“Sorry,” is the utterly unapologetic answer Stiles gets to his most recent inquiry.
Making this the fourth day in a row.
Stiles squints into her indifferent face. “You know, Janet,
I don’t think you are that sorry.”
She shrugs. She’s not. And she’s not even sorry
about her lack of being sorry. Stiles can officially say he does not like
this girl. In fact, he’s totally gonna fill out a comment card that sums up this whole conversation with a tried and true: ‘Damn it, Janet.’
“He really didn’t say anything?” He’s maybe sounding a
little desperate now and he drags his hand off the counter to look slightly
less unstable. “About a message to pass along for someone named ‘Stiles?’ Nothing, huh?”
“Oh you know what—” she starts thoughtfully, shuffling
through a few papers on the desk below and Stiles lights up. Her eyes
dart up, hard, and she finishes blandly, “no.”
“That was mean,” Stiles says, deflating. It’d been a week since he’d seen Derek. They’d mentioned meeting up after Caffiend, Derek had told him to drop by Halesome Arts again, whenever, he’d be there, they could talk. Everything had seemed fine, good even. Only Stiles had come by, had even looked for him on the metro. And Derek was always notably absent, in both places, and Janet was always notably unsympathetic, in one of them.
She sighs exasperatedly now, rolling her eyes. Stands,
puts her elbows up on the hutch above her receptionist’s desk and drops her chin
into her open palm. “You know, I felt bad for you the first time you came
in here, Stiles, but there’s a reason people don’t go see the same play every
night of the week, you get me?”
“Right. Yeah. I—”
“It doesn’t help that the play isn’t even that compelling to
begin with,” she cuts him off, unnecessarily adding that little sac-punch in there. Stiles can’t exactly deny it though. It
probably just gets sadder and sadder with each new mounting of it actually.
“Yeah, okay. I’m being blown off,” he makes himself
say it out loud, croaky and more broken down than he’s possibly ever been,
“that’s what’s happening here.”
Rose broke into a grin when she saw John leaning against her locker. His back was to her so she quietly snuck up behind him, rose up on her tiptoes so her lips would be right next to his ear when she spoke.
“What’s up, Doc?”
He spun around so quickly she thought he was going to fall. “Very funny, Rose,” he said dryly, glaring down at his blonde friend who was doubled over with the force of her laughter. “Thought I told you to stop calling me ‘Doc.’”
“Since when have I ever listened to you?” she teased, tongue touching the corner of her smile. “Now shift, I need to get in my locker.”
John obligingly took a step back and watched her fight with the combination lock before it swung open and she started piling her books into her backpack.
“So why are you lurking at my locker anyways?” Rose glanced up and gave him a once over, “You know, besides trying to look all impressive in your new leather jacket for any girl that happens to pass by?”
John tugged on the lapels of the aforementioned jacket. “I’ll have you know that I’m very impressive, Rose Tyler.”
5 “Deleted Scenes” from “Joss Whedon: The Biography” by Amy Pascale
Amy has very kindly provided Whedonesque with five deleted scenes from her soon to be released biography of Joss Whedon.
1. Joss doesn’t drink coffee, he drinks Typhoo tea and is very particular about how it is served: with half and half, and three little, little teaspoons of sugar.
2. Joss was frustrated that people were not responding to Oz at first (“Possibly because he was usurping Xander’s rightful place as Willow’s paramour,” he says.”). He decided to add the scene in which Willow tries to make out with Oz in order to make Xander jealous in “Innocence.” (Oz declines, fully aware of the situation, and describes how he daydreams about her in class: “I’ll think about kissing you and then everything stops. It’s like, freeze frame. Willow kissage.” He wants to wait because “in my fantasy, when I’m kissing you… you’re kissing me.”) “I actually wrote that to make people fall in love with him. Literally [thought that] this scene will take care of the problem,” he explains. “That was the entirely cynical design of that scene.”
3. In the fifth season, the Buffy writers finally found the right story to take advantage of the fact that Nicholas Brendon, who played Xander, had a twin brother. Many ideas were pitched but “we would never just do evil twin, you know?,” Joss says. “I was thinking of Russian absurdist short stories, like Gogol’s ‘The Double’ and ‘The Nose.’ But what I was really trying to evoke was the time in your life when people start treating you like a grown-up and you didn’t realize that you were one. That’s what that was about.”
4. During construction on Joss and Kai’s home, the house was robbed and their computers and Joss’ guitars were taken. The biggest crime story in their Brentwood neighborhood, however, was when Nicole Brown Simpson, football star O.J.’s ex-wife, was killed in June 1994. The area was inundated with press covering the story, and after, Joss was often asked directions to the home by tourists. The media ascended once again in 1998 as the Monica Lewinsky scandal broke. The father of the White House intern who had an affair with President Bill Clinton lived a few blocks down and reporters were camped out to get a quote from him about the national drama.
5. Jay Hunter, Much Ado About Nothing cinematographer, says that it’s possible to out-nerd Joss. “We were shooting a night exterior scene on Much Ado, and I was just chatting with AD and the gaffer and someone brought up Lord of the Rings. I started talking about these scenes that weren’t put in the movie and kind of going into this obscene amount of detail of my knowledge of The Lord of the Rings. Meanwhile, he walked out in the middle of it and stumbled on to the nerdiest conversation of all time. He said, ‘Oh, I can’t do this,’ then had to turn around and walk away.”
i rewatched “take care of yourself” “you too english” about six times and then frame by frame for science and now i’m just upset. also angie looks just as upset and confused about why peggy left before kissage as we all were
Disclaimer: Characters don’t belong to me, sadly.
Rating: PG-13 (for kissage)
A/N: Fluff. I think. Does this count as fluff? Someone needs to provide me with a definition.
She slips out under the cover of darkness. Through silent hallways and down stairs she has to tread carefully, knowing which ones will creak but second guessing herself at the last second. She makes it without incident, creeping toward the door and out into the crisp night air. It stings her skin and she zips her jacket up half way has she moves, jogging down the back steps and hurrying around the side of the high hedge at the bottom of the pathway. She’s slipping the keys she used to lock the back door into a pocket as she rounds the corner and walks into the narrow alley that sits between her house and the neighbour’s.
She almost drops them when she feels hands on her, instinct telling her to jerk away, to scream, to run. Something else telling her to stay. To still. To turn around and look up.
So she does.
Dark hair frames a face so pale, she’s often wondered if it carries the impression of the moonlight around in it. Brown eyes burn black as they stare at her, pinning her in place and yet daring her to move, and she feels her heart skip and seize and burst all at once. She feels slender fingers gripping her arms, strong but slight, and the urge to pull away quickly recedes the longer Myka stares at her. Stares at glittering eyes and a smirk of a smile that sends warmth spilling out low in her stomach. It’s cocky and knowing and Myka just wants–
She pulls back in the same instant that she’s pushed and her back hits the wall of her neighbour’s house harder than she’d expected. She grunts, but the sound is fleeting, quickly smothered by cool lips that breathe fire into every inch of her body. Into her skin and veins and replacing every last ounce of muscle memory until her body is moving on autopilot. She breaks free of the hands that hold her and reach out with her own, clamouring for purchase, desperate in a way that is becoming all too familiar. The fingers of her right hand find the waistline of tight-fitting black slacks and dip below, just enough to get a grip and then she’s pulling again.
Their bodies fuse together, flush but Myka still feels too far away. Her hand trips upward, slips beneath the material of the shirt the other girl wears and splays flat against the skin she finds there as she sweeps her tongue slow in a request for entrance. The body bearing down on hers jerks at the contact and Myka’s eyes roll behind her eyelids at the press of their hips. A hand finds her collarbone, drifts up and along her neck until it curves to cup her jaw. The kiss turns deep, bottomless, turns Myka’s insides to liquid heat. She can’t think nor stand, no longer exists. Can only grapple for a grip and hope she doesn’t float away into nothingness.
Slow and strong strokes of a tongue steal every last breath away and it’s only when teeth graze her lower lip and bear down, just a little, that she remembers she does in fact need to breathe. She breaks away with a mumbled groan but the other girl stays close, proximity intoxicating, and Myka can’t open her eyes.
“Helena… I…” she tries, fails, has to lick her lips and gather herself before she tries again. She hums a sound of strained contentment, as though holding herself back from something, and finally, “God, I missed you.” She clutches at the bottom of Helena’s shirt beneath the folds of her jacket, finally blinking open heavy eyelids. It’s too much to say but the face before her takes her breath away. Not for the first time, and it won’t be the last, and it makes her heart stutter and screech. Ringing in her ears like church bells.
And everything with Helena is like a rush. A drug. A shot of something straight and addictive right into the core of her being. It floods her and floors her all at once.
“I’d never have guessed.” Her voice is breathless and melodic, an effortless music to Myka’s ears. And she knows she’s being teased, but she can also hear the way her own emotions are mirrored in the words. Can feel it. Knows Helena feels and struggles and yearns like she does. Behind the smirks she wears, the one that pulls at Myka like gravity.
Before she can blink they’re kissing again, deep and desperate with the knowledge that there’s a time limit to this. And two so young should never be so focused on time, but it governs their meetings and dictates their lives and all they ever want is more of it.
Nimble fingers slip back under the material of a shirt to brush warm skin and Myka feels Helena exhale loudly through her nose, motions stilling for an instant before continuing with renewed vigour. Myka’s hands map smooth skin and the curve of each rib, and she’s aware of their bodies trembling though the reasons are beyond her. The chill, the contact, desire.
And Myka doesn’t do this. She’s the good daughter. She gets straight A’s and never misses a day of school, she does all her homework and never talks back to her parents. She helps around the book store and is dedicated to her extracurricular activities in a way that some people -Pete, the loveable ass - describe as fanatic. She’s had the talk with her mother about boys and knows how to spot a ‘bad’ one, that she should stay away no matter how appealing they might be.
But no one had thought to talk to her about girls. Though she’s sure the same applies. She’s sure because her mother’s advice surfaces every now and then when she’s with Helena, hears it like a warning bell. But it’s inevitably drowned out by something louder. Something Myka knows the word for but doesn’t say.
She pulls herself away from Helena’s lips with a gasp and drops her head to rest her forehead against the other girl’s. Her body thrums with energy, so much so that she can hardly hold still, but Helena’s fingers are at her hair, combing through loose curls and stilling her.
“Come with me.” She whispers, low and so unintentionally seductive it makes Myka’s head spin. She opens her eyes and tips forward into dark brown and she’s drowning.
“What?” She almost doesn’t recognise the sound of her own voice. Thick with desire and heavy with wonder. “What are you-” Helena’s hands are at her cheeks and she’s pulling back as she tilts Myka’s head up so that they’re looking at each other level.
“Come with me.” She sounds so certain and determined, as though there’s no other option. It fills Myka with fear and uncertainty, knee jerk reactions, but desire is always prevalent whenever Helena is around. And smiling at her like she is. Like Myka is the only thing in her world. “We can go anywhere. Just the two of us.” It’s impossible, she knows, but Helena makes her believe in anything. Everything.
She should say no. Refuse. Be rational and levelheaded, like always. But excitement trickles through her and fuses itself to every thought her brain can conjure. And then she’s smiling. It’s too wide for her face and painful, perfect.