Alright, I'll admit it. I'm stuck. I've been trying to write something for the past two days and it's just not happening. And, to top it off, I'm completely devastated over tonight's 24 and have chosen to not think about it at all until the last possible moment (preferably next Monday night at 8:59).
So help a girl out and spam me. Give me a
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“I think it’s good.”
Jen raises an eyebrow in Courtney’s direction before stuffing a forkful of lettuce into her mouth. Courtney has been making her presence more known lately - their Sunday morning phone calls and sporadic brunches becoming every day habits. Courtney is being the overprotective mother- like figure that she needs and as Jen looks at her from underneath her wide-rimmed sunglasses, her cautious way of taking care of her reminds her sadly of her own mother, and the thought does something funny to her heart.
Makes it ache in a different sort of way than what she’s been accustomed to lately.
“What’s good?”
“The being alone thing,” she says. The snort that she offers is customary and she can’t think of another person in the entire world that would tell her that being alone was a good thing. “I mean, it’s time to get back on your feet -”
“I’ve never been off my feet,” Jenn reminds her as she takes a sip of her ice ( ... )
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Maybe? I dunno how good of a prompt that is...
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It’s a tough thing to swallow, this turn of events.
They’re on the couch again, tequila on the coffee table, Derek’s glass half empty.
It’s a grieving process, she muses, learning that what you thought you were was all an incredible, elaborate lie.
There’s music on, some sort of classic rock she vaguely knows because that’s what she does and it’s what he likes. Derek is resting his head on the back of the couch with his eyes pressed tightly closed and she pulls her knees up to her chest, watches him.
He’s drunk. Or maybe not drunk. Or maybe even almost there. All that matters is he is not a fan of talking to her anymore, or anyone for that matter. His bruises are healing, fading almost completely and she reaches out to touch them, run her finger of the burgeoning scar near his temple just to convince herself that he’s still half alive.
She doesn’t.
the rest is here
Just don't hate me too much if it sucks, ok?
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like Hermoine/Ron when feelings were growing & they both didnt know what to think of it.
haha, just a suggestion!
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So, when I get back I'm going to try my hardest to have bright, shiny new fic for you!
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