastically refers to himself as a “fucking hero.” Evans says the line didn’t lead him to make comparisons between superhero Steve Rogers (aka Captain America) and Everyman hero Frank Adler. But now that you mention it . . . 

“With Steve Rogers,” Evans says, “even though you’re on a giant movie with a huge budget and strange costumes, you’re still on a hunt for the truth of the character.” That said, “with Adler, it’s nice to play someone relatable. I think Julianne Moore said, 'The audience doesn’t come to see you; they come to see themselves.’ Adler is someone you can hold up as a mirror for someone in the audience. They’ll be able to far more easily identify with Frank Adler than Steve Rogers.”

Dodger. That’s the name of Evans’s dog, the one who headbutted my nuts and has since done a marvelous job of making amends by nuzzling against me on the couch. Evans got him while he was filming Gifted; one of the last scenes was shot in an animal shelter in Georgia. Evans had wanted a dog ever since his last pooch died in 2012. Then he found himself walking the aisles of this pound, and there was this mixed-breed boxer, wagging his tail and looking like he belonged with Evans.

Dodger is not exactly a name you’d think a die-hard Boston sports fan would pick. His boys from back home have given him a ton of shit over it. But he has not abandoned his Red Sox for the L.A. team. As a kid, he loved the Disney animated movie Oliver & Company, and his favorite character was Dodger. Anticipating the grief he was going to get from his pals, Evans considered other names. “You could name your dog Doorknob,” he says, “and in a month he’s fucking Doorknob.” Evans’s mom convinced him to go with his gut.

Right around when Evans was wrapping Gifted and heading back to L.A. with Dodger, the 2016 presidential campaign was still in that phase when no one, including the actor—a Hillary Clinton supporter—thought Trump had a shot. He still can’t believe Trump won.

“I feel rage,” he says. “I feel fury. It’s unbelievable. People were just so desperate to hear someone say that someone is to blame. They were just so happy to hear that someone was angry. Hear someone say that Washington sucks. They just want something new without actually understanding. I mean, guys like Steve Bannon—Steve Bannon!—this man has no place in politics.”

Evans has made, and continues to make, his political views known on Twitter. He tweeted that Trump ought to “stop energizing lies,” and he recently ended up in a heated Twitter debate with former KKK leader David Duke over Trump’s pick of Jeff Sessions for attorney general. Duke baselessly accused Evans of being anti-Semitic; Evans encouraged Duke to try love: “It’s stronger than hate. It unites us. I promise it’s in you under the anger and fear.” Making political statements and engaging in such public exchanges is a rather risky thing for the star of Captain America to do. Yes, advisors have said as much to him. “Look, I’m in a business where you’ve got to sell tickets,” he says. “But, my God, I would not be able to look at myself in the mirror if I felt strongly about something and didn’t speak up. I think it’s about how you speak up. We’re allowed to disagree. If I state my case and people don’t want to go see my movies as a result, I’m okay with that.”

Trump. Bannon. Politics. Now Evans is animated. He gets off the couch, walks out onto his porch, and lights a cigarette. “Some people say, 'Don’t you see what’s happening? It’s time to yell,' ” Evans says. “Yeah, I see it, and it’s time for calm. Because not everyone who voted for Trump is going to be some horrible bigot. There are a lot of people in that middle; those are the people you can’t lose your credibility with. If you’re trying to change minds, by spewing too much rhetoric you can easily become white noise.”


Evans has a pretty remarkable “How I got to Hollywood” story.

During his junior year of high school, he knew he wanted to act. He was doing it a lot. In school. At his mom’s theater. He loved it. “When you’re doing a play at thirteen years old and have opening night? None of my friends had opening nights. 'I can’t have a sleepover, guys; I have an opening night tonight.' ”

That same year, he did a two-man play. For all of the twenty-plus plays Evans had done up to that point, preparation meant going home, memorizing lines, and doing a few run-throughs with the cast. However, for this play, Fallen Star, he and his costar would rehearse by running dialogue with each other. Hour upon hour, night after night.

Fallen Star is about two friends, one of whom has just died. As the play opens, one of the characters comes home after the funeral to find his dead friend’s ghost. Evans was the ghost. Waiting backstage on opening night, he knew he didn’t have every line memorized, but he had the essence and emotion of the play down. Onstage, he remembers, “I was saying the lines not because they were memorized but because the play was in me. I was believing what I was saying.”

He was hooked. He wanted to do more of this kind of acting—real acting. He wanted to do films, in which the camera was right on him and he could just be the character, rather than theater, in which an actor must perform to the back of the room.

A family friend who was a television actor advised Evans that if he wanted to go to Hollywood, he needed an agent. Toward the end of his junior year, he had a ballsy request for his parents: If he found an internship with a casting agent in New York City, would they allow him to live there and cover the rent? They agreed. Evans landed a gig with Bonnie Finnegan, who was then working on the television show Spin City.

“I just fucked off. I lost my virginity that year. 1999 was one of the best years of my life.” Until it wasn’t.

Evans chose to intern with a casting agent because he figured he had more of a chance to interact with other agents trying to get auditions for their clients.

The kid was sixteen years old.

Finnegan put Evans on the phone; his responsibilities included setting up appointments for auditions. By the end of the summer, he picked the three agents he had the best rapport with and asked each of them to give him a five-minute audition. All three said yes. After seeing his audition, all three were interested.

Evans went with the one Finnegan recommended, Bret Adams, who told Evans to return to New York for auditions in January, television pilot season. Back home, Evans doubled up on a few classes the first semester of his senior year, graduated early, and went back to New York in January. He got the same shithole apartment in Brooklyn and the same internship with Finnegan. He landed a part on the pilot Opposite Sex. Even better, the show got picked up and would start shooting in L.A. that fall.

“I know I’m going to L.A. in August,” Evans says, recalling that period. “So I go home and that spring I would wake up around noon, saunter into high school just to see my buddies, and we’d go get high in the parking lot. I just fucked off. I lost my virginity that year. 1999 was one of the best years of my life.” Until it wasn’t.

He wasn’t in L.A. for even a month when he got a call from home. His parents were divorcing. Evans never saw it coming.

Family and love and the struggles therein are part of what attracted Evans to Gifted.

“In my own life, I have a deep connection with my family and the value of those bonds,” he says. “I’ve always loved stories about people who put their families before themselves. It’s such a noble endeavor. You can’t choose your family, as opposed to friends. Especially in L.A. You really get to see how friendships are put to the test; it stirs everyone’s egos. But if something goes south with a friend, you have the option to say we’re not friends anymore. Your family—that’s your family. Trying to make that system work and trying to make it not just functional but actually enjoyable is a really challenging endeavor, and that’s certainly how it is with my family.”


the plane, a decision is made.

“I want to see you jump first,” Evans shouts my way.

Of course he does.

Like any respectable and legal skydiving center, Skydive Perris, which is providing us with this “experience,” doesn’t just strap a chute on your back. First, you go to a room for a period of instruction. Then you go to another room, where you sign away your rights.

You may be wondering how the star of a billion-dollar franchise with two pictures to shoot gets clearance to jump from an airplane—never mind the low rate of fatalities, as Evans has presented it. So am I.

“Well, they give you all these crazy insurance policies, but even if I die, what are they going to do? Sue my family? They’d probably cast some new guy at a cheaper price and save some money.”

Thinking the answer is almost certainly going to be no, I ask Evans if he’s ever gone skydiving before. Turns out he has, with an ex-girlfriend. Turns out that ex-girlfriend is now married to Justin Timberlake. Evans and Jessica Biel dated off and on from 2001 to 2006. They took the leap together when Biel hatched the idea for one Valentine’s Day. According to media accounts, Evans was recently dating his Gifted costar Jenny Slate, who plays the teacher. “Yeah,” he says, “but I’m steering clear of those questions.” You can almost feel his heart pinch.

“There’s a certain shared life experience that is tough for someone else who’s not in this industry to kind of wrap their head around.”

We end up broadly discussing the unique challenges an international star like Evans faces when it comes to dating, specifically the trust factor. Evans supposes that’s why so many actors date other actors: “There’s a certain shared life experience that is tough for someone else who’s not in this industry to kind of wrap their head around,” he says. “Letting someone go to work with someone for three months and they won’t see them. It really, it certainly puts the relationship to the test.”

In Gifted, there’s a moment when Slate’s character asks Adler what his greatest fear is. Frank Adler’s greatest fear is that he’ll ruin his niece’s life. Evans’s greatest fear is having regrets.

“Like always kind of wanting to be there as opposed to here. I think I’m worried all of a sudden I’ll get old and have regrets, realize that I’ve not cultivated enough of an appreciation for the now and surrendering to the present moment.”

Evans’s musings have something to do with the fact that he has been reading The Surrender Experiment. “It’s about the basic notion that we are only in a good mood when things are going our way,” he says. “The truth is, life is going to unfold as it’s going to unfold regardless of your input. If you are an active participant in that awareness, life kind of washes over you, good or bad. You kind of become Teflon a little bit to the struggles that we self-inflict.”

He continues: “Our conscious minds are very spread out. We worry about the past. We worry about the future. We label. And all of that stuff just makes us very separate. What I’m trying to do is just quiet it down. Put that brain down from time to time and hope those periods of quiet and stillness get longer. When you do that, what rises from the mist is a kind of surrendering. You’re more connected as opposed to being separate. A lot of the questions about destiny or fate or purpose or any of that stuff—it’s not like you get answers. You just realize you didn’t need the questions.”

This here—this stuff about surrendering, letting life unfold, taking the leap—this is why he wanted to go skydiving. It’s why that sixteen-year-old took the leap and did the summer in New York; it’s why he took the leap and turned down the nine-picture deal; it’s why he got Dodger. Surrender. Take the leap.

And so I go first.

Oh, one important detail: Novice jumpers like Evans and me, we don’t jump solo. Thank God. Each of us is doing a tandem jump. Each of us is strapped with our back to a professional jumper’s front. I’m strapped to a forty-four-year-old dude named Paul. Considering what’s about to happen, I figure I should know a little something about Paul. He tells me he used to own a bar in Chicago. Evans is strapped to a young woman named Sam, who looks to be twenty-something. She’s got a purplish-pink streak in her black hair and says things like “badass.” In fact, Sam introduced herself  by saying, “I’m Sam, but you can call me Badass.”

At the plane’s open door, my mind goes to my wife and two teenage sons, to those I love, and to the texts I just sent in case my chute fails. Then Paul and I—well, really mostly Paul—rock gently back and forth to build momentum to push away from the plane, to push away from all that seems sane.

Three.

Two.

One.

Holy fuck.

HOLY FUCK. This is what I scream as we free-fall from 12,500 feet, at more than a hundred miles an hour, toward the earth. Which I cannot take my eyes off of. I think about nothing. Not living. Not dying. Nothing. I simply feel . . . I have let go.

