Étiquette : rpf

david sits on his own, looking at his phone, waiting for her to answer. he should know by now that sometimes it takes forever for her to answer, even send a stupid emoji. he shouldn’t be so impatient because that’s who she is. but he can’t. he keeps checking his phone and rewriting his messages but then deletes everything. he decides to text her one last time. « should i wait for you? » he doesn’t know how she’ll take it. so he just waits and starts playing pokemon go while waiting. finally, he

gets the answer. “wait. you know i always come back to you.”

–

That was so sweet and thinking about David playing Pokemon Go makes me laugh every time! Thank you, anon!

1. The trill of his cel phone should wake him because, after all, it is the middle of the night and perhaps if he had been able to shut his mind down long enough to actually sleep, he wouldn’t have felt the need to force himself to watch the small screen glowing in the darkness as the picture of her burned an image that remained sharp and clear even as he briefly closed his eyes, willing himself to let it ring out to answer phone until he felt more equipped to deal with this – with her.

He had seen the photographs of course because they were everywhere and though she was a free agent, he had been unable to prevent a lingering sense of disappointment, not to mention sadness, that she had allowed herself to be exposed in such a way. Her privacy, he had discovered over the years, was everything to her and in the space of a few days, everything she had fought so hard to protect from a public hungry for scandal, had come tumbling down around her. She would be hurting right now for sure, but surely she must know that he was hurting also?

He made it to the fourth ring before his resolve weakened and he snatched up the phone, swiping angrily at the screen to connect the call, waiting for her to speak first and the sound of her voice made his stomach clench as though sucker punched, the quiet desperation all too evident even across the ocean that had always formed a chasm between them that once they had believed their love could bridge, but now knew not to be the case. “I’ve done something so stupid….” She is trying not to cry even as she chokes out her need of him and even though he wants to resist, to not allow himself to be the emotional crutch she turns back to time and time again, he knows it is futile just as it has always been. Because he is powerless to resist her when she calls to him.

Long hours pass and the dawn streaks the sky as he rests his head against the small window, dark glasses and pulled-down baseball cap obscuring much of his face. He can only pray he can remain anonymous because he has no real wish to become embroiled in this whole sorry mess. But she is his friend and she is hurting so he has to go to her, hoping he can be as adept at hiding himself as he has always been. As adept as she *used* to be. They taught each other well. End

–

oh that hurts so good! Thank you for this, anon! 

you just have to wait…

megsandroses:

(i’m sorry about all the mistakes, i hope you’ll like it)

at first you call your life pathetic. you stay in your
trailer all day long, just to sit on a couch or lay on a bed and drink. drink
so much it hurts. you want to get drunk and forget everything that’s been
happening lately. you want to lose your memory like you lose your mind every
single time you see her. as you open another bottle of wine, you hear her
voice. you have no idea whether it’s real or only in your head but you don’t
really care. her voice is so soft  and
nice and her laughter makes you smile. when it was you and her you were always
trying to make her laugh. trying a little too hard maybe. you drink and you
drink and you drink as her voice slowly fades away and now you’re sure it’s
been real because in your head it doesn’t go
away.

she’s happy. you can see it in her eyes, or at least
you’re pretending to see it and trying to leave her alone. all you want to do
is take her away and make love to her, just like you used to a few weeks ago. you
want to tell her all those little things you hadn’t gotten to say. you want to
make her understand it all, dump him and fall in your arms. like in a fucking
romantic movie.

you walk out of your trailer, sit at the stairs and
light up a cigarette. nasty habit, which isn’t even your habit. you inherited
it from her. she made you smoke, she made you enjoy the taste of the cigarette.
or maybe you just still imagine that her lips touched it first?

once again you fucked it up. you’ve tried so many
times before and failed but you didn’t learn your lesson. someone would call
you tough and brave for not giving up but you know that you’re just a loser who’s
trying to get something back that was never yours. how pathetic…

you see as the door of her trailer opens and she steps
out. it’s pretty late and you’re surprised to see her awake, usually she only
stays up when she’s taking care of her daughter and now she’s with her father. she
looks at you and smiles. it’s a very small and very sad smile so you don’t even
answer that with the same gesture. you just nod and hand her a pack of
cigarettes, which she accepts and sit right next to you. her naked thigh is
touching yours and you can’t focus on anything else. you both sit quietly, she
lights up her cigarette and looks up at the dark sky like she’s looking for
something. maybe those faded stars that she once saw in your eyes.

