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attapullman · 3 months

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That's Mine | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: Bob likes Rooster. He does. So why does he suddenly hate him when his childhood best friend agrees to go out on a date with the pilot?

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: f!reader, 18+ ONLY as always, smut, protected pinv, oral (f receiving), praise!kink, fluff, dirty humour, alochol mentions, sorry to all the Rooster girlies

Author's Note: This is my official jealous best friend!bob entry for my event International Bob Floyd Fucks Month. Thank you to everyone who has celebrated this silly little thing and continued the Bob Fucks agenda. I just love him so much. Save a Rooster, ride a Bob!

“What do you mean Rooster asked you out?”

He’s hot on your heels through the house, following you out to where you’re watering the ferns on the deck. You can’t see his face, but the simmering annoyance is palpable. In your mind’s eye you can see the little vein that pops out only when he’s seriously irritated. An emotion he reserves only for you.

Who would have guessed that two strangers pairing up for a Mommy & Me class decades ago would evolve into the inseparable, eye-rolling, belly laughing attachment of you and your best friend. He keeps you focused, eyes on the prize and safely home by ten. You bring Robby out of his shell, actually wanting to jump in and join the crowd. Occasionally both giving each other a headache, but always ending with a punch on the shoulder while sharing a carton of Haagen Daas.

You roll your eyes and stick your tongue out at him. He’s being so annoying about this Rooster thing.

It’s been four months since you followed him out to San Diego. A quick summons to Top Gun that led to him out in the middle of the ocean while you whined to your roommate about what if he doesn’t come home this time? How could you possibly survive without him infodumping about WWI missiles and whether milk or dark chocolate made better cookies?

And then you’d gotten the call, B.O.B. flashing across the screen and the photo from that summer in high school where he let you paint a butterfly on his face. The mission was successful. He was safe. And he was staying in Fightertown permanently with this squadron. A few months later, when your roommate accidentally lit your stove on fire, he asked if you wanted to come down and stay for a few weeks. By the end of the month you had rented a small craftsman and his truck was a regular fixture outside.

Then a month ago, when he’d swung by after work, khaki uniform freshly pressed, and asked if you wanted to come to the local Navy bar to meet the names he spent so much time talking to you about. Fiddling with the edge of his glasses, nervous you wouldn’t like his new crew as well as the Lemoore squadron you’d spent years befriending. But if they were good enough for Bob, they were good enough for you.

Rooster was hot. All curly auburn hair and big brown eyes. You’d hit it off quickly, the two of you against Phoenix and Bob, sharing stories about your beloved bespectacled WSO and his sassy quip of the day. Phoenix still couldn’t believe that Bob had used a Superbad quote for the high school yearbook. You still remember the horrified look on his mom’s face.

But last night had been different. Phoenix and Bob had huddled a Budweiser cup of peanuts and discussed strategy most of the night, Fanboy rounding off the table once he heard “electronic warfare”. Your best friend’s dedication to work was commendable, but what were you supposed to do at a Navy bar when he was busy? Luckily the baby cow-eyed pilot had taken pity and bought you a round, taking you out to the back deck to appreciate the beach while Hangman rowdily dominated the pool table.

Rooster had been sweet, asking about your childhood with Bob and what you thought of San Diego. Between the kind male attention and the slutty light wash jeans, you were only human for looking up at him through your lashes and flirting a little. And you felt light as air when Bob came outside ready to take you home, your number in Rooster’s phone and a date secured for Friday.

“Seriously? You’re not going to answer me?” Why was annoying Robby so fun? So sweet and calm under the most pressured of situations, every once in a while he prickled.

You finish with the deck plants and retreat back inside, making sure the windowsill babies are plenty hydrated in the late afternoon sun. “Why do you care? You like Rooster.”

It’s alarmingly loud in the silence as he thinks through that one.

Because Bob does like Rooster. He’s a little older, outgoing, the kind of guy he trusts on a life-or-death mission. In the last few months he would even venture to say they’d become more friends than coworkers, Natasha always bringing them together for a night out. So why did it bother him so much when you said you were going out with Rooster tomorrow night?