Suddenly, it all stops. I’m jerked up. Paul has pulled the chute, and it does indeed open. This is fantastic, because it means we have a much better chance of not dying. But it’s also kind of a bummer. I had let go. Of everything. I had chosen to play those odds Evans had talked about. I had embraced jumping and letting life unfold.

Now I had been jerked back. I would land. Back on the earth I had been so high above and from which I had been so far removed. Back in all of it.

Once I’m on the ground, safe and in one piece, a staffer runs over and asks how I feel. I say, “I feel like Captain America.”

The staffer runs over and asks Evans the same question. He says he feels great. Then he’s asked another question: What was your favorite part?

“Jumping out,” he says. “Jumping out is always a real thrill.”


This article appears in the April '17 issue of Esquire.

Today’s question that can be easily answered with the word “racism”– Why did everyone think Kylo was abused as a child?

Yup.

I mean, we see it in the news all the time. A white man shoots up a school, and we need to have instant coverage on every moment in his life, from his siblings to his dog to his prom date, and we have to pick everything apart to find the reason he did what he did, rather than just– I don’t know. Acknowledging that some white men are entitled assholes who think they’re allowed to do whatever they want?

(Compare to any nonwhite men, who must have done it because [insert reasoning based on race or religion here.])

And this happened exactly the same way it always does with Kylo Ren (or, for these folks, Ben Solo.)

The second the film came out, everyone just assumed Snoke showed up and bullied Ben Solo into submission at age five, and because Han and Leia criminally abused him, Ben became mentally ill and turned to the dark side at age fifteen. 

But there’s… nothing that suggests that specific line of reasoning?

Sure, Snoke was watching Kylo from a young age (at least, from Leia’s perspective.)

Sure, it sucks ass to have voices in your head that you don’t like (though there… doesn’t appear to be evidence that Kylo didn’t like having Snoke around.)

And sure, Han and Leia may not have been the best parents.

But Kylo went to the dark side when he was a full-grown adult. He went dark at 22, just seven years before the film. He was never the innocent, poor tortured child everyone thought he was. On the contrary, he’s an entitled man who thinks he deserves to be just like Vader.

Adam Driver’s comments on Kylo’s family can also be chalked up to his own entitlement when you compare them to Pablo Hidalgo’s words on the matter. 

As @the-bi-writer put it, Kylo essentially had the same type of parents as someone whose parents worked a lot. As much as I hate to be the guy who talks about what is and isn’t abuse, you need to have a pretty lax definition of neglect for this to count– hell, Han was still around in Bloodlines, he wasn’t even an absent father then.

There was never anything specific to suggest a tortured boy.

Fandom made that up.

Just like we made up a whole bunch of other stuff. There are thousands of tropes and concepts we made up, and when we combine this sympathetic view of young Kylo with the entire fake personality given to Hux and the characterization of Finn as ‘aggressive’ or ‘disrespecting Rey’s boundaries’ and the fact that some people still think Poe isn’t part of the new trio, it’s pretty obvious that the things fandom makes up are generally racist.

The key to love, my father told me, was to never love someone more than they love you. So when, after dating for five months, Christopher Moore was the first to say “I Love You”, I thought I had hit the “Love Jackpot”. I say this because, prior to him saying it at that very moment, I had never given thought to the possibility that I could love him in return. Standing in front of my apartment building, nervous and excited, facing him and his smile, I questioned whether love was the word to describe what I was feeling. High school love, after all, is quite trivial with it’s ins and outs. Nevertheless after weighing the theoretical pros and cons of love, I decided that I was in love, at least in some respects. He was handsome, smart, sweet, and I enjoyed his company. This is what I believed love boiled down to; four factors. Honesty, clearly, was something I overlooked. About a year and 7 months into our blissful love affair, after graduation had passed and we had spent the summer taking all the cliché couple pictures, Chris decided that he “just couldn’t go on lying to me anymore. “Jenine” he told me “this guilt is eating me alive!”. I imagine there wasn’t much of him left, as it had been “eating away at him” for 6 months. This is when I learned that there is no “key” to love; no guide, no tips, no 101 course, because love is lived and learned; never taught. Try as you may, to forgo the pain of love, you’ll find joy in knowing that it’s survive-able and moreover, sometimes the good outweighs the bad. No, Chris wasn’t the love of my life, but he gave life to my ability to love.

“Never” my father said “let love override your faculty of reason.” Easier said, than done. My next love was Jeremy Bishop. Before you ask, of course there were others between Chris and Jeremy. But this is a story about love; not “almost loves”,“semi loves”, and “could’ve beens”. Jeremy’s love was the worst kind of love. The kind that doesn’t have a reason to exist but somehow it does and you’re glad. Its sole purpose is to debilitate your mind, forcing you to follow only your emotions. While Jeremy was dreamy, I learned that the man of your dreams can sometimes be the root of your nightmares.

I met Jeremy my junior year at _________ University. It was a Sunday and I had been studying in the library for an anthropology midterm and decided that I would take a break. Putting my highlighter down & flexing my hand I stood up & headed towards the bathroom. As I walked through the stacks, passing my hand across the rows of books I’d never read, my friend Denise spotted me and waved me over. Walking swiftly I made my way to the table she was stationed it & gathered that she had been studying all day as all. Splayed papers, open textbooks, two highlighters, & her laptop with several window open screamed “cram session” to me. After having sat & talked for some time about school & it’s “scammagry”, I noticed that someone had taken a seat at the end of the table. You know those typical movies where two people look up at the same time & smile coyly at one another? Well that’s what happened with us…….minus the smiling. When Jeremy & I caught eyes it was more of an inquisitive stare down. I relented because who really stares at a stranger for lengths at a time? Apparently Jeremy does because every time I looked up he was looking at me or perhaps through me. Whatever the case was I asked Denise if she could “Excuse me for one second?” as I got up from my seat and sauntered over to Jeremy, running my fingernails along the wooden table that both separated and joined us.

He was brown skinned but it was a rich brown that I often found myself lost in. He had brown hair that was cut low to avoid maintenance & also to spite his mother who so much loved it longer. His eyes were almost black they were so dark, yet you never asked someone to hit the lights when staring into them. He had a slight dimple on the right side of face that only presented itself in the presence of his mother, its creator.

“I know you or something?” I said, to which he looked up & responded “No you don’t. But since you’re already here, I’m Jeremy. Nice to meet you….” he said moving his hand in that circular waiting motion “this is usually the part where you tell me your name”. He was sarcastic & forthcoming and I liked it. “This is usually the part when I’d say Jenine. My name is Jenine. Though I’m not sure it’s nice to meet you.” “Well Jenine, do you have HIST 256 on Mondays & Thursdays? I think that’s where I’ve seen you before.” “Well Jeremy, had I known you were a stalker I would’ve stayed at the other end of the table” “A stalker Jenine? Really? I think you’re mistaking my keen eye for details.” “I stand corrected then. I just had no idea I was noticeable to your "keen eye”, I said, making air quotes. He leaned in & said, “Maybe Jenine, just maybe there’s a lot of things you don’t know. I’d be happy to fill you in though. If you were ever free.” “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems to me, Jeremy, that you’re asking me out.” “It seems that way, because it is that way. But enough with this, would you be interested in going out?” “I’ll contemplate it.”

A week later Jeremy picked me up in his beat up silver 2010 Toyota Corolla. Got out & offered to close the door for me not because he was a gentleman but because I literally couldn’t close it myself. He told me he wanted to show me his favorite place in all of Brooklyn. We drove for about 15 mins and parked in DUMBO; my favorite place. As we walked to the pier he barraged me with every menial question from favorite color to top five movies. I stopped his questioning because I realized I knew nothing about him. “What about you?” I said. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.” “I’m a Taurus. Now back to you.” “Your sign. You gave me the third degree and in return you tell me your astrological sign??” “I’m really not that interesting. I kind of just go with the flow nothing special really.” “I could say the same about myself but you don’t see me spewing monotonous facts about myself” “That’s just it though. You’re very interesting. I see you twice a week & you never look the same to me. Always a different hairstyle, new lipstick, different outfit. You keep me guessing & well…I like that.” “Different outfit…Did you expect me to have the same clothes on like a cartoon character?”

Jeremy took my clothes off the way he took down my walls; slowly & intently. I never felt exposed or vulnerable. It was easy with him & who doesn’t like easy? The first time we had sex he kissed every scar and stretch mark on my body while he whispered beautiful and for the first time I believed it. This is when I knew I loved him; this is when I knew he loved me. We fell into a routine & inevitably, that’s how we fell apart. We saw each other four-five times a week in between work, school & our respective friends. I’d meet him after work or he’d meet me after class, we’d get some food or I’d cook, we’d talk, then go back to his dorm room or my house & somewhere in between there we’d fuck once or twice & that would be that. Talk, Eat, Fuck, Repeat. This, I should inform you, was the foundation for our dismantling. Jeremy grew tired of our monotony, I suppose, & because of that he started talking to a female customer who had “just so happened” to frequent his job. In talking they “just so happened” to find they had “so much in common” & somehow Jeremy’s dick “just so happened” to be in her mouth when I walked into his dorm room to get the spare phone charger I left there just in case. “Oh Mahh Gahhhh” is what Celeste said with his dick slighty tucked to the left side of her mouth because it wouldn’t have been polite to pull it out all together; though I’m sure there was no God she could ever call her own. Startled yet surprisingly indifferent I found my charger in the first drawer of his night stand now decoratively arrayed with ripped condom wrappers and I closed the door behind me.

Walking out of the apartment I didn’t feel anything but when I reached the stairs it hit me and when Jeremy came running out of his room, pulling his boxers up I looked up at him from the top stair I was sitting on & hit him right in the groin. “Shit! Ahh! Damn, J! Come on!” he winced . “Come on?? Excuse me?!? You’re such a fucking dickhead. Like what the fuck?” “I know. I know. I’m sorry babe. You gotta believe me! I swear it’ll never happen again.” & that’s what I wanted to believe after all; that this was just a bump along our road; that we could get through this because we could get through anything. So when Jeremy crouched down in front of me, put his hand under my chin, looked me right in the eye and told me he was “so sorry”, that he “really loved me”, that he was “mad stupid for doing that” I believed him & gave us another chance because I wasn’t ready to admit failure.

Celeste Soto was the average full figured broad who just “couldn’t help” falling for other women’s boyfriends, husbands, fiancés, you name it. Walking back into his room, I found her putting her left shoe on with one hand on his desk for balance. “You gotta believe mama” she said “I didn’t know he even had a girl. You feel me? I wouldn’t have done anything with him. Thas crazy disrespectful. My bad.” as she adjusted her bra strap and pulled her hair into a messy bun. Turning slighty towards Jeremy, I looked at him as if to say “really?!? THIS was the best you could do??” and he lowered his head, and stared at this one spot on the carpet that he could never get out. Not only had Jeremy cheated but he chose the lowest of women to do it with. “First of all, I’m not one of your friends so I don’t know why you’re calling me "mama” & no I don’t “feel” you nor do I intend to. Get your shit and get out!“ When she was gone I searched the apartment for remnants of her presence, prior to that days visit. An earring, a hair tie, maybe a lip balm. I found nothing or maybe I wasn’t really looking.

