Joy Sullivan, From “These Days People Are Really Selling Me On California”, Instructions For Traveling

So today, my sister received a free t-shirt… the guy gave her an XL. 

She asked for something smaller, and he started laughing and responded with, “You’re not skinny.”

This is my sister:

This was my baby bro’s response when she told us: 

I never needed a season 2 so bad of a show the way I need season 2 of Julie and The Phantoms

You can shed tears that she is gone, or you can smile because she has lived. You can close your eyes and pray that she’ll come back, or you can open your eyes and see all she’s left. Your heart can be empty because you can’t see her, or you can be full of the love you shared. You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday, or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday. You can remember her only that she is gone, or you can cherish her memory and let it live on. You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back. Or you can do what she’d want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

Rest in Peace, Allison Argent. (Died March 17th, 2014)

Writing this book has caused major headaches😭😭

So I'm sitting in the hospital and my grandparents just went back and it's been five minutes and there was suddenly a bang against the wall

Son: “Dad? What sound do ducks make?”

Tom: “They croissant.”

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: Actions don’t always speak louder than words as you tell Bob you love him for the first time.

Disclaimer: As an avid Swifite, I eagerly listened to songs from Taylor Swift’s newest album, Midnights, and the song, “Sweet Nothing,” inspired this particular piece. I’m a softie for Bob and a softie in general, so I took great delight in writing this one😌

Listen to “Sweet Nothing” here.

____________________________________________

His hands firmly grip the steering wheel while his eyes are solely focused on the road, vigilant of his surroundings. You sit comfortably in the passenger seat and admire him from there. Sometimes, you can’t believe you’re fortunate enough to not only have encountered such a handsome, warm, observant, sensitive, and loving man, but also to have someone who appreciates everything you embody.

As you relish your time together, you recall the poem currently tucked away in the inner pocket of your purse. Bob cooked you breakfast earlier that morning and even though you offered several times to assist him with preparing the meal, he denied your requests. Instead, he encouraged you to select something for the two of you to watch once everything was ready. With his back turned and his attention primarily on the stove, it was easy for you to briefly sneak into the other room and quietly open the desk drawer to retrieve a blank piece of paper along with a pen.

You peeked around the corner to confirm he was still occupied and were pleased to find him in the midst of adding more batter to the waffle iron (which he recently purchased after you shared waffles are your favorite breakfast food). Once you returned to your spot on the somewhat lumpy couch, you put your pen to paper and it seemed to assume a life of its own. It glided across the paper as the words came to you effortlessly and when you reviewed the collection of words, you were satisfied with the finished product. You neatly folded and placed it in your purse only to be told moments later that breakfast was served.

Now, you’re mulling over when to share this piece of writing with Bob. It’s probably better to wait until he can provide you with his full attention as he needs to remain alert while driving. However, you fear some of your confidence may dwindle if he’s staring at you while you’re reading it, so you decide to do it now.

“Bob?”

“Hmm?” he responds while glancing at you momentarily from the driver’s seat.

“There’s, um, something that I-I want to share with you…if that’s okay.” You avert your gaze and suddenly become interested by a small tear in the seat beneath you.

“Of course. What is it?” he asks smoothly.

“Well, it’s…uh, it’s a poem.”

“A poem? One that you read recently?”

“No. I, uh, I actually wrote it. I wrote it for you.” You turn your head slightly to gauge his reaction and observe a rosy tint decorating his cheeks.

“F-for me?” he clarifies. “Really?”

The uncertainty in his voice tugs at your heart.

“No one’s ever written me a poem,” he admits and it’s evident that he’s touched by the gesture despite not having heard it. You’re baffled by this information because if possible, you’d have 100 poems dedicated to this man, enough to wear out the ink in every pen you own because words almost fail to do this man justice.

You move to unzip your purse so you can take out the carefully folded piece of paper, but Bob’s voice interrupts you.

“Do you mind waiting until we’re home? I’m afraid I won’t be able to listen as well. Plus we’re only a few minutes away now.” He offers you a tender smile, the one that is capable of forming goosebumps on your skin and making your heart hum in contentment. How can you deny him? Not when he’s given you so much.

“Sure,” you agree and feel the butterflies in your stomach flutter in a frenzied manner as you count down the minutes until you’re back at his place. He makes the final turn into the lot and you feel as though you may jump out of your skin. You steal a glance at him before you two get out of the car and see a hint of a smile on his face; you know it’s in anticipation of the words written for him and only him. You hope you don’t come to regret sharing this with him now.