“how are you?” she asks you quietly, like she’s scared
of her own voice. but it’s enough for you because you love her whispering. generally
you love her but you don’t want to admit it, even to yourself. “i haven’t seen
you in a while.”

it’s because i’ve been avoiding you, you want to say
but your mouth says nothing. you just keep staring at the door where she was
just minutes ago and you recall all those moments she was trying to get to her
trailer unseen from a fucking marathon with you. you smile as you see her in
your memory running half naked from your trailer and laughing out loud, while
you’re throwing her a skirt she left at your floor. every single time she was
with you she was forgetting something. her bra, her lipstick, her heart.

“are you happy?” you ask her as you empty the bottle. is
it your third or fourth, you don’t know. but you think you’re not drunk enough
to face this conversation with her. you stand up and go to the kitchen to get
yet another bottle. she’d be surprised how much alcohol you’ve got there. “is
he making you happy?”

“of course, what kind of question is that?” you shrug
because you don’t know what kind of question is that. you think it’s a simple
one because he’s either making her happy and she loves him or not. but you don’t
want to fight her so you take that
answer. “are you happy?”

you laugh bitterly, look her in the eyes and there it
is – a single tear coming down your cheek. you want to be embarrassed about it,
showing how vulnerable you are but you feel nothing. just a fucking emptiness.

“i’ve been happy once” you whisper and want to run
away as far as it’s possible because you don’t
want her to see you this way. “i fucked it up, though. she left me and i
can’t blame her for that. i’m a fucking loser and a failure and i don’t deserve
to be happy.”

now you see the tears in her eyes. you make her cry
even when you’re not together. saying you’re a loser is the lightest statement
you could make. you’re so pathetic, god damn you.

“don’t do that” she says and puts her palm on your
knee. you’re pretty sure you’re gonna burn soon. “you’ve made me happy, i loved
you and i will never forget it. what we had was fucking special. but we just
weren’t meant to be.”

you shake your head and take another sip of a cheap
wine. you look at her once again and fight the urge to kiss her. her lips look
so perfect in this light.

“that’s where you’re wrong, you know” you say as you
laugh quietly. “we are meant to be, this isn’t over. you can be married, you
can move to a fucking different continent and you know i’ll find you. i always
do, even if i’m not looking for you. you and i are going to meet again and
again and again and we’ll be driving each other crazy and we will do everything
to forget about ourselves but it’s not possible. because we’re meant to be. it’s
written in those fucking stars that i’m yours and you’re mine – forever. you
can go ahead and deny it as you wish, but you know it’s true.”

“you’ve got to move on” she whispers, her voice is
shaking and she’s crying. of course you’ve made her cry. could you hate
yourself even more? “i moved on, you can do that too. i’m sure you’re gonna
meet a nice girl and you’ll be happy…”

“oh, i’m sure I will” you interrupt her. “i will find
a very nice woman, we’re gonna be happy. we’ll get married maybe and have kids.
or two dogs. we may plant a garden together, who fucking knows? but as long as i
know you’re out there, i’m gonna keep running away from what i’ve got. i may be
the happiest man alive but i’ll still choose you. i’ll choose you over
anything.”

“please, stop…”

“i’ll stop now. i’ll let you get there on your own. and
once you get it, i may be lost and won’t accept you. and we’ll end up missing
each other for years. but i know that one day, maybe when we’re old and gray
and i’m ugly, we’re gonna end up together and that’ll be it. we’ll find each
other again. just so you know…”

you don’t let her say anything. you throw away the
empty bottles and you disappear in your trailer, leaving her at your stairs
alone and all in tears. you have your window open and you’re almost sure you
can hear her whisper “i can’t fucking wait for that” and you smile.

you sleep the whole night this time. because you’re
full of hopes. although it’s just a beginning of your journey, you know that in
years, decades maybe you’ll find her again and you’ll make her fall in love
with you again. and making her laugh will be your most important aim again.

you just have to wait…

at first you call your life pathetic but then again,
there’s always hope.

Found this on a torn-out page of notebook paper at the bottom of the dumpster

edierone:

no idea who wrote it or why or what it’s about but it’s sweet isn’t it

———————

And now, with her house quiet and empty but for the children (who’ve been asleep for the last hour), her business calls and correspondence completed, she has that rarest of luxuries: a little time completely to herself before bed. It should feel blissful, but it’s kind of stressing her out; everything agitates her these days, and being alone with her own thoughts has never been her absolute favorite activity, even in the easiest times, which these are decidedly not. Maybe she should meditate or something.

Then her phone buzzes: It’s him. Fuck.

She’s been ducking him these last couple of weeks, ever since the Unfortunate Incident(s), for no real reason. She’s let his two previous calls go to voicemail (which she hasn’t listened to), left his three emails unopened and his two texts unread.

But she can’t go forever without talking to him, can she? They’re gonna see each other in a few weeks, no matter what. She decides to put on her big-girl undies and take the call.

“Hello,” she says, bracing for … she doesn’t know what. It’s just so awkward. Although why she should feel awkward, she can’t really say.

“Hi there!” he says, with obnoxious good cheer. “How are you? How’re the kids?”

She answers as if he’s someone she’s just run into in Tesco, and he appears to be accepting that. No mention yet of the —

“So hey, how was your vacation in Italy? Get any good pics?”

“Fuck you.”

In the time it takes her to find and angrily stab the “end call” button, she hears him absolutely guffawing, the shithead. Ten seconds later, a barrage of all-emoji texts starts: the bikini, the camera, the side-eyes, the camera, the one that looks like “The Scream,” the camera, two peaches, the camera, the tears-of-laughter one, the clapping hands, a boat, the camera, an ice cream, the camera like seventeen times in a row. At first it pisses her off, but as she watches the little dots that indicate him crafting his next text — then follows the narrative as he laboriously finds and sends each emoji — it starts to be amusing, and by the tenth or twelfth camera in a row, she’s laughing out loud.

She texts him back, finally — the heart, then the letter U.

His next one is simple: the two hearts.

She calls him, ignoring the slight lump in her throat.

The first thing he says is “Are you okay, really?” and she’s able to say, truthfully, “Yeah, I am now,” and she swears she can actually hear him smile.

——————-
@justholdinghandsok @becksndot5 @altaircolin @mangokiwitropicalswirl @inkcollectorus @abbycorasmom @emceecapitalc   @knowleitall-super-soldier  LOL

Oh that hurts so good! Thank you!!

I feel so sad it’s the end of some kind of era. Megs said she posted the last Gillovny poem, I don’t know if Sembell is going to write more of Moving Forward, you probably will stop writing rpf… My Gillovny heart is broken not because they’re not together but because so many talented people will stop writing. Because Gillovny will be back somehow someday but will your fics and poems be back?

I don’t know about @sembell, I’m not sure I’m going to stop writing at all, I think I’ll go with the flow and go for it if I feel like it. I don’t think rpf should be more a problem now than before. It always has been fiction to me, so either I believe they’re together or not, it won’t change my opinion on them. I think it’ll just be more difficult to find the inspiration, and I know I don’t want to write cheating fanfic, or even include PM in them. That’s just not my thing. So we’ll see what comes up.
But I already know I can make up my mind to completely ignore PM and maybe even manage to forget about him. If I don’t see his face too much in the next few weeks/months, I might be able to forget him enough to write again, who knows!

So what is the little Slugger doing in these hot days of summer?😍💕 ps: I love your writing and it’s a real masterpiece!👏

sembell:

She spends the first weeks of summer mostly arms deep in mud somewhere in Central Park, constantly up to mischief and always making her father bring some fresh fruit or get a smoothie for her. She has bruised and scratched knees and elbows from her adventures, but that doesn’t keep her from frolicking around with all the little friends she made – mostly boys, because she’s a wild child and once she sees a sandbox and a water pump, her baby dolls are abandoned.

Her hair got very light during the two weeks they’d spent in Costa Rica, where her mother broke her heel and her father teared his shoulder in an attempt to catch her as she was jumping into the pool. And while David is alright to care for her, Gillian is barely able to go to the playgrounds or keep up with her in general. It was a very nice vacation nontheless, because there was even sweeter fruit than at home and her brothers had a lot of time to play with her, which she always enjoys tremendously.

Twice a week, David brings her to a summer gymnastics class, where she met Henry, a little boy she never stops talking of these days. The first boyfriend, Gillian teases, while David just grumbles with gritted teeth. As if it wasn’t enough that his oldest daughter is about to leave for college, now the little one is also starting to spread her wings…

Aftermath memories

justholdinghandsok:

Gillovny RPF

Thank you so much to @sembell for the beta-reading. 

It’s set after The Webbies and it is totally NSFW.

Their tight schedule didn’t allow them the necessary time of together-loneliness they were used to have after a long period without seeing each-other. The first time he saw her after those long three weeks of deprivation was in the middle of a crowd, on a red carpet, flashes dazzling his eyes and preventing him from seeing her whole.

He knew about her crutches, but seeing her like that melted his heart. She looked like a fragile little nestling who had just fallen from its nest. He wanted to hold her, help her, lift her so she didn’t have to put her tiny little feet on the floor anymore. He would have if they’d been alone and if he wasn’t injured himself.

This is so sad, he thought. No one would buy that they injured themselves separately. And yet, it was the truth. Talking about soulmates…

It was a long day. Being with her, standing next to her, and not be able to touch her, to tell her how much he missed her, how much he loved her. He would have given everything for a few seconds alone with her, but that didn’t happen. They separated after their X-Files duties, as she liked to call them, and saw each other again when he surprised her on stage to give her a well-deserved, yet totally unknown award. It was a very special moment, the two of them on stage, disabled but glowing with happiness. They were in their own bubble for five minutes, but then they had to separate again.

It was only a few minutes after midnight that she rang at his door and they finally found their way to the bedroom. With his arm and her foot, it was slower than it usual. He used to joke about their relationship being based on logistics; well, it seemed like it had extended even to their lovemaking.

Missionary wasn’t possible with his arm, but doggy-style hurt her foot. They opted for a tender spooning from behind, but his sling stopped him from keeping her close to him. He could tell she liked it, but not enough for her to climax. He would have finished her with his mouth if he hadn’t just come inside her. He apologized, she said it was okay, he knew it wasn’t. No, really, this was so sad. They were so old.

“Remember the time we fucked everywhere and all the time?” he now says, sounding defeated.  His head is gently resting on her upper arm, his lips softly caressing the side of her breast.

“Remember the first time we did it?” she asks in return, her fingers slowly running through his hair.

“It’s not something I could ever forget,“ he grins, raising his brows to look at her. How could he? They’ve been filming all night under fake, yet freezing rain. He’d invited her inside his trailer for tea and they ended up together under his tiny shower. That’s the story he should have told earlier on this stage instead of this ridiculous baseball-thing he made-up while waiting backstage. “You were so cute,” he adds, remembering how young and inexperienced she was.

“And you were so hard,” she teases, raising her knee against his soft cock. He nibbles the flesh of her breast as a vengeance, making her chuckle. “What’s your favorite memory of me?” she wants to know, suddenly sounding very serious.

“You mean, in bed?” he asks and she nods with a grin. “Back then or recently?” He feels like he needs to ask. He always needs to separate their relationship in two periods of time. “Back then” meaning from when they met to when they stopped working with each other, which means from when they started dating each other, to when they couldn’t stop fucking each other, to when they hurt each other so badly they had to go separate ways even if it was jeopardizing their career. “Recently” meaning from when they started fucking again, just because they’ weren’t able not to fuck, to when they realized they could actually date, to a few years ago, when he told her she was the woman of his life and he never loved anyone as much as he loved her and she crumbled into his arms, stammering “me too”. “Recently” was his favorite period.

Afficher davantage

JHH I am hating this dry spell! I feel like I’ve read all of the Gillovny fic and watched all the videos. Are there any lesser known Gillovny fics to keep me occupied until something noteworthy happens??!!

I don’t know if you’ve read it already, because it’s at the very end of the Gillovny rpf tag on AO3, but this is one of my favorite rpf. It’s called “in the beginning”, and it’s about the very first audition of David and Gillian, when they met to the filming of the pilot. It’s brilliant and very realistic. Part one is here, and the second part is here. 

Hope you enjoy it!