For eight months straight Jeremy was on his BEST behavior. He’d let me know where he was at all times as to ensure that he wasn’t out cheating; send pictures as proof on some occasions. I have to admit, though I was secure in his whereabouts, I was also sure that this was not how healthy relationships works. Nevertheless I looked forward to each notification because afterall "once a cheater……"you know the rest. One night I went over to his place to cook dinner, partially to ensure he wouldn’t be feeding Celeste or any other girl his penis but also because this is what I missed most about us. I had become so preoccupied with deciding whether or not I could trust him that I wasn’t concerned with trying to make us seem normal. After dinner we were in his bed tearing at each other’s clothes & after switching positions five times he looked down at me & said "I can’t do this”. Looking back at him I said “it’s cool I wasn’t feeling it either honestly”. “Not this” he said falling to my side, facing the ceiling “I mean like this….us”. Somehow though I knew that was what he had meant. This ball of something akin to both fear & anger welled up in my throat & grew until finally all I could say was “oh”. One tear fell from my eye & couldn’t allow myself to shed another. “This whole time” he said getting up from the bed “I wasn’t with you because I wanted to be. I was with you because I didn’t want to let you down.” He was pacing back & front at the foot of the bed, lifting his hands to his head then retracting them, looking over at me occasionally for assurance of my understanding. So he continued "I couldn’t let your last image of me be somebody who betrayed you. I had to prove you wrong & that’s selfish. I’m sorry. I don’t want to be in a relationship I’m not fully committed to. It isn’t fair to either of us J & you can hate me but I’d rather you hate me for being honest.” “Is this a joke? Please tell me you’re kidding right now” I said, half laughing half crying. “Let me get this straight” I said, sitting upright in his bed, pulling my shirt over my head “You cheated…..You lied…..YOU fucked up….You begged for another chance!…and my stupid ass gave you one. I’m just so lost right now.” This is when I realized I never should have sat on those steps & cried. I should’ve ran out of that building like it was on fire because guys like him will always burn you.

Some nights I could still hear his footsteps pacing the floor & I’d wonder when in the hell it would be over. When I’d stop crying; when I’d realize I was better off without him. But there’s this moment & I know it sounds cliche but you just wake up & you feel different you feel like you can begin again. One morning I woke up and knew Jeremy would never have a hold on me the way he did before, but more importantly I didn’t want him to.

The thing about baggage is that you never realize how much of it you carry around. In fact you assume that more often than not you don’t carry any at all because you’re “over it” or you’ve “moved on”. You’ll find yourself compromising because you just want someone to call at night; that wants only you. “Trust me.” my mother said “There will be others and don’t think that you have to look for them or that you have to settle.” My mother had a way with words. I’m not sure if that’s necessarily a good thing but the fact remains that when she said those words to me I wished she had kept her opinion to herself. I would never settle…..or at least I didn’t think I would.

I knew I didn’t love Benjamin the first time he came inside me & I wished I had never come to his apartment, let alone into his room splayed with dirty laundry that he was “gonna get to”. More importantly I knew I couldn’t love Benjamin, not the way I wanted to at least, when he told me I’m just like my mother. This sounds stupid I know, but let me explain.

After a week of working overtime, my best friend Selene dragged me out of my apartment for a night of bar hopping. Upon walking into our third stop, Benjamin grabbed my hand & told me I was pretty. That was it. There was no drawn out conversation, no playing hard to get, it was very low stakes. I gave him my number & before I got to the next bar he had called & asked when he could see me again. “Tomorrow” I said.

The next evening Benjamin showed up at my apartment with no plan other than to show up. We decided to see a movie.

The movie we saw doesn’t matter. Neither does the fact that we went to the movies. What matters is that after we left the movies, Benjamin grabbed both my hands & kissed me. When he stopped & I looked up at him he said “You taste like stale popcorn”. I thought “what the fuck?” & then he reminded me that we shared a popcorn. Our entirely relationship was like this; constant reminders of things I should have been aware of.

Ben was different from Jeremy because he never lied to me. That doesn’t necessarily mean that’s a good thing though. His honesty was one that I had to grow accustomed to. We had been dating for about two months, when I called him asking if he wanted to get dinner later & he simply replied “no”. No explanation, no rain check, no apology; he just hung up. Later he’d text me & say that we should get breakfast instead the next day because he liked being the first person I talked to in the morning. He never hid anything from me. Girls would text him, telling him how much they “missed him” how much “fun” they used to have & he’d show me his phone while laughing & ask what I thought he should say in his reply. It was almost inconceivable, how much he included me in his decisions when it came to other women. Co-workers would invite him out to dinner & drinks after work, over to their apartments, concerts & he would ask me, not if he could go (because he was going to do what he wanted regardless) or if I wanted to come with, but how I’d feel if he went it with them. We’d be waiting for our heart rates to drop back to normal after sex; our skin still dewy and tingling and he’d say “the last time was better” or “you faked it, but that’s cool” as he got up and ambled to the bathroom & I’d wonder if he had to be so honest with me all the time.

I woke up one day to him sitting at my kitchen table in just some sweatpants, signing a card. Next to him there was a huge bouquet of sunflowers. I walked over to him, fixing my bed hair into a bed bun & when I sat down he was startled. “I didn’t think you’d be up this early” he said & I looked over at the clock on microwave. “It’s after 11……does that even count as early?” I said. He looked up at me, then at the clock, then back at me & shrugged “I guess not”. I asked “Who’s the card for?” & as he sealed it, he handed to me & said “Happy Anniversary Sweetness” with no inflection. My face dropped to the floor, along with the card. “An anniversary?” I thought “have we really been dating a year? Maybe it’s like a six month anniversary? But that’s not even an anniversary!” After a few mental “Fuck!!”’s, I pulled myself together, awkwardly smiled as I picked up the card & opened it. It had been a year since I moved into my own place. In the card he wrote about how happy he was for me; that he knew how big of a deal it was for me to live on my own & he wanted me to know that it was just as important to him. I cried out of relief. He thought I was overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness, primarily because as I closed the card, hugged him, wiped my tears and sniffled into his neck, I whispered “Thank you. This means a lot.”. One year of independence; something I should have been aware of.

The first time he told me he loved me, I opened my mouth to respond & he placed his index finger on my parted lips. “Stop” he said. “Not everything I say deserves or should be met with a response Jenine. I love you. That’s it.” I of course flew into defense. “So I can’t say it back? I can’t love you in return? What kind of bullshit is that Ben? You can’t just say something like that & expect me not to say anything back.” “I never said you can’t say anything back. But think about it baby, I said I love you & your first instinct was to respond. You didn’t even really take the moment in. That’s what I’m saying. I don’t want you to love me back because I love you. I want you to love me because you actually love me.” I felt little, like a child, like I had been put in my place, handled, dealt with, but I wouldn’t let him know. “You’re such an asshole sometimes” I said “but that Benjamin, for your information, is why I love you. Because you’re only an asshole sometimes”.

There are two important things I remember from when I broke up with Ben:

1. It was raining.
2. He told me I should’ve ended us a long time ago.

I came back to the apartment from the gym. As I shook my umbrella walking through the door, Ben sauntered by in his usual attire, house sweats and no shirt, saying “You must love mopping.” in a condescending tone. I happily returned the tone saying “Definitely. I just love it! Can’t get enough.” as I rolled my eyes and the umbrella up, fastening it shut. I walked over to the kitchen & checked the fridge. All that was left was this chicken Parmesan “thing” I had attempted to make three days earlier & it looked like a big pile of mush at that point. I chucked it & decided that take out sounded good. I had a taste for some pad thai so the choice was easy. Picking up my phone & dialing the number I thought it might be a good idea to ask Ben what he wanted but I figured he’d eat whatever I ordered him. So I made the call, ordered Chicken Pad Thai and another peanut sauce dish with shrimp, and hung up. As soon as my phone had ended the call, Benjamin started an argument. “Why would you order food without asking me what I wanted?” he asked me walking out of the bedroom and I replied “I ordered food for us both. No need to say thank you”. He walked towards the window to look out but really it was all dramatics because our window looks directly at the alley behind our building that holds nothing but two dumpsters and a few forgotten cats. “Why would I say thank you to you for doing something I never asked you to do?” he said with his back turned to me “Sometimes” he scoffed, almost laughing, as he looked at the rain collect in the window sill. “Sometimes I don’t get you. Like after all this time you still do shit that irritates me and I wonder why the fuck I still want to lay next to you at night or wake up with you in the morning.” I was sitting on the sofa, absentmindedly playing with the tag on this pillow I bought two years before when he & I had just started dating. He told me the pattern on it reminded him of us; that the lines never intersected. They just changed direction. “Nobody is holding you here Ben. You can leave anytime you’d like.” I said as I picked up the remote & turned on the television.

Thirty-five minutes later I was annoyed that the food hadn’t arrived but also because Ben never left the window. He just stayed there staring at the rain while it sheeted down the window screen and when thunder roared he’d just sigh. “What could be taking this food so long? The place isn’t even that far.” I complained. “It’s the rain Jenine. Everything slows when it rains. People, cars, buses, trains, bikes, they all slow.” He paused “You also might want to factor in the idea that a bunch of people order take out on a night like this.” I answered back “I knew that!……why are you always telling me things as if I don’t know them? As if I’m not aware? It’s just annoying. You’re annoying.” Ben walked away from the window & towards the kitchen counter. He planted his two hands palm down on the counter, hoisted himself up to sit on it, looked at me & said “Maybe it’s not me that annoys you Jenine. Maybe you can’t admit that I’m ever fucking right! I can’t ever make a point without you saying “I knew that!”. If you knew it Jenine…..then why would you say half the shit you say or do half the shit you do.“ I paused the lifetime movie I had been somehow become invested in and pressed a metaphorical "play” on the scene that was unfolding in our living room. “I don’t know Ben. Maybe you’re right” I replied as I sat up, crossed my legs and interlaced my fingers over my knee. “Maybe I can’t handle the fact that you make valid points. Or perhaps it’s the fact that you can’t ever let me be wrong without making me look like a complete ass. You’re always so philosophical. "Oh thee "all knowing Ben!” Ohh he who knows more than anyone!“ I mocked. "It’s insulting. For someone who is just so wise you damn sure don’t know how to do your own fucking laundry, or wash a dish, or aim your penis directly into the bowl when you pee. Stop with the bullshit. We both have our faults.” My phone rang. The food was downstairs.