Once you’re inside and the familiar scent of his place greets you, you catch him looking at you expectantly.

“Here, sit down,” you instruct gently and sit beside him. The crinkled paper quivers in your hands and Bob notices this because he places his hand upon your thigh. He shoots you a small smile, wordlessly urging you to proceed. You clear your throat and read the following words that you had only formulated hours before aloud:

Ordinary was never meant to be mine

Normalcy and the expected are quite dreary, I find

Perhaps others were right in that I was asking for too much

But then again, they’ve never felt your incomparable touch

That fateful day we met permanently altered my life

And seemed to trivialize past obstacles and strife

For I had found more than I could conjure up in my mind

A man greater than lofty fantasies, one that is truly divine

Your warmth engulfs me, a coziness that cannot be replicated

Enough to shield me from pain, former hurt eliminated

Our intertwined bodies, breathing you in

My refuge is in your company as we touch, skin to skin

Your words and heart are unparalleled

You showed me your true self and as a result, I fell

With you in my life, there is no longer a void

Because I am in love with you, Robert Floyd

You lower the paper from your eyes and muster the courage to make eye contact with him even though you’re fearful of his reaction. What if he thinks your feelings are premature? Maybe he’ll be overwhelmed. Perhaps he’ll decide that you two need to slow down and put things on hold for the time being.

But when your eyes meet his, you take in their misty appearance and although his sensitivity is not novel, you didn’t expect your words to elicit such a reaction.

“Y/N…y-you love me?” he asks in quiet disbelief.

You nod.

“That…that was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” he reveals and you feel your breath catch in your throat. “And I-I love you.”

“You love me?” you ask, mimicking his own question.

He nods while smiling and adjusting his glasses. “I do and I have for a while. I just, uh, I didn’t know when the right time was to tell you and I didn’t, you know…want to mess this up bec-“

You clutch his hands in yours. “I didn’t want to mess this up. I thought the poem may be a bit much,” you say shyly.

“A bit much?” Bob repeats. “No. It’s-it’s everything.” He leans forward and kisses you so sweetly that you swear your limbs may liquify.

When you come over the next night after work, Bob asks you to grab his watch that he left on his nightstand while he cooks dinner. You wander into his bedroom only to find something else there, too: the poem you wrote him encased in a sleek, sturdy frame. The grin that spreads across your face almost strains your muscles and you pluck the watch from its place on the nightstand, continuing to grin as you make your way to him.

“One question for you, Bob Floyd.” You dangle his watch in front of him. “Was this merely a ploy so I’d see my framed poem?”

“I can’t give away all my secrets,” he teases before wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into him, affirming how special it is to be loved by Bob Floyd.

@bradshawsbaby @gretagerwigsmuse @roosterforme @bratshaws @bobfloydsbabe @samwlscns @sebsxphia @theforgottenmcrmy @notyoursbutlewis

East High is a place where teachers encouraged us to break the status quo and define ourselves as we choose. Where a jock can cook up a mean crème brulee, and a brainiac can break it down on the dance floor. It’s a place where one person, if it’s the right person, changes us all. East High is having friends we’ll keep for the rest of our lives, and I guess that means we really are ‘all in this together’ - October 24th, 9 years of High School Musical 3: Senior Year (2008)

DOCTOR

Bradley Bradshaw x Navy doctor!reader

summary: Rooster has a crush on the base’s doctor

—

Rooster had been to the clinic three times this week. It was only Tuesday.

“Doctor!” he called this time, barging through the door with as much grace as a plane crash, “I need help.”

You didn’t even look up from your papers. “I am well aware. Would you like me to refer you to a psychiatrist for evaluation?”

The man only rolled his eyes, walking the familiar path up to your desk. The clinic was empty for the time being, save for you. “Not that kind of help.”

“Oh really?“ You finished a signature, took your glasses from their place on your nose. “Then how can I help you, Lieutanent?”

When you turned your chin up, Bradley Bradshaw met your gaze with a friendly grin. With his tousled brown hair and dark flight suit, you had to admit he was a welcome change of scenery from the white walls and unsettling quiet of the infirmary.

“I told you, you don’t have to call me that.”

You gave him a teasing smile in return. “It’s protocol, Lieutenant, and you haven’t answered my question.”

“Right,” he drawled, gaze travelling over the small number of personal items by your computer. One finger moved to give a hard tap on your Darth Vader bobble head. He seemed to not know exactly what to say, and his next words came out lamely. “I have a headache.”

You almost laughed.

Yesterday, you’d given an aviator fourteen sutures for a gash sustained while punching out during an engine failure, and the whole time, he had insisted he was fine. Then here was Rooster, bringing you, the lead physician at the base’s infirmary, a complaint of a headache. This man would be the death of you.

“I see,” you said, deciding you’d play into the charade. “You know the drill.”

You rose from your desk, nodded your head for him to follow you to one of the empty hospital bed in the corner used for checkups. He did, bounding ahead of you in long strides and sitting heavy on the white sheets.

He looked at you at face level now, brown eyes expectant in a way that made you busy yourself with gathering your instruments. A blush crept its way over your cheeks when you felt his gaze follow your movements. You quickly washed your hands then drew closer to examine his head.

“Have you had any in-flight complications recently?” You asked.

Your fingers ghosted through his hair, and you could’ve sworn Bradley shuddered.

“No, ma’am.”

“Any unusual physical activity?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Nausea? Vomiting? Dizziness?”

You were running a hand gingerly over the back of his head now, meaning you had drawn closer, and Bradley turned his chin up. For a beat, your eyes met, and you hurried to focus back on your job, pushing away the warm feeling in your belly and the troublesome thought that he smelled like Old Spice.

Bradley’s look was knowing, almost amused. “None of the above.”

“Have you experienced a head injury?”

A pause.

“Would it count if I fell head over heels for you?”

You pulled back, trying–and failing–to hide the smile tugging at your lips. Bradley saw and smirked.

“Not unless you lost consciousness,” you answered. “Now, follow my light.”

You tested his vision, his reflexes, everything you needed before taking a final step back. You had enough to make your diagnosis, and your expression was somber.

“Well, Lieutenant, I have good news and bad news.”

Bradley’s brows rose. “I’ll take the bad first.”

“The bad news is that I am certain your headache is caused by spending far too much time around Hangman,” you said, “and I’m afraid I can’t remedy Lieutenant Sersine’s entire personality.” Bradley let out a loud laugh, the kind that filled the room. It made you smile. “The good news is,” you pulled a small bottle from your coat pocket, “I have Tylenol.”

Bradley grinned. “You’re a miracle worker.”

“So I’ve been told.” You shook a white pill into your hand and held it out. “This should kick in in about thirty minutes. Consider yourself cured.”

Halfway to taking it from you, Bradley stopped, curious eyes glued to your outstretched left hand. When he spoke, you could hear his surprise.

“Haven’t seen that here before,” he murmured. “Were you always wearing that?”

You followed his gaze to the wedding ring on your finger, a simple band and diamond that glimmered under the white lights.

You shrugged. “I usually have it on a chain when I’m on base. But it’s been a slow day, so I figured it’d be safe for doing paperwork.”

Bradley hummed and took the pill, swallowing it dry. He began to stand.

“Must be one lucky guy,” he said.

“Oh, he is,” you replied, leaning a hand on your hip. “Though sometimes he’s one lucky pain in my ass.”

Bradley’s brows rose a good bit, and he looked like he suddenly needed to make a hasty exit. “Right. Well, thanks Doc, I feel much better now, but I gotta get back or Maverick’s gonna have my head and then it’ll hurt even more.”

Bradley hurriedly gave you a salute before turning and starting towards the door. Behind his back, you rolled your eyes and called after him in a singsong voice. “Goodbye, Lieutenant Bradshaw.”

Bradley paused with his hand on the door and looked relieved to know your annoyance had been feigned. He shot you a boyish smile.

“Goodbye, Doctor Bradshaw.”

“I was kidding, you know,” you added, gesturing around the clinic. “You can come visit me any time you want. The Navy knows we’re married and Mav was at the wedding, so you don’t need to make up excuses.”

“Yeah,” Bradley turned away again, the door slowly starting to close, and raised his voice enough to reach you, “but where’s the fun in that?”

*Lily, Boone, and Dani are sitting on a bench* Tyler: Why do you guys look so sad? Dani: Sit down with us so we can tell you. *Tyler sits down* Lily: The bench is freshly painted.