Instead of answering, he keeps his conflicted thoughts to himself and starts helping with the plants. There’s no point in an argument he’s not going to win, especially when he’s not sure what he’s even fighting for.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye, metal frames glinting in the low afternoon light, gelled hair out of formation from training with his helmet on all day. Maybe you did overstep by agreeing to go out with one of his coworkers. “You want to get street tacos and make fun of C-list celebrities?”

His eyes light up as he nods and overwaters your calathea.

Half a six pack of Mexican lager later and the two of you are sprawled across the living room furniture, Bob’s socked feet up on the coffee table and yours over the arm of the wingback he helped you haul home four years ago. Save the fuzzy tipsiness clouding your senses, you’re transported back to weekend nights in high school. Watching old John Hughes movies and laughing so hard soda shot up your nose. Life has been full of so many incredible opportunities, but evenings in front of the TV with Robby are your most cherished memories.

“Oh my god!” you squeal. “Could he be any more cringeworthy? Put a shirt on!” Your fingers cover your eyes, pretending to be offended by the young twentysomething currently stripping off on your trashy television show of choice.

Bob laughs from his spot on the sofa, beer can dwarfed in that massive hand. “Oh please, you love when they’re half naked for no reason.” He feels that weird tug in his chest for the second time today, but chalks it up to the meat from his street tacos.

You roll your eyes playfully, giving him that toothy smile you’ve perfected since elementary school. “Ya,” you slur a little. “But as my best friend you’re not allowed to judge.”

As if he could find fault in you.

Payback has been talking to him for the past twenty minutes. Bob hasn’t heard a word. Just continues staring at the front door of the Hard Deck like it will magically conjure you.

You’re out with Rooster right now, at that restaurant with the breathtaking ocean view and spicy mozzarella sticks. And while you didn’t tell him, he knows you’re wearing the dress with the eyelet lace and your hair down for once. And you’re probably giving him that toothy grin while he talks about 80’s music and shows you photos of working on the Bronco. You’re likely planning your second date already.

He likes Rooster. He likes Rooster. He likes Rooster. So why does he suddenly hate him?

Payback has completely given up on conversation when the door opens and in strides that floral print smug son of a bitch. Bob’s hand grips the table, grounding himself that it’s not a hallucination. Rooster’s hand is respectfully on your waist, leading you through the throng of Friday night patrons. And you look pretty as can be in that dress, your hair slightly covering your warm cheeks and bashful eyes as a strong man looks after you.

The pilot grins at his squadron, tipping his chin in greeting, knowing he’s got the prettiest girl in the room on his arm. You give Bob a goofy lopsided grin, happy to see him after a lovely night out. Happy that Rooster offered to drop you by before taking you home so you could see your best friend.

There’s nervous energy bubbling under your skin, eager to download about your dinner and drinks, and you wish you were back at home in the kitchen, mugs of hot chocolate in your hands while you and Robby gabbed about your latest romantic excursions like back in the day.

Things were so much simpler when you were seventeen.

Especially because back then he wasn’t weird when you had crushes, or met someone on Hinge. And he certainly didn’t give you that tight lipped frown that you want to smooth off his face. It’s you and him against the world, so why does it suddenly feel like it’s you against him?

“Hey Robby,” you start, giving him your gentlest smile. “You win darts?” He gives a half shrug, picking at his cup of peanuts. Cool, that’s how he’s gonna play it.

You sit next to Rooster at the piano, letting him play a few songs and rally the crowd. You’re a little bored of the repertoire you’ve heard on repeat since your first Hard Deck visit, but give him an encouraging smile nonetheless to be polite.

You like Rooster. But even after a nice night, you know you don’t want to pursue this. Not at the sake of your friendship with Bob.

Everyone’s stomping their feet and slapping their hands to Ozzy Osbourne’s “Crazy Train” when exhaustion hits you. The back of your hand against your mouth signaling that you’ve had enough for one day. The sweet chocolate eyes of your piano partner give you a caring look as he asks if you want him to drive you home. The hope for a goodnight kiss twinkles in his eye.