I threw on my worn out flip flops and shuffled down the 3 flights of stairs. Walking back into the apartment with food in hand, I saw that Ben had returned to the window. He walked over to the kitchen counter where I was standing, taking the food out of the brown paper bag & said “You said your ordered me food.” “I just ordered two things off the menu. I figured we’d just share.” I reasoned. “Right I get that but I don’t like peanuts. You know that. Don’t you? I’ve told you this. I’m sure I have as we’ve been together give or take I don’t know 2 & half years!” “Dammit! I whispered to myself. "I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking & I was hungry & I’m…..sorry. I’m just sorry.” “It’s fine” he said. “I should’ve just picked something up on the way home. It isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this. You’re like your mother in that way.” “Like my mother? All of this over some take out? Listen, good luck with dinner.” I said as I grabbed a plastic fork at the bottom of the bag & headed back to the sofa. “Yeah, like your mother.” he continued, following me. “You’re always complaining that she never listens to you; that you have to remind her of things you’ve already told her. Yet, here you are never listening to me. It’s not even about the apology. It’s that I just don’t think you’re really sorry at all.” he retorted. “Fair enough.” I said, putting my food down on the coffee table. “You wanna know what I’m really sorry about Ben? Huh? Fine. I’m sorry I moved in with you. I’m sorry I’ve been in this relationship for this long because we’ll never be good enough for one another. You know that right? We’re always going to be like this Ben.” I said, pointing at the pace between with both hands. “It’s never going to be enough that we love each other. There’s gotta be more to love than whatever the fuck we’re doing. I just don’t think this is healthy. I don’t think we’re growing here. Do you?”. “Now that J…that’s the most honest thing you’ve said to me. You’re always saying what you think I want to hear and that’s my problem with you. You never say what the hell you want because you think too much about it. We are growing, it’s just apart from one another.” He sighed, finally saying “Look, I’m tired.” as he walked exhaustedly back towards the bedroom, on an empty stomach & closed the door behind him. I couldn’t figure out if he meant he was tired of us, of the arguing, of never really getting back to how we were or if he was honestly tired.

I slept on the sofa & I use the term “slept” very lightly. What I really did was stare at the ceiling, trying to figure out if this was really it for Ben & I. If that was our last real conversation; if that even counted as a conversation. I planned out what I’d say in the morning after we’d both had time to think & reflect. I’d tell him I was sorry about going off & that it’s not that I don’t want to try to make it work but that I don’t even think trying is worth an actual try. I thought about it & felt like the whole relationship was a perpetual “try”. We’d just kept getting up, dusting each other off, & holding hands until we’d fall again thinking it didn’t matter because we’d fallen together. How many times do you have to fall before you realize that perhaps it isn’t the ground that’s tripping you up? That it might just be you. Do you have to scrape your knees a few times or fall flat on your face? How do you know when you’ve had enough?

I laid there falling in & out of sleep. I had this weird dream that I was baking a cake. I kept checking on it. Ben was there but he didn’t really say much. Finally I took it out of the oven & it was burnt around the edges. He shuffled over to the stovetop & looked at the cake with a somber face. “I told you it was done 10 minutes ago. You should’ve taken it out.” he said & I just stared at him blankly because he was right. I turned the pan over and the cake popped out. I let it cool, frosted it and cut a piece. Jeremy hunched over the counter top and watched me put the cake on a plate with confusion. “You’re just going to eat a burnt cake?” he questioned me. I had just taken my first bite and was going in for a second when I looked up at him and said “It still tastes good so what’s the difference?”. “The difference, Jenine, is that you know the whole cake doesn’t taste good. Only certain parts do. Why don’t you just throw it out and make another one?” he said walking over to the cake, lifting the plate up at different points and angles to get a good look at it. It was as though he was wondering how the frosting did anything but make the cake look even sadder. I licked the last bit of frosting off my fork and said “Because, burnt or not burnt, I still love cake.”

I woke up to a sliver of sunlight shining through the living room across the floor & stopping right at the front door. I sat up & checked the time. It was 7:06. I decided I’d go to the bedroom and get some real rest. I stood up & stumbled towards the bedroom. As soon as I reached the door, Ben was coming out of the room. He was dressed & had 2 bags with him not including the backpack he’d never leave the house without. All of the things I had planned on saying were forgotten. I could barely see straight, let alone gather the words I wanted to say. He looked at me then said “Sorry. Can I just get by?”. “Sure!” I blurted out as I moved to the left, almost jumping. He walked towards the front door & I asked “Umm can at least ask where you’re going?”. He stopped moving and turned, telling me “I thought about what you said J. About us not being enough for one another. I guess I just always thought it would work itself out. But I see what you mean. I don’t know the exact moment when you came to that conclusion, or maybe you decided it, but you should’ve ended us then instead of now. So I’m leaving. I guess I’ll pick up the rest of my stuff over the next couple of weeks.”. That’s it. He was gone. Whatever he had left, the “stuff” he mentioned, was never picked up. They were minuscule items really; a toothbrush, some body wash, a value pack of razors. Things that made you think of him, even though they were all replaceable. It didn’t take long for me to realize that much like the burnt cake, I still loved Ben.

To be continued or whatever…….

Love Always Wakes the Dragon

(and suddenly flames everywhere)

It could be worse. You do have all the luxuries befitting a princess, though one charged with treason. But a gilded cage is still a cage. And the prospect of withering away in this, the tallest tower of the Palace of Asgard, in the same place where your once-betrothed will live and marry and rule from, it’s almost too much to bear.


author: buckysbackpackbuckle
pairing: Thor x Jotun!Reader
word count: 4067
warnings: brat prince Thor, unprotected sex, oral sex, hair pulling, choking

Keep reading

You Were The One

Characters: Y/N (reader), Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Amara (mentioned), Charlie Bradbury (mentioned), Charlie (OMC), Castiel (mentioned)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: fear of loss, abandonment, pregnancy - I don’t know SPNish stuff.  

Word Count: 3000ish

A/N: This is 1 out of my 13 entries for @mamapeterson / @mrs-squirrel-chester’s Album Fanfiction Challenge where I chose the album “Smoke and Mirrors” by Imagine Dragons. The song prompt for this fic is: The Fall

Thanks so much to @blacktithe7 for betaing this for me.

Frozen. Everything around you was completely still, and you saw nothing but the man standing in the doorway to your bedroom. The world around you stopped. The smell of death and blood hanging in the air wasn’t apparent to you any longer. You didn’t feel the cold night air biting your skin. You barely heard the voice roaring through the room asking if you were okay, if you were all okay.

A sharp cry sounded through the house, and you snapped back to reality. You broke away from his gaze, sprinting through the room past the tall brown haired man in the doorway. Sam. The man that had been like a brother to you. The man you had confided everything in, everything except the thing that had mattered the most. You ran down the hallway with his voice ringing after you, insuring you your son was okay. You knew that Sam had checked on him before coming to see you. Of course you knew that, but you still had to see him with your own eyes. You had almost lost your heart tonight, what was left of it anyway. It was held by your son, Charles Dean Y/L/N. Charlie for short. Named after your late best friend and his father.

The man you had never thought you’d see again stood in the doorway when you turned around with your son in your arms. You knew he was coming, but seeing him stand merely feet away from you still  made your heart leap out of your chest. You had no idea what to do or say. This was your decision, and now you were going to have to face the consequences of it. His eyes weren’t on you. They were fixated on the baby in your arms. This had not been the way it was suppose to happen. This was not the way you had wanted him to find out.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

hi! i really liked your meta on the recent chapter and i wanted to know your opinion on why levi chose armin instead of erwin? im not trying to start drama but i just keep thinking about what flock said on chapter 90 and i dont know how i feel about it still. what are your thoughts on the subject??

Ahh. I understand, anon. I’ve given my thoughts on this before but, not since the original spoilers came out. After rereading the entire arc, I definitely have a few things to add. So, get comfy because this answer will be a really long one, and also best read on a computer because this will contain a lot of images.

DISCLAIMER:

This is my personal opinion. In no way am I stating what I say here is entirely canon or completely accurate. if you disagree with my opinion, that’s perfectly fine! Everyone has a different point of view, but if you are going to send me messages trying to argue point of views with me, tell me I’m wrong, or send me hate messages; do us both a favor and please just don’t even bother.

Let me start this out by saying that I’m positive a lot of people will not agree or even like my opinion on this but, I will be completely honest in my statements on the matter. 

Flocke’s little speech made a lot of sense to me. Especially when it comes to Erwin but, it also pissed me off for a couple of reasons, and no, not because of his tone. It’s because of his ignorance. However, I am fully aware that I, as a reader of the story, get a first hand view of everything that happens. Flocke is a new recruit who was, up until recently, completely unaware of a lot that has gone on with the Survey Corps. 

Regardless though, he still slightly pissed me off and you asked so therefor, I will answer lol. The first thing I want to touch on is how he complains about being a coward who didn’t understand the dangers of the role he was playing in the Wall Maria reclaiming mission because people weren’t honest with him. 

BRUH…

For seventy years it has been no secret that at least 60% of all Survey Corps soldiers die on missions. Erwin point blank stated this when the 104th took to their ranks during his little joining speech. The dangers of fighting titans wasn’t something anyone tried to hide or keep tucked away in the hopes that soldiers would ignorantly join their ranks, and I doubt VERY highly that the dangers of the BIGGEST MISSION THE SURVEY CORPS HAD EVER PLANNED TO ATTEMPT was some massive smoke screen.

This dude knew his chances of survival were slim, and he also knew that his chances of having to sacrifice his life was very, very high. Especially since he originally refused to join to SC in the first place! Truthfully, this part right here just read off as someone who joined their ranks in the hopes of gaining some glory to me, and that made me salty. 

I did agree highly with his last question though. They all have every right to know how much their sacrifice is worth. I had this feeling deep in my gut the first time I saw the female titan arc. No one knew the dangers they were actually being put in, save for the veteran soldiers in the legion. Granted, it’s entirely understandable as to why but, at the same time, hundreds were lost without knowing why. That was a sad, and unfair thought, and a move I didn’t entirely agree with. So, I can understand Flocke’s viewpoint here. However, as I stated above, IT WAS NO SECRET PEOPLE DIED ON MISSIONS. 

Which leads me to the second and final reason his speech pissed me off:

That statement right there made me want to strangle this dude because he just outright undermined Levi to a severe degree. Not just Levi but, his bond with Erwin as well. As if Erwin wasn’t important to Levi too. Like Levi didn’t threaten to break this mans legs to try and keep him alive. Plus, he undermined how hard it was for Levi to ultimately make the choice he made. He shat on all of that in one sentence, and to make it worse, he called the choice an irrational one when he point blank states just one panel above this that he doesn’t know Armin well at all. 

HOW DO YOU KNOW IF IT’S AN IRRATIONAL CHOICE IF YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW THE PERSON YOU’RE BITCHING ABOUT?! 

Ugh, anywayssssss, let me lower my salt intake here and get to the point. 

I understand why people would question Armin’s survival over Erwin’s. I get it. Erwin was The Fucking MAN™ . He got shit done. Changed things in the walls for the better. He was the man with a plan and someone who sacrificed everything he had to learn the truth of the world. This leads me to why I think Levi ended up ultimately choosing Armin. 

Let me start off with this panel here and then work my way up.

Some of Kenny’s parting words to Levi. These words played a massive factor in Levi’s final decision. 

Erwin’s main goal, his dream, was to learn the truth of the world. He wanted to know what was beyond the walls and where the titans came from, and he wanted to learn all of this for the sake of his father. His goal was a worthy one and I am sad that he did not get to see it through but, his dream would have ended in Shiganshina one way or another. Whether he died, or whether he saw the basement; that was as far as his dream reached as far as Levi was aware at the time. [

Then we have Armin. 

Armin’s dreams would start outside of the walls. They stretched far beyond one end goal and one thing to fight for, and his dreams were ones he wanted to share with close friends. Much like how Levi had a dream he wished to share with his close friends back in the day too. Armin wanted to see the world. To explore and learn everything their was to know about life and land outside of their walled prison. This was Armin’s reason for becoming a Scout. 

So here we have two different people with different goals. Both of which Levi cares about and doesn’t want to see die. Both could help humanity. Both were brilliant and extremely intelligent. So, why Armin and not the seasoned commander?

Levi’s last words to Erwin are for him to let that dream go and to trust him to carry it out instead. I’m sure that Erwin was full aware that Levi had every intention of saving him if it was at all possible but, even knowing the risk towards his own life; Erwin accepted Levi’s order’s full on and with a relieved smile. Thankful to not have to burden himself under the guilt of wanting to abandon his post as Commander simply to learn the truth. For no longer having the chance to consider betraying all of those that were lost for a selfish goal. 

In the end, Erwin was absolutely selfless. and rid of the desire plaguing his heart. He was at peace with the position he was in and chose to ride with his men into the fray. All because Levi took the burden of their lives onto his own shoulders - something he never does - and because he trusted Levi to succeed. 

So, after this is said and done, we are left with Levi having to make a choice and duking it out with Eren and Mikasa on a rooftop for who will get the serum. Levi seems entirely hell bent on saving Erwin but, I believe what shook his firm resolve was this moment right here:

Ironic that Flocke is so quick to shit talk Levi’s choice when his comment right here is most likely one of the reasons Levi ended up choosing Armin.

Levi’s expression says a million different things in this one panel. The idea of reviving Erwin as a titan, to still lead and sacrifice people for a goal that Levi isn’t even sure exists at all breaks his determination. As far as he could see, Erwin just wanted to learn the truth. What Erwin would do after that was a mystery, even to Erwin himself. So, would it have been fair, after choosing to take his burden from him, to bring him back into the hell they scrounged in? All so he could continue to live as a “demon” even after achieving what he set out to accomplish? 

Levi still seemed to think so to some degree. Though, his intensity on the subject wanes just a bit after Flocke’s comment here, and a lot more after what Eren had to say:

Eren speaks of the dreams Armin lives and fights for. The very same dreams Levi had overheard the young boy ranting and glowing about the night before. Armin had something left to fight for, Eren was sure of it. Levi was too because he saw it for himself. 

Would Erwin have something left to live and fight for once he cleared his goal? Once he saw what was inside that basement and finally learned the truth? 

Would he have something to be drunk on to keep him going?

Would he make Erwin remain a slave to his inner demons in the hopes that he could continue on torturing himself?

The answer was no. In the end, Levi chose to let Erwin have his peace. Just like Kenny chose to finally lay down his desires and trust them to Levi for the sake of peace with a smile, Erwin did exactly the same and thanked Levi for doing so. Instead of betraying that trust, and possibly breaking his friend in the process; Levi let the “Demon Commander” rest, and gave the boy with so many dreams left to live and fight for a chance at making his dreams a reality. Levi made his choice out of care, experience, and what knowledge he had. Just like he always does. At least that is my opinion on that matter. 

Thank you for the ask, anon. I hope this answer is satisfactory for you. I apologize for the length and the lack of a Read More but, for whatever reason, that feature isn’t working on my laptop right now TT_TT

Win Your Heart

So, today was a snow day and I was able to work on Fragile Design, including ironing out some tricky plot points (thanks to @optomisticgirl for her wonderful thoughts and encouragement).  Now, I’m sitting here and thinking as my husband makes dinner (yes, I’m a lucky girl) and I need to write something short and sweet and involving no major plot other than references to potential impending storylines to come.

(also I’ve spent the past week re-immersing myself in @msgenevieve447‘s writing and loving every minute of it…this is an ode to her as well because she’s one of the people in this fandom than inspired me to write and I owe her much for that)

This little drabble is based on one of my all time favorite Captain Swan conversations, a piece of which is below:

Originally posted by the-queen-of-hell-things

Ah, yes…under the cut, for smutty reasons (you know how I do)…

Keep reading

Hunted {BTS Mafia!AU}

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Pairing: Yoongi x reader
Genre: BTS mafia au
Warning: angst, smut (at some point), violence, mentions of prostitution/drugs, swearing, other dark themes I can’t think of right now

Writer: Bom

Word count: 1815

Originally posted by letsbreaktables

Summary:

Y/n finds out about the mysterious ‘Nightwalker’ situation, and is infuriated when neither Yoongi, Youngji, Taehyung or Jungkook will tell her what it is. To their surprise, a known gang from the north has offered to help them in exchange for their own information and Youngji’s sudden disappearance

Keep reading

You’re My Favorite

In honor of H’s 23 birthday, enjoy this little one shot! :) 

Plot: What to get to the man who has everything?

Warnings: None. 

Three weeks to H’s Birthday:

“Baby,” Harry groaned exasperation. His eyes rolled back and he let his head drop for a moment, appearing to be completely and utterly done with the subject I had been bugging him with for a few hours now as well as over the past days.

Harry’s birthday present.

And still, he was being close to no help. His eyes met mine and I whined, wanting him to take me seriously, because even though we (admittedly) had been discussing this topic a bit too long now, he somehow still didn’t understand my point.
Birthdays were something I took very seriously, especially Harry’s. It was the first time for me to celebrate his birthday with him given that our relationship was only a few months old and all I wanted was him to be showered with love and spoiled silly. I wanted to make him happy.
Planning his day wasn’t the problem, it was easy. I would spend the night before with him, mainly so I could make sure him being spoiled would start early in the morning already (breakfast in bed, maybe some sex) but most of all I wanted to stay with him because I knew how Harry didn’t like having to sleep and wake up alone. It made my heart ache a little bit and fall even more in love with his sensitive and gentle soul and so I liked the idea of him not having to do that on his birthday, too.
Later, we would have lunch with his mother, sister and step-father so we would be able to exchange gifts quietly and just in the presence of his immediate family. Harry absolutely adored them and I knew he’d love being able to be with just his family for a while, before his friends would join us for a dinner at his favorite restaurant. It was a simple plan and wouldn’t entail too many surprises for him, but I knew that would be what Harry enjoyed most. All of his life was always extravagant and a big deal, so I imagined him having simple family time would be just what he’d need.
What had been giving me a headache for a while now was the most difficult question I’d ever had to ask myself. What makes a good present to a person who could buy the world?

“You are so difficult sometimes,” I argued quietly, nudging Harry’s hip with my own.

We were standing in my tiny kitchen and cooking dinner together, well, less cooking and more arguing about his upcoming birthday. The pans were still empty and the table wasn’t set either. Three weeks. I had three weeks left to get him the perfect present and I was absolutely clueless.

Harry laughed. “Says the one who’s been worrying herself silly over a present for a birthday who’s almost a month away.”  

I rolled my eyes. “Maybe I just shouldn’t get you anything then. If I’m just being silly.”

My body turned and I went to reach for two wine glasses, almost dropping them when Harry startled me by wrapping both of his arms around my waist. His chest hit my back and I squealed when his head buried itself into my neck, releasing puffs of hot breath, making me squeal.

“You wouldn’t do that,” he murmured quietly, sounding like a little boy who’d been denied… well, his birthday present.

“Oh wouldn’t I, Styles?” I giggled, squeezing his wrists through the thick material of his grey jumper.

He shook his head, lips ghosting over my skin and I relaxed into him. “Don’t think you would.”

And of course I wouldn’t. But I really was lost. In my imagination, I could see his face lighting up with that beautiful smile of his and his pretty eyes would sparkle in surprise and happiness. I wanted that image to be reality, had seen him wear the expression on other occasions before and I wanted to be the reason why he wore it on his birthday. And the one bloody thing needed for that to happen was missing. An idea.

Two weeks to H’s Birthday:

In my desperate situation I’d called up the only person I could think of, who knew Harry better than anybody else did. His mother. Anne and I were sat in a small cafe just around the corner of where Harry lived. I held my mug of hot chocolate tightly and listened eagerly to the stories Anne had to tell, all of them involving a much younger version of Harry. Anne waved her hands in the air, mimicking Harry’s desperate attempt of rollerblading and I laughed out loud.

“He sounds like he was an incredibly clumsy child,” I giggled.

“Oh he was,” Anne smiled with a nod, “Still is, really. You’ve seen how he used to stumble around on stage. Even broke his foot once, the silly boy.”

“Oh right, I forgot about that!”

Anne chuckled and kindly offered me some of her cookie, which I happily accepted.

“So,” she began, handing me a piece of her desert, “I’m sure there’s a other reason behind you summoning me, other then hearing stories you can mock my son with later.”

I laughed gently and nodded. “Though, I could listed to those stories all day, I did call because I have a problem I was hoping you could help me with.”

A small frown took over Anne’s kind features and she set down her cup. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing too serious,” I quickly assured, not wanting her to worry, “It’s going to sound silly to you, I’m sure. But I just can’t come up with a good idea for a gift for Harry.”

My eyes met hers and I sensed that she was about to ask if I was kidding, because of course it sounded stupid to anyone else, and so I carried on quickly.

“His birthday, is coming closer and closer and I can’t figure out what to get him! That man has everything and if he doesn’t, then he buys it the next day. And even when I finally find something he hasn’t seen before but would love, it costs so much more than what I have! It’s so frustrating ‘cause all I want is to make him happy and surprise him with something nice but I can’t even get him something as simple as clothing! He came around with a cardigan just yesterday that cost £5000! I don’t even own anything that expensive! That piece of clothing he loves, is worth two months of my rent.”

Anne bit her lower lip, her expression serious again and I sighed. I felt so whiny and like an uncreative child, but I really was at my wit’s end.

“It’s the first birthday I get to spend with him and I’m going to fail him completely.”

My eyes lowered to my mug and I tapped the porcelain lightly, feeling defeated.

“Sweetheart,” Anne said kindly, “Harry will love whatever it is you get him. He adores you.”

A small smiled tugged at my lips and I blushed at her words. “I don’t want him to like it simply 'cause it’s from me, though.”

I raised the cup of chocolate to my lips and took a sip, then decided to just come clean with my greatest worry.

“The women he’s been with before me,” I began quietly, avoiding Anne’s patient gaze, “were rich enough to get him the world. What if he realizes that I’m just not… I don’t know. Suitable for his standards?”

The worry sounded stupid when it’d come to my mind the first time, but it’d stayed. Kendall Jenner, the last girl Harry had been involved with before me, was probably just as, if not even richer than he was himself. Same counted for Taylor Swift. They could go wherever he wanted to go, dress just as expensively and rent entire venues for him to host his party. Me? I had to scrap anything I had together every single month so I could afford my tiny apartment in London. Harry of course was aware that I couldn’t afford the same lifestyle as he had, but sometimes, especially when he came around with a £5000 cardigan, I wondered if he was aware how much money he actually had compared to what ordinary people earned.
When I dared looking at Anne again, she surprised me by wearing a bright smile. Both of her hands reached over the table and she took hold of my own, squeezing my fingers in a comforting gesture.

“Him thinking you aren’t suitable for him is absolutely and a hundred percent impossible, Y/N. Believe me.”

“You think so?” I asked timidly.

She nodded, still smiling confidently.

“The women Harry was with in the past,” she shook her head, pausing for a moment, then she continued, “were lovely, sure. But they never stayed around long. They never mattered to him as much as you do. He never brought one home, only introduced them casually over a dinner or sometimes not at all. Trust me, sweetheart, you are the first one he’s let get close to his heart and I can see it every day. You might not notice it because you’ve never seen him without it, but since you’re in his life, there’s an extra sparkle in his eyes and his smile is just a tiny little bit wider. He told me he’s been getting more sleep and that he even learned how to cook. That’s your influence on him, I know that. You’re taking care of him and that means the world. So trust me on this, you give him enough of what he couldn’t get himself every day. No birthday present could ever make you a failure to him.”

“Oh, Anne,” I almost squealed, blinking away the tears forming in my eyes. I squeezed her fingers in return and sniffled, trying to calm my rapidly beating heart.

She squeezed my hands once more and just like her son, her comforting aura was enough to ease me.

“And besides,” she continued in a giggle, “if he thinks I’m getting him anything even remotely close to £5000, he’s gone mad.”

H’s Birthday:

My lips lingered on the warm skin of Harry’s cheek and I giggled when I felt his smile beneath my lips. Harry’s hand found mine on his knee and he interlocked our fingers, humming quietly in appreciation. I could hear Gemma snicker at our interaction and I pressed another kiss to his jaw, then I withdrew. Harry’s eyes found mine and I could read his surprise in them. Normally I wasn’t as touchy feely with him when his family was around, but today I couldn’t help myself. My Harry was officially 23 years old. I couldn’t believe it.
We were sat on the couch in Harry’s living room, Gemma, Anne, Robing, Harry and me. There was cake and coffee on the small table along with the presents we’d bought for him. So far, the day had gone neatly and after the chat I had had with Anne, I felt confident about my choice of present, too.
Harry seemed so happy, relaxed and like he was enjoying himself. Just like I had intended to do, I’d been showering him with love all day long, waking him up with kisses and embracing him every few minutes. For breakfast I’d made him pancakes, bacon and eggs, making sure that the only healthy thing he got was a smoothie. And the sex well, had been mind-blowing.  
I squeezed Harry’s fingers tightly and blushed when he pressed his lips to my own cheek for a moment, as he wasn’t too much into PDA himself either, then he turned to engage in the conversation his family was leading.

“Harry,” Robing began, “I know you’re not a kid anymore, but do you want me to initiate that it’s time for you to get your presents?”

“That would be great,” Harry laughed, letting his arm rest around my waist in a loose hold.

I smiled at him lovingly and felt my stomach flutter when Harry pulled me even closer into his side, sharing his warmth with me. How did he always smell so good?
The first present he opened was Gemma’s. He let go of me and got up to hug her in thanks and joked about how it was the exact same thing he’d been thinking of getting her only weeks ago and she giggled, muttering a “liar” under her breath. Next came Anne and Robin’s present, then came mine. My fingers itched and I swallowed. Though I wasn’t worried about Harry not liking my present, I was very eager to see the excited expression on his face.

“S'big,” Harry said, giving me an impressed glance when he picked up the box I’d wrapped neatly with blue wrapping paper.

He carefully began to pull at it with care as if the paper wasn’t actually meant to be ripped apart and I giggled, resting one of my hands on his shoulder to squeeze it. He was so adorable.
Once finished, he began to tap the cartoon box as if expecting a noise and I giggled at his comedic and silly behavior. Anne shook her head at him but the smile plastered on her face was a big enough sign that she was just as delighted to be here with her son as I was. With careful fingers Harry continued to open the box and my heart squeezed when he smiled instantly.
Since I hadn’t been able to decide on one present for him, I’d gotten him several.
The first item Harry revealed was a bottle of massage oil, his favorite with the soft smell of almond mixed with vanilla. I’d remembered the many evenings where I’d found him on his couch, face a grimace of pain and exhaustion where he claimed nothing could ease and soothe him better than my fingers massaging his tense muscles. Though I was tired on most night when I came home after a long day, I’d always given in. Seeing Harry unhappy was enough of a persuasion to make me help him.

“For when your back is acting up again,” I murmured quietly, allowing my hand to run down Harry’s back in a soothing gesture, “Won’t even complain about it, I promise.”

He chuckled and nodded, setting the bottle to the side before sticking his hand back into the box in search for the next item I’d gotten him.

“Oh I wanted to get that one myself!” Gemma exclaimed when Harry held up the navy blue nail polish.

“Do you think I can pull this color off?” Harry asked me, a smile on his face. “S'a bit flashy, don’t you think?”

“It’s blue, Harry,” I laughed, “Pink would be flashy. And of course you and pull this off. There’s nothing you couldn’t, really.”

The next and last item Harry pulled out of the box was a small journal, similar to the one he already owned.

“I saw yours is almost full,” I explained when Harry smiled at the new journal.

It had the same leather cover as his other one did and since he’d decorated it with small stickers and words, I’d allowed myself to leave my own small message to him. A tiny inscription saying you’re my favorite right at the bottom of the right corner. I’d scraped it into the leather, making it a permanent decoration so he’d have something to remind him of me when we were forced to be apart.

Harry actually blushed when his thumb stroke over the words and he momentarily leaned into my side. My heart hammered in my chest.

“Open it,” I whispered quietly.

He glanced at me briefly, then he opened it slowly. At first he didn’t see it, but once he turned some of the pages he noticed that some of them were already used. And once he began to read what I’d written, he teared up. The grin on his face grew, revealing his loveably dimples and his widened.

“Y/N,” Harry sighed and shook his head.

His fingers kept on running over the paper and he swallowed visibly. He looked as if he found it difficult to believe what his eyes were reading and one of his hands found mine.

“What?” Anne asked, leaning up so she could catch a peek as well.

“They’re just some notes about us,” I explained.

But they weren’t really, not just some notes. I’d filled the pages with small texts and short sentences, all of them about Harry and me. They were tiny stories about us, remembering our first kiss, the one we’d shared standing on Jack’s balcony while all of our friends were celebrating and partying indoors. The second paragraph I wrote about how I’d felt when I’d first met Harry, how excited I’d been and how I hadn’t stopped thinking of him since then. I even admitted that I’d fallen a tiny bit in love with him already.
Harry’s eyes were still teary when he read a few more pages, then he closed the book.

“I love it.”

The words were whispered to the journal, his head held low. His hands clenched around the item and he sniffled noisily. My fingers squeezed his hand and I pressed another kiss to his arm. This was better than having wearing a wide grin. The present, one that I’d gotten him for a reasonable price, had actually made him speechless.

“I’m glad, Harry,” I giggled.

Hope you enjoyed it! Thank you to every single one of you who takes the time to read my one shots! I’m so excited and happy about every note I get. 

Rest of what I wrote: 

http://harryimaginedstories.tumblr.com/post/144920695218/masterlist

silk | chapter eight

Originally posted by wonhoslilmonster

chapter song | masterpost | next chapter

ceo au - jimin x reader - angst | smut

word count : 4.9k

warnings : smut

Keep reading

Simmer // Archie Andrews

Summary: Archie and you have a fight when Veronica can’t seem to understand that Archie isn’t single but that doesn’t stop her from kissing him. During ‘Secrets and Sins’ some things you didn’t know are revealed causing a rift but with the sex be enough to convince you how much Archie cares?

Characters: Reader x Archie Andrews, Betty Cooper x Jughead Jones, Veronica Lodge, Kevin Keller, Cheryl Blossom, Chuck Clayton, Dilton Doiley, FP Jones, Jason Blossom (mentioned) and Ms. Grundy (mentioned).

Words: 3126

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own Riverdale or the characters involved. Some parts of the dialogue from the episode has been changed to fit the fic.

Warnings: Swearing, underage drinking, party, fighting, and smut.

Author: Caitsy

A/N: This was two requests I put into one!

Master List

Prompt List

ASK US A QUESTION LIST

Originally posted by riverdalesource

The minute Archie told you about Betty throwing Jughead a birthday party you knew it would go bad. When you were young Mrs. Jones would babysit you for extra cash, your parents doubled the average pay to her. That meant you grew up close with Jughead as if you were siblings or really close cousins and you knew how much he hated his birthday.

You were shocked when Archie allowed the get together build into a fill fledged high school part with two kegs in attendance. Your boyfriend was acting odd but refused to tell you why and you didn’t appreciated Veronica making eyes at your oblivious boyfriend.

Keep reading

Escape:  the residency years

Claire returned to work.  She did rounds, ran labs, and even had a hand in a couple of surgeries, but she avoided the fourth floor at all costs.  If she had to go up, she used the stairs because she wouldn’t risk the elevator opening by accident.  She didn’t want to see the balloons, and teddy bears.  She didn’t want to hear the laughter, or the tiny cries. Not yet.  

Joe and Fiona had taken the time to fill everyone in, so there were no awkward moments.  The ones she was close to just gave her a comforting squeeze, the others, a polite yet heartfelt condolence.  No one spoke of it again after a week.  

It helped heal Jamie and Claire to be around family, so Claire began to accompany Jamie to Lallybroch for Sunday suppers again.  It was a balm to their battered souls to read to their nieces and nephews, play with them, and just wander around the estate hand in hand.    

Yet some wounds have a way of developing an infection under the skin when you least expect it.

“Oh, sure.  She’ll come for Sunday supper now.”  Jenny threw the utensils in the sink with a crash.  “I mean, why come before when yer pregnant.   Come now, after ye’ve lost the child.”  She turned on the water full force to rinse the dishes before loading the dishwasher.

“Jenny,” Ian admonished, “don’t judge.”

“Don’t judge?  Ian, listen to yerself.  She ran herself ragged!  And to what end?  Tell me!” Jenny spun around to face her husband.

And found Claire standing in the doorway to the kitchen.  


Monday afternoon Jenny presented herself at Jamie’s office with take away curry.  “Ye’ve fed me lunch every week for 20 weeks.  Figured it was time I returned the favour.”

Jamie flinched internally.  Twenty weeks.  “T’was not a favour, Janet.  Ye dinna need to do that.”  Jamie didn’t even lift his head from his desk to look at her.

Janet. Oh, yes, he was angry.  “So.  I’m Janet now, am I?  For how long?”  In true Fraser fashion she faced the conflict head on.

“Until I’m done being pissed at ye.”  Jamie set down his pencil, and leaned back in his big leather chair.  He shook his head, then raised his arm and waved her in.  She shut the door behind her.

“I’m sorry, Jamie.  Truly.”

“Dinna apologize to me, Janet.  Apologize to my wife.”  Jamie was not going to make this easy.  He loved his sister, but what she did was not easily forgiven.

“What even possessed ye?”  Jamie said, incredulous, as he made his way over to the conference table, hand outstretched for the bag of food.  

Jenny raised her chin.  “I was angry.  Angry at the situation, and if I’m honest, angry at Claire for going to France when ye didna want her to, for doing too much, and risking the baby.”

Jamie sighed, exasperated.  “I explained this to ye.  I told ye on the phone from Paris, and I told ye when we got back home here.  There was nothing anyone could do.  Not Claire.  Not a doctor. No one.  And frankly, Janet, thinking a weekly Sunday dinner would have made a difference is madness.”

“It’s not just ‘Sunday dinner’ Jamie.  It’s our family tradition!”  She sat down hard in her chair.

Jamie stopped unpacking the food and leveled a look at his sister.  “No, it’s yer tradition. Ye started it after Da died.  That was yer choice.  I came because I had nothing else to do.  And if ye remember, when Claire and I first got together, I missed a few dinners. So, whatever that was yesterday,” he waved his hand in the air, “that lashing out at Claire, it wasna fair.”  He walked over to his small refrigerator, and pulled out two waters.  

Jenny sat and absorbed what her brother just revealed.  The dinners were a means to an end.  She needed something to keep them together after yet another family death.  Jamie, and Ian needed to heal together after the accident. Somewhere along the way she’d lost sight of what she was actually trying to do.

“Maybe,” Jenny hesitated. “Maybe I just wanted her around more, to share pregnancy stories, and build a kinship with.  I never see her anymore.”  

“Ye’ve a funny way of building a kinship.”  Jamie pulled out his chair, and sat down.  “Would ye begrudge my wife her dream?  Hmmm?”  Jamie took a bite of his food.  

Jenny said nothing.  She poked around in her container for a moment.  Then, looked at her brother.

Jamie raised an eyebrow.  “What if it were wee Kitty, wantin’ to be a doctor? Would ye tell her no because it might take away from her family for a time? What if Maggie went back to school at the same time she was pregnant, wantin’ a career and a family?  Would ye turn yer venom on her?”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic, Jamie!  Venom, indeed.”

Jamie set down his fork, and wiped his mouth. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Did ye ever think, Janet, that in all the ways it matters to a woman, ye’ve had it easier than she has?  Do ye ever think, period?”

“What does that mean?”  Jenny’s voice rose in indignation.

“Ye grew up on an estate, with parents who loved ye.  She lost her parents at five years old.  Dammit, she canna even remember her mother!”  He leaned forward to make his point, “Ye had siblings, she grew up alone.  Ye were given a place in the family business, and she’s still trying to find her place in the world.  Ye’ve had bairn after bairn, no problem at all.  And Claire and I,” he swallowed, hands braced on the edge of the table, “Claire and I canna manage to have one in our four years together.”

Jamie looked hard at his sister, voice controlled but quivering.  “I’ll never forget what Claire said after they took Faith away. She said, we didna just lose a child. We lost a lifetime with someone we’d never even met.”

Jenny reached across the table and laid a hand on her brother, squeezing his forearm.  

“I am sorry, Jamie.”  

Jamie covered his sister’s hand with his own.  “I keep tellin’ ye.  It’s no’ me ye need to apologize to.”


Claire walked out the front doors of the hospital hearing the swish of the large glass panes close behind her.  She heard a sharp whistle off to her left, and turned her head.

“Alec!”  She strode over to the black Range Rover happy to see the man who was both friend and protector.  He came around the back of the car, accepted her kiss on his cheek, and opened the back door for her.

“What’s this?” Claire asked.  “Where’s Jamie tonight?”  

Alec just inclined his head towards the interior of the vehicle.  Thinking Jamie was inside, Claire grinned and poked her head inside.

“Hello, Claire.”  

Jenny.  

Claire cut her eyes to Alec.  He stood stoic, looking over her head. “Coward,” she whispered.

“Aye,” he whispered back.  

Claire shoved her bag at him, hard, making him grunt in the process, and climbed inside.


They tucked into a pizza, both using the distraction of food to break the tension.  Two pints later the surface chatter was abandoned.

Jenny took a long swallow of her beer, fortifying herself.  “I’m very sorry for what I said, Claire.  I didna mean a word of it.”  Jenny looked her sister-in-law in the eye, hoping Claire saw her sincerity.

Claire returned the solemn gaze.  “That’s the problem, Jenny.  I think you did.”

Jenny’s eyes glistened. It seemed she would have to open up to Claire as she did to Jamie.  She took a deep breath. “A small part of me blamed ye for the miscarriage.  When Jamie told me what happened I thought ye must have done something to bring it upon yerself.  Worked too hard, not thinking of the consequences.  And then I thought, if I had made ye come to Sunday suppers so I could get ye off yer feet a bit, it may have made a difference.”  

Claire sat still, hands in her lap, letting Jenny work through her feelings.  The noise of the pub surrounded them with soft chatter, the clink of glasses, knives and forks hitting plates.  If there was one thing Claire learned as a doctor, it was to listen to patients.  

“I think,” Jenny continued honestly, “I think a small part of me is wanting to replace what I lost.  A brother, mother, father.  I want a big family, and perhaps that’s why.  When Jamie married ye, I was thrilled to have a sister.”  She wiped at her nose.  “Never had one of those,” she chuckled.  She was relieved to see Claire’s small smile.  “And I know my brother wants bairns.  I want them for him.  And for you,” she added hastily.  “So. So when Faith was lost, I got angry. Angry at the both of ye, but maybe mostly angry at God for taking yet another one of my family members away.”  

Jenny wiped her eyes, and looked at the woman who was sister and friend to her. “But since my parents always told me it was a sin to be angry at God, I got angry at you instead.”

Claire reached across the table to took both of Jenny’s hands in her own, and squeezed them tightly.  

“I am very sorry for what I said, Claire.  I didna mean a word of it.”

“I accept your apology, Jenny.”  The women gazed at each other in silent understanding.  They, just like Ian and Jamie, would have each other’s backs from this point forward.  

“Now,” Claire said, letting go of Jenny and lifting her glass, “Let’s get drunk.”


He heard her well before she arrived at the door. He heard her stumble and the backpack skitter down the stairs. “Fuck!”  

He opened the door to their flat and peered over the banister.  She was trying to turn around to go back down.  

“Leave it, mo graidh!  I’ll get it.”  He stepped quickly down the stairs, passing his wife in the process.  “Christ, Sassenach, ye smell like a brewery.”  He grabbed the bag, then strode up the stairs and tucked an arm around Claire, leading her up to their flat.  “Had a good time wi’ Jenny, then?”

“Oh, aye,” Claire said.  Jamie laughed loudly.  Aye?  She was completely sozzled.

He escorted her slowly up the stairs, catching her every slip.  Claire kept up a slurring commentary of her and Jenny’s evening.  When he finally got her in the flat, she turned and wrapped her arms around his waist.  

“You’re half naked,” she said, eyes unfocused. She leaned forward and kissed the middle of his chest.

“I’m ready for bed, that’s why.”  He breathed deeply.  “And you,” he said, pushing her away from him, “need a shower.”

“Too tired.  Too drunk.”  She smiled up at him, “But maybe if you helped me?  Washed my back?”  

Jamie smiled.  Vixen.  “It’s not been six weeks yet, Claire.”  

He locked the door, flipped off the light switch, and bustled his wife off to the bathroom.

But only two more weeks to go.  Not that I’m counting.

Beauty and the Lawyer

* John Laurens x Reader
* Modern Beauty and the Beast AU

    A/N: HERE IT IS! OK so…there’s no beast creature first of all, you’ll see the obvious change I made. This follows the new movie and CONTAINS SOME SPOILERS! If you haven’t seen the new movie then don’t read this yet as some plot points come directly from the new movie. It’s also really fucking long, so yeah. This took me about four days of writing every moment I could and listening to the movie soundtrack on repeat. (At least it’s pretty.) So I hope you guys enjoy!

    Word Count: 9,365 (barely 23 pages…)

    ~~

    “You have a daughter, do you not Mr. L/N?” Henry Laurens asked the man across from him. Henry’s young son, John, sat aside merely watching the exchange.

    “Well yes. She’d be about the same age as your boy.”

    “You know, as a lawyer it’s hard to find a wife but it’s a good thing to have.” Henry mused as he stood and began circling the table, reminding his son of a hawk going in for a swooping kill.

    “What are you saying?” The other man asked.

    “I saved you in that lawsuit and I’m not even sure you were innocent.” Henry said with a soft laugh. “And now you say you can’t afford my prices. So I propose a deal. I’ll give you two years. Pay my fees, if not I’ll get the case reopened. If you haven’t raised the money, then your daughter and my son will be wed.”

    “That’s absurd!” The man shouted in outrage.

    “So was your case.” Henry snapped back. “You were warned that I have high prices. This is the fee.” Henry stopped at his side of the desk. “Go. You have two years.” The two men watched the other man go.

    “Why are you arranging a marriage?” John asked.

    “You know I’m not feeling well. This will be your firm soon. A wife makes a lawyer look more personable. And it’s hard to find one in this line of work.” Henry patted his son’s shoulder. “Come on, I have much more to teach you.”

    Two staffers, Alexander and Lafayette, stood by. “Monsieur Laurens is corrupting his young son. The John we used to know is slipping away.” Lafayette voiced.

    “You wanna stand up to Henry?” Alexander asked. He knew Lafayette was right. John was their friend at one point. It didn’t seem much that way anymore.

    “No, no one does. That’s the problem.”

    You walked through town. Your father would be back from meeting with the lawyer today and you wanted to make him a good dinner. There was a fresh marketplace and you knew your father preferred food from there. It was a bit more expensive but always tasted better. And definitely worth it to welcome your father home.

    Keep reading

    Tonight’s All About You

    Summary: You’re not super big on sharing your feelings and when dinner goes terribly at your parents house, Bucky helps you forget about it all.

    Warnings: angst, abuse, smut; oral sex (female receiving) and fingering

    A/N: I needed to write this to escape another panic and depression attack. I swear I’ll get to requests soon.

    (Masterlist)

    Keep reading

    tttickingcrocodile  asked:

    What if the foxes found out Neil was Nathaniel wesninski a different way? What if the FBI was the first to catch up with him and came to arrest him for multiple counts of identity fraud, obstruction of justice, murder etc...

    Oh-ho my god…
    This could have been better. I’m satisfied because I’m very very tired rn. Also I’m sure you were hoping for something less like canon but I can’t see them giving Neil up for anything sorry.

    -.-

    Neil knows he’s being followed. He’s spotted the same three people, two men and a woman, circling him at a thirty foot radius all day like vultures. The second he left each of his classes he’d spot them all in quickly succession and they’d follow him to his next class. The back of his neck is damp with nervous sweat and he can’t hold still. His heart pounds each time he sees an exit and he actively /wants/.

    He makes it back to Fox Tower still without meeting one of them face to face and he sees Dan entering, he alls put to her and she turns and smiles-

    A hand lands on his shoulder.

    His muscles tense and he wants to throw up as he turns and gives the female FBI agent his best smile. It feels weak like wet paper.

    He hears Dan call out to him and he just wants her to stay /away/, he doesn’t want her to hear this.

    “Nathaniel Wesninski,” the woman says crisply, “put your hands behind your back.”

    He hears Dan cry out in confusion as one of the male agents comes up behind him and cuffs him. Memories from Castle Evermore roll through him and his stomach curdles.

    “You are under arrest for multiple counts of identity fraud, assault, attempted murder…” she goes on and on as his hearing fades out. It comes back in sharp relief a moment later.

    “Neil!” Dan calls in alarm and jogs to a stop as the third agent holds out an arm and they all begin walking.

    “Where are you taking him-” Dan says and she sounds pissed. Neil doesn’t want her to be pissed. He’s choking on his own anger and fear and some kind of twisted relief, and he just wants her to leave before she hears any of this.

    The woman stops staring his charges and inclines her head towards Dan as they all walk.

    “We’re taking him with us to be used as a witness against his father,” the woman says. Her voice isn’t particularly unkind but it definitely isn’t friendly.

    “Who’s his father? What are you talking about- Neil what are they talking about?” Dan asks as they move toward a nice too-discreet-to-actually-be-discreet black car.

    “His name isn’t Neil,” says the man who’d cuffed him with obvious irritation.

    “He’s been lying to you. This name is Nathaniel Wesninski and we’ll waive his charges in return for evidence against his father Nathan,” the man says as they reach the car. They open the door and prompt Neil in.

    “Neil-” Dan begs and he meets her eyes before the door closes. He doesn’t know what to say, all the facts feel too heavy on his tongue.

    “Wait,” he says and the woman holds the door open.

    “Call Andrew,” he begs Dan, “let me talk to him.” Dan looks wary, and still confused and angry, but she takes out her phone slowly.

    “I got his number from Nicky for emergencies,” she explains with no prompting, probably out of nerves. When it starts to ring she steps forward and holds the phone to his ear.

    It’s rings seven times and Neil almost gives up hope but then it isn’t ringing anymore and he can’t hear Andrew’s faint breathing.

    “Andrew,” Neil says and his throats feels swollen. Andrew waits.

    “I’m sorry,” he says and there’s a sharp intake of breath over the line, “you were amazing.” He pulls his head away because if Andrew speaks Neil knows he’ll fight. He’ll fight and get in more trouble than before, just to give Andrew an explanation, to feel Andrew’s hands on his ribs, to get more /time/.

    When he sits back and stares vacantly forward the woman encourages Dan out of the way and shuts the door despite Dan’s protests.

    ~

    The drive isn’t long and Neil doesn’t pay attention during the drive and as he’s walked into a building. He retreats into his head and is only vaguely aware of his surroundings.

    I’m dissociating, he thinks vaguely. It doesn’t seem pertinent and the thought slips away like a leaf in a stream. His thoughts are too fluid and he’s too tired to try and coherently hold on to them.

    He’s put in a room, an agent comes in, he ignores them. The agent leaves and he’s alone. An agent comes in, he ignores them and they leave. He’s left alone. It cycles through like that, them failing to pull him out of the fog in his head that prevents him from telling them he wants to cooperate.

    Another agent comes in and slaps a heavy file down on the table, jolting Neil enough that his eyes focus on the man and he blinks for what feels like the first time in hours.

    “Good you’re alive,” says the man, “and I’m Agent Browning.” Neil blinks at him and then nods slowly.

    “Alright,” Neil says, “what do you want from me?”

    If the man is startled at the fact that he suddenly seems to be cooperating he doesn’t show it and just flips open the file. Neil sees a picture of his father. This is going to be a long day. Or night. He doesn’t know what time it is anymore.

    “Your father has escaped.”

    ~

    He answers questions, carefully avoiding the Moriyamas and doing his best not to incriminate himself.

    Browning leaves him alone again around the time Neil’s throat hurts and his mouth feels dry. He hasn’t touched the offered water.

    When Browning comes back he’s frowning, which isn’t unusual but in the past hour(s?) his face has been without expression up to the point Neil opened his mouth.

    “Your… team is here,” he says in an almost disappointed voice, “and you’ve done a good job lying-”

    There’s a crash and a yell outside the door, followed by gratuitous staring as the door opens and a small angry blond enters the interrogation room. Wymack is the one swearing, standing in the hallway and hissing for Andrew to come back.

    Andrew darts around the table to stand behind Neil, a hand on his shoulder and scowl on his face.

    “Minyard you need to leave-” starts Browning but Neil snaps, “No.”

    Andrew looks at him with nothing akin to surprise. Only his apathy shows but Neil assumes there’s surprise in there somewhere from the speed at which Andrew’s head moves.

    “I’ve answered your questions,” Neil says heatedly, “and I have nothing else to say. I want to go- I want to go.” He’d almost said home.

    “You have nowhere to go,” Browning says rudely and there’s a cry of protest. Everyone’s head jerks to find the door still open and the Foxes crowded behind Wymack.

    “Neil will go home!” Matt cries indignantly.

    “With us,” Nicky adds, looking at Neil as if he knew what Neil was thinking only seconds before.

    “This is not Neil,” growls Browning, “he is Nathaniel Wesninski and he is wanted for /murder/-”


    “Wanted for murder which you can’t prove because I have made no inclination to having done it and you have no proof,” Neil point out, “and you already said you’d waive the identity fraud among other things for the information I’ve already given you.”

    “Does ‘can’t prove it’ still mean he did it?” Aaron’s voice says in german from somewhere behind Allison and Nicky flaps an arm back to smack him.

    “It will be better for Nathaniel to go into witness protection-”

    Andrew’s hand clamps on Neil’s shoulder so fast he jumps and so hard it hurts.

    “His name is Neil,” Andrew says with finality. His fingers tighten like they’re pressing the name, his name, into his skin. Like the press of a key into his palm.

    “And you cannot have him,” says Allison snidely.

    “He’s a pain in the ass but he’s ours,” Wymack says with surprisingly little gruffness.

    Browning looks at the ceiling and appears to be counting backwards. Neil glances over as he spots movement and watches Aaron come out from behind the taller people and lock eyes on everywhere they’re touching. His eyes narrow.

    Neil looks forward again as Browning sighs.

    He’ll deal with Ichirou. He’ll deal with Riko. He’ll let these agents deal with his father, at least until they prove themselves inept.

    He brings a hand up to cover Andrew’s on his shoulder cautiously. Andrew doesn’t move or twitch so Neil squeezes.

    Every Other Weekend pt. 8

    Prompt: After five years of marriage and two kids, you and Bucky decide you can’t make it work anymore.

    Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

    Word Count: 1,538

    Warnings: divorce, angst, cheating, language

    A/N: TAGGING IS CLOSED. i am sooo sorry it has taken me so long to get this up but thanks for hanging in there! hope the wait was worth it.

    Tagged: @bicevans @thorne93 @winterboobaer @marvelfandom-stuff @all-around-geek@cchrriissuuu@katexbishopx @justreadingfics @frolicsomefawkes@dasani-saraai@awwtommo@aenna-4@courtneychicken@lorenaheartsyou@goldwanderer@irepeldirt @tardisin221bst @ok-ladies-lets-get-in-formation@redroomproperty@elegantnightmareshiro@stomachfilledwithbutterflies@demongodess@buckyb-avengers@redlipstickandplaid @panda-reads-stuff @basse53 @chipilerendi @jenn48041

    Part 7

    ——

    Originally posted by campercooperpugfi

    (let’s pretend his hair is as long as it is in the fic. the gif just fits too perfectly.)


    “Dad, no!” Gavin latched himself onto Bucky’s leg, crying. It was what you wished you could have done. But it would have been frowned upon. At least if it was your son acting out, it was acceptable.

    “I have to go.” Bucky fought Gavin on his leg, handing you the bag you’d given him the week before. “You get to go home with your mom.”

    “But I want you.” Gavin continued to cry, his tears wetting Bucky’s jeans. You felt helpless. You wanted to scoop up your son and protect him. You had wanted to since all of this started. It wasn’t his fault, but he didn’t know. All he knew was his dad picked him up, they spent a week together and then he dropped him back off to you. That was one of the hardest things. You were unable to tell your son why his dad wasn’t home, why he left.

    “Come on baby. Dad’s gotta go.” You frowned, holding Avery with one arm and bending down to help Gavin. Gavin cried harder, grasping at the folds in Bucky’s jeans.

    “I’ll see you next week.” Bucky nodded, seemingly unfazed by Gavin’s cries.

    You fought a scoff. “Yeah. See you then.” You sighed, picking Gavin up and walking to the car. Bucky didn’t stick around any longer than he had to. You blocked Gavin’s view of his father driving out of the parking lot.

    Keep reading

    Stubborn Love

    Sequel to All You Never Say. Aftermath of Pete’s mistake.

    I’m getting back into the swing of things, so I hope this is good. lol I hope that those of you that love this story enjoy it! Those of you who aren’t in to this story, I’m working on the next part of Bewitched (Cesaro) and my Mojo request.

    Keep reading