“No need, I can take her!” It’s instant adrenaline the way the WSO has launched across the room. You rush to thank Rooster for a nice night as he’s left behind on the piano bench. Bob hasn’t said a single word to you all night and yet he’s borderline dragging you out to his truck. The calloused edges of his fingers digging into your bare arm, the soft flannel of his shirt brushing against your hands when he helps you into the truck. They’re all familiar feelings, yet tonight feels different.

He’s completely silent on the drive, the radio playing some alternative rock music barely audible over the silence. He may be quiet with others, happy to take a back seat, but he’s never had an issue piping up with you. It’s punishment. Punishment for trying to have a good time with a guy who you’ve decided you don’t want.

When he parks in front of your cozy craftsman - the house he toured with you, helped you with the paperwork, bought the bubbly to commemorate the occasion - you’re both at a standstill. Last night you’d been able to put your differences aside for trashy television and tacos. Tonight…you’re just hoping he’ll come inside.

“Who do I gotta bang around here to get you to come inside?” His chuckle is weak, eyes looking anywhere but you.

Because while you’re trying to figure out where you’ve gone wrong, Bob has been having an existential crisis since Bradley fuckin’ Bradshaw put his hand on your waist. A crisis that’s been gaining speed since you followed him out to Lemoore all those years ago and has arrived at a screeching halt, crawling out of his throat. And he’s too shy to tell his lifelong best friend what’s been bothering him for as long as he’s known.

You’re…it.

It’s the way you laugh with your entire face. How you always have a comeback. Your endless love for others. The endearing way you order a pancake for the table at brunch. You’ve been the entire package this whole time. And someone seeing it before him is infuriating.

He follows you inside, watching the way the light radiates at the high points of your face. This is going to be harder than expected.

Robert Floyd has known for years that his best friend is amazing. Practically his whole life. Not a single doubt they’d make an incredible partner. The tiniest crush forming at just how good of a partner. Daydreaming about their current arrangement - the movie nights, the early morning beach walks, the Sunday afternoon bubble tea runs - with a dash of domestic bliss had his heart thudding in his chest.

What he hadn’t been prepared for was Wednesday night, when he came to collect you for the drive home. Sitting next to Rooster, a cup of peanuts loosely hanging from your hand as you looked up at the pilot with long lashed eyes and a seductive twitch of a smile. The way you’d bitten your lip when you said goodbye, turning back to Robby with that flirty glint still in your eye; instantly resetting to friendly excitement as you followed him to the parking lot.

He needed to make you look at him like that.

And now here, in your living room, while you hand him a glass of water and look at him with those impossibly pretty eyes - fuck. How does he explain?

You’re concerned, watching the turmoil on his face and convinced you’ve seriously crossed a line this time. You’ve always been the troublemaker of the dynamic, the bursting bubbly energy to his impossibly sweet silence. Won’t he please share what’s on his mind?

He’s not sure if it’s the burning need to release this tension from his body, or the way your face looks so upset at his indecision, but suddenly the dam bursts. All rational thought out the window as he finally speaks up.

“If I don’t fuck you right now I think I might die.”

It’s impossible to tell whose eyes are wider. His in embarrassment that came out and so whiny. Yours in total shock. Your brain has blue screened and all you can do is blink slowly back into focus, centering on the pink cheeks and bashful baby blue eyes in front of you.

Licking your lips, you sputter out, “W-what?”

You both know you heard him. It was impossible not to with the intense neediness dripping out of every syllable. His carnal need to know what you feel like, taste like. The way those thick, long fingers of his tensed on his knee.

A thousand emotions pass behind your eyes, reflected in his glasses. A handful of ways to handle this situation, but only one makes sense.

“Come over here. We can’t have you dying, now can we?”

There is nothing graceful about the collision of bodies that happens. Navy-trained strength meeting enthusiastic energy. He’s across the room before you can finish your sentence, the slight pause of uncertainty met with your bound into his arms. Warm lips finding each other, hesitant yet sure. The hands on your hips are familiar in a different circumstance.

The waves crashing down on Bob’s brain slow, and he’s instantly soothed as he enjoys the subtle tang to your taste. You’ve worn the same perfume for the last decade, yet this is the first time it’s driven him wild. Pulling back, he takes a deep breath to fill his lungs with the perfect scent. His fingers, fast as light when he works controls, are slow and controlled over the curve of your waist.

“I hate that Rooster touched you. You’re mine.”

“I’m yours?’

He leans forward, gaze level, breaths intermingling. “You’re mine.”

Eyes wide, glossy lip between your teeth…Bob hasn’t seen anything sexier in his life. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers scratching along his scalp as you fight for dominance in your kisses. He’s gaining confidence the longer you moan into his mouth, a sinful sound he wasn’t prepared to hear. Years of listening to you talk about dates and crushes, and now he’s experiencing it first hand.

You’re caught up in the way he’s trailing his large hands up and down your torso, tentatively brushing against the curve of your ass. Waiting for him to call the shots for what happens next. Frustrated he hasn’t already spread you out on the stupidly expensive cotton duvet he convinced you to buy.

“Robby?” He hums, lips preoccupied with your neck. “Not to be ungrateful, but I thought you were going to fuck me?”

The deep scarlet that spreads across your best friend’s cheeks is one for the record books. Jackpot.

He’s practically falling over himself, hands everywhere at once as he collects his thoughts. “You’re sure…you’re sure you want this?”

The seething jealousy that’s consumed him since Wednesday has dissipated, and the horny fog has lifted temporarily. All that’s left is ensuring you’re both on the same page. Once this happens, there’s no going back. As much as he’s looking forward to taking off that pretty dress, you need to be ready to make the same leap.

Swallowing a deep breath, drowning in those eager cerulean blues, you shift your thigh to press against the bulge in his jeans. A bulge all the girls in Lemoore talked about when they thought you weren’t listening. There’s a curiosity burning in you, a need to know if he’s just as sweet in bed as he is when he’s picking you up or helping with dinner. Things have always been platonic - they needed to be, you wouldn’t have survived a childhood crushing on the bespectacled sweetheart who grew up to be an incredible man.

You know the risks, but the rewards are greater. Life is too short to not experience fucking Robert Floyd.

A kiss to his lips. A wink. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

You sound like children giggling on the playground as you run down the hall to your bedroom, trying not to trip on the hall runner as he presses you against the wall to pepper you in scorching kisses. Breathy laughs as you explore this new part to your dynamic. Overwhelming lust mixed with lifelong companionship.

Once you make it to the bedroom - that supima bedspread underneath you, his hips cradled against yours - the innocent giggles dissipate as you take in the man above you. No longer the pink-cheeked child, the gawky teenager, Robby is nothing but height and strength and…broad? When did he get so broad? Naturally so meek and unassuming, the pure size of him is unexpected. But pinning you to the bed with those veiny hands and strong thighs, a collision of attraction overwhelms you.

There’s nothing delicate about the way he grinds his hips into yours, whimpers leaving both your lips. Your panties are soaked, he’s stretching the front of his jeans. Desperation fills the space between you.

His lips wander from your jaw, your neck, the space behind your ear, all the way to your passion-swollen lips. His voice is unsure, but hopeful, as he whispers against them, “Can I go down on you?”

Your eyes bloom wide - not only because you’d like nothing more, but you’ve remembered something from years ago. Something at the time you’d tried to forget. A night out with the Lemoore crew at that shoddy bar, everyone drunk after being out at sea for weeks, and you sat near the back waiting for Bob to come back with drinks. A small group of female aviators sat at the next table over, having clocked the shy WSO on his way to the bar. One had giggled, her friends shooting her a questioning glance. You’ll never forget when she replied, “I’d heard the rumors and didn’t believe them, but can confirm that Bob Floyd eats pussy like a starving man. Best hour of my life.”

As soon as he sees your slightly too eager nod, he’s working his way down your body, appreciating the feel of your dress and soft skin. Breath held as he officially breaches out of friend territory and lifts the hem, treating himself to the satin he can’t wait to pull aside.

Lip worried between your teeth, a whimper is punched out of you when a hot mouth secures itself around your mound, thick tongue exploring the crevices of your covered folds. A finger slips itself along your entrance, bringing to attention the soaked material.

“Someone’s excited.” The lust-driven chuckle against your thigh has you shivering. “You want me to eat your sweet little pussy?”

He’s never used that voice on you, husky and mocking. You’re shaking with desire, for him to stop teasing and give you what you want. An hour ago he was just your friend, and now you’ve never felt so needy for a man’s touch. So far gone you don’t even notice the desperate nod you give him.

He presses another wet kiss to your clothed clit before wrapping his long fingers in the fabric. Prompting you to lift up slightly so he can have unimpeded access to this feast. Skimming his nose along your thighs, hot air directly on your slick cunt. The whimpers escaping you doing nothing but prolonging the teasing.

Bob can feel how you tremble, the way your fingers are smoothing over the bedspread in an effort to self-soothe. He’s satisfied that he’s gotten you as frustrated and ill-content as he’s felt for years. Needing something, not knowing if you’ll like it, but knowing that if you don’t have it you’ll never feel satisfied.

His fingers spread you out. Head dips. The lightest touch of his tongue to damp arousal.

Holy fuck. He does eat pussy like a starving man. Pushing his face in closer and closer, his tongue reaching for every inch of the promised land. His fingers wrapped around your thighs, pulling you in. Hot, wet muscle opening you up as he drools.

Eyes unfocused, you’re in a new dimension and yet he’s enjoying it more.

That deliciously fuzzy feeling starts to tingle in your stomach, pressure building between your thighs as your best friend helps himself. Blunt nails raking up and down your legs to ground you in the experience. The sharp edge of his metal frames occasionally snagging on the skin. They alone make you want to cry to the heavens. But it’s the way he’s sloppily forcing his tongue into your cunt, lewd noises ringing around the room, that has you clamping your lips shut to not wake all of San Diego.

He senses that you’re holding back, not giving him everything he wants. You’ve been best friends since day one, he knows when you not being authentic.

That delicious tongue withdraws from your thighs and you can feel his stare on you. Waiting patiently for you to make eye contact. The pussy drunk, yet concerned look he gives you as he nudges you. “It’s okay, it’s me. I’m never going to judge you.”

Blue eyes meet yours. The same blue eyes that have consistently seen you safely out the other side of any bad situation the two of you have faced. That always comes home from deployment so matter how much you worry. The same ones that you know will guide and protect you on this journey as well. He’s your best friend. No one else can keep you this safe.

After your nod, he dips his slick lips back to your core, his smile upon your skin. Quickly losing himself in your flavor as he nudges you back open. His own hips rocking against the mattress as you allow your bitten lips to part, moans and whimpers and sharp intakes of breath filling the air. Losing yourself in his over-and-above technique to bring you to the edge.

His own muted moans vibrate against your core. Dexterous tongue and calloused middle finger (followed quickly by another) sliding in and out with ease. It’s too much and not enough, overwhelming your senses and making your brain whirr. Skin slick with sweat as that fuzzy feeling in your stomach returns and your feet tingle. Your eyes gazing unfocused down at Robby, hopelessly turned on at his dedication to making you feel good.

“C’mon, be good for me.”

His muffled words stretch the string and bring you home, thighs clamping around his damp face as a scream escapes your throat. Fingers twisting in the bedspread. Back arching. The view has him slack jawed and starry eyed, fingers still pumping in and out to prolong your orgasm. A slight tilt of his lips into a smile at how content you are when he finally catches your gaze through labored breaths.

Your brain slowly comes back to you, thoughts racing through sludge. Eyes fixed on cerulean as a smile stretches your lips. “Where the fuck did you learn to do that?”

He laughs, a surprised, carefree sound as he uses your thighs to help himself up the bed. Gives you a little wink as he grins, “It can get kind of boring on deployment.”

“Recon and intelligence protection missions are boring?”

“Yeah, when you’re not there to annoy me.” His dimples are out in full force, laughter twinkling out of every pore on his perfect face. You slug him a little, your orgasm still working its way through your body. The urge to roll over and sleep just as strong as the urge to shove him in your cunt through his jeans.

You’ve had a taste and you need more.

He’s already one step ahead of you, shrugging the soft flannel and faded tshirt from his body. Gently cranes you in his arms as he helps unzip and lift your dress above your head. The garbled choking sound and intake of breath when he realizes you aren’t wearing a bra makes you proud. You’ve always thought Bob was attractive in an understated, sweet way. To know he’s attracted to you makes any doubt about this situation indefinitely fade.

Sitting in front of him, not a scrap of fabric on you, you feel good. He’s the best guy you know, the one you have always sung his praises because there’s literally no one better. The only difference between a friendship and a relationship is sex. That’s all that’s been missing.

It’s time to take the plunge.

You swallow his lips with yours, fingers twisting in his sun-lightened hair. His arms wrapping around you, holding you secure to him. Both of you gasping at the feeling of your bare torsos touching. It’s electric. It’s satisfying. It’s grounding.

Hands quick to unzip his jeans, laughing as he tries to help only for you to bat him away. “You got to undress me, I want to undress you.”

The groan he emits reverberates. You’re so sexy and it’s driving him crazy. There was his fleeting crush in high school, but this…this is beyond his wildest dreams. Allowing your soft fingers to dip below the waist of his boxers, shimmying the denim and cotton down his legs. Your lips struck open in awe at the heavy, hard, thick appendage resting against his thigh.

“You tell me every secret you have, and yet you keep the python in your pants to yourself?” He laughs, a hand wrapping around the base as you flounder to mentally combine Robby, your meek best friend, with the red-tipped joyride protruding from his pelvis.

He helps himself to a condom from the box in the nightstand - the one you jokingly said you’d never use when he watched you unpack. You’re almost worried it’s going to be too small, but he glides it on with ease before lowering you both onto the bed, biceps straining as he adjusts. Bob can feel your slick center against the bottom of his dick and it’s taking everything in him to not make himself at home.

As you prepare yourself for what’s about to be a hell of a stretch, he kisses the top of your breasts, skimming his nose against your soft skin. Even in this moment his main priority is making you comfortable and feel safe. “We can go slow, it’s okay.”

But where Bob is safe and secure, you’re adventurous, curious. You want to know what he feels like now.

The wild fire of your eyes bores into his calm ocean blue. “Where’s the fun in that?”

A shift of hips and he’s slipping through, arousal and spit gently gliding the tip of him in. Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling on the Navy-approved length at the nape of his neck. A sharp tug that prompts a yelp as he drives his hips forward, slipping inch after inch into you. Your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you struggle to adjust. Fuck, he’s so big.

He’s kissing your temple, whispering how good you’re being for him. I know it hurts, you’re doing so well, almost there, baby. His thumb sliding between your bodies to rub pointed circles on your clit. He’s barely started and you’re already leaving your body, watching yourself be stuffed to the brim.

The neatly trimmed hairs of his pelvis poke along your clit and you’re proud of yourself for taking all of him. Nudging Bob softly to move because you’re uncomfortably full. Back arching into his strong chest as he explores parts of you that you didn’t know existed.

In no time at all he’s thrusting with all his power, leaving you a moaning mess. Fingers clutching to any sweaty skin you can find, nails leaving their mark. He’s red-faced and huffing above you, eyes switching between your blissed out expression and the way your breasts sway with his heavy thrusts. This is heaven. This is everything. Why did he wait to say anything?

Suddenly you’re pawing at his chest, pushing him to roll over. “C’mon Floyd, let me rock your world now.”

He’s pretty sure you could blow him a kiss and rock his world, but he’s definitely not complaining about the view. The silhouette of you against the San Diego moon - big beaming smile and tight nipples. Wishes he had a camera to forever commemorate the first of many times you ask to ride him. A picture book of your perfect face all the way down to you split over his dick with different backgrounds.

From this angle it’s tight, but you’re not a quitter. Rocking your hips to loosen up, hands finding purchase on his chest. His big smile is back, eyes completely dilated while he can’t decide where to look. You’re seeing stars and he’s seeing diamonds.

Once rhythm comes to you, you’re bouncing, loving the way he fills you to the hilt each time. His encouraging smile behind golden rims. You’re with someone who knows the real you, who encourages you to be your best self. And with his strong, veiny hands wrapped around your waist, helping along your movements, you know he’s…it.

It’s hard to tell where your moans end and his start, both of you polluting the air with inhales and groans mixed with the occasional squelch of sex. Your skin is shimmering, thighs begging for reprieve. You can’t get enough of the way he perfectly fills you every time.

Sensing your exhaustion, he brings you closer, slotting his mouth over yours in a filthy, sloppy kiss. Starting to meet your thrusts as you inch closer and closer to your orgasm. Having to calm himself before he ruins your rhythm. The idea of you cumming on his cock has him dizzy. You rake your fingers through his hair one last time, eyes unable to meet as your lashes flutter, and he knows. You’re here, he’s gotten you to the edge.

That big hand on your lower back soothes as you clench for the final time, pulsing. You’ve officially left Earth, watching yourself convulse on top of Robby while he rocks himself up into you. “Good girl…yeah, that’s right…feels so good, huh?”

Forget the best sex of your life, this orgasm can never be topped.

You’re half-heartedly pressing kisses to his forehead as he begin the descent to his own orgasm. Feet flat to the mattresses as he cants his hips up, desperate to drive every inch into you. The fluttering of your cunt the most amazing thing he’s ever felt, catapulting him over the edge quicker than any partner he’s had before. Shoving his face into your neck, licking at your salty skin, he knows his release is inevitable.

“C’mon Robby, cum for me.”

All reason leaves him and he bites down, lips securing over the delicate slope of your neck. A while light flashes behind his eyes and he’s filling up the condom, squeezing out every ounce of release. He suckles the skin, soothing himself as his spent body blinks back to life. Smiles sheepishly when he meets your eyes, as you smile at him sweetly.

Words don’t exist as you hold each other under the covers, tracing skin and giggling when the other finds a ticklish spot. At some point he disposes of the condom, but you’re still not fully there. Everything is good and special and you want to live in this moment forever.

When Bob strolls into the Hard Deck Saturday night, one arm looped around your waist, everything was right in his world.

His colleagues and friends sat in the back near the pool table, sipping beers and winning a game against another squadron. The two of you stroll up, looking decidedly more friendly than they’ve ever seen. Especially when Bob won’t let go of your waist and you keep touching him.

You can’t help it. You’ve gotten a taste and now you’re insatiable.

The group takes in their WSO, standing a little taller than usual with his uncontrollable grin. And then they take in you, beaming, all smiles, looking right at home by Bob’s side in your tight jeans and cute little top. A cute little top that perfectly shows off the dark purpling mark mottling on your collar - teeth marks still visible in the right light.

While Robby confirms your drink order, there is stunned silence from the other half of the pool table. Mouths agape, a gleam of pride in Jake’s eye. Phoenix picks herself up first, eyes blinking rapidly at the sudden realization of last night’s events. Clocks that you went out with Rooster, yet went home with Floyd.

“So, uh, what happened there?” She gestures to the obvious love bite. One that definitely wasn’t there when the group saw you last.

You bite your lip and look at your lifelong best friend. The guy who showed you his love last night…and then several more times this morning. His crinkled eyes drift from yours to the spot where he bit down as he came for you for the first time.

Turning to look at his squadron, he plays it cool and shrugs, mumbling through his blush, “Can’t blame me for making sure no one else plays with my toys.”

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aslanscompass · 1 year

Text

Power of the Doctor

Thoughts, rants, etc,

Time-Lord-Cybermen are stupid. I don’t even remember the details of the episode that established them, but they’re still stupid. Cybermen with Time Lord headdresses? Ugh?

aLSO, enough with the this is so cool moment and actually do the rescuing, maybe?

Syberia 1916. Location 1. Well, two. Gregory Rasputin, Rasputin is obviously the Master.

2022 London. Ace Which means absolutely nothing to new fans and odd for old ones

Hi Tegan. I mean, nothing specific that fits it. Ugh, am I weird. This isn’t making sense. My mind, I mean. But like, when Sarah Jane came back, it was in a way that fit her established character, as an investigative journalist. And teaming up Ace and Teagan is just odd.

And Dan is far too insightful about his life. NOBODY talks like that.

At least she’s still smart enough to not trust daleks

Serioiusly, are you trying to sound like a parody of extreme right ring-ism? Because that’s how you ....

Mondas? are we finally getting Mondas in NuWho

Nobody has any subtly in Chibnail who.

Technobabble increased. At least it’s not an actual child. Stop rambling and pay attention.

Hi Kate. Love you,

“You said a woman, you never said young.” Hillarious. But this is less wierd if I don’t see their faces and treat it as a Big Finish.

But it is weird that Tegan brings up age. Davison was youngest of the classic Doctors. And of course we have to replay the School Reunion vibes. Ugh!

“Do I win a prize if I guess how this all fits together or do we just have to listen to your grandstanding!”

‘“The day you die--” (I can’t wait. It’s absolutely past time for Thirteen to die)

Looked aside for five minutes and he’s in the TARDIS. wHATEVER

The Master actually had subtlty for a moment. Or at least more emotions than just surface.

I mean, the Doctor physically shocked Ace and Tegan and then they SAID AS MUCH. As if we don’t

“The last time I saw you, you were half cat.”

“A man’s allowed to experiment.”

--That’s a classic Master line.”

I’m not surprised that the Cyberman was a trick from the Master. It didn’t seem very Doctor y especially not this Doctor.

oH COME on, I’d rather have the unsettling hatred of the Master than the emotionless Thirteen. Do you even have emotions?

“Forced regeneration Doctor. To Force you to regenerate into me....”

What the fork? Is Tennant the Master now? Or is it

So confused. Or is that Ncuti? No. That’s tennant? But wait, what? So confused. No in a good sense. Did we pick up the wrong one? Cause if they’re doing a swap

“You’ll get used to me. everyone will.” Sod off.

The Tardis knows it’s the wrong time lord.

It’s so obvious wrong. Can’t you do osmething more like the Big Finish episode with the Daleks, where Davros mind-swapped with Six?

To quote Amy to 11″: “You can’t just drop me off like we shared a cab. “ i HAVEN’T even wwatched Dan’s episodes and I feel he was done dirty.

Oh, so this is where we get the past Doctor stuff.

Hi One. Strength of Character? Bah, no character whatso ever.

“You can’t ruin it for the next one.” You already have, Chibs

I am a manifestation of our consciousness, I can wear what I like,

“It’s symbolic, obviously.” No duh,

I mean, they got a lot

A very 9th Doctor end of era feelings.

Vidar? Why should we care,

The facial shift is creepy.

fIVE SECOND background exposition.

I was upset not to see Osgood at first, but now I’m glad she’s not hear. Let’s stick with the BF audios please.

Now this is more like it. Mentioning Adric. “Brave heart!”

I miss you classic who

“All children leave home sooner or later. The joy is to watch them fly.”

Ace and Graham.... where did they leave Graham? Earth, I thought.”

Come on, Kate, be yourself. You are being totally underserved her.No wobbly voice.

course it’s an elevator shaft.

So, October 2022 is time for villieans to trigger volcanos, apparently. First Sauron and now the Master

Ruth? I still don’t know who you are either.Okay, it is a hologram.

Safe is grossly overrated,

If I didn’t know for a fact whittaker is leaving, I’d feel majorly afraid that she’d be sticking around.

The celery matches so well with the vest

SHE DID NOT SAVE YOUR LIFE, REGENERATION ISN’T DEATH!

Pieta pagerism again. Ugh

And the boxes from End of Time apparently made a reapperance,

Like, despite despising Whittaker and everything she stood for,I sitll had a twinge when they carried her back into the Tardis.

There is absolutely no reason for Jodi to regenerate,

cLOISTER BELL.. BECAUSE OF YOU.

i AM SO GLAD YAZ IS GOING. I can’t see you with any of the other regens

And now you’re going all tennent before tennant, because ‘more time.’ No more time for you. Nope. You didn’t use what you had welll.

and when did you have time to explain the whole reg thing to yaz? Please?

oh please. the only thing that makes this goodbye hurt is how flippin long it;s taking to to get to the point.

i HAVEN’T LOVED you, get out of here and save me some exasperation.

Like, I’m glad Graham and Dan are there for them, but this wrap-up is so cliche. AND THE sticky-note name tags. Let’s see-- I wannna read the name tags. Okay, we have Jo Grant. Love to see that. And Sarah Jane should be there, Ian too. But good lord, get on with it!

I know these teeth? WHAT? CLOTHES REGENERATING WITH HIM. WEIRDNESS

Like, I knew how that ended but still....

#fanram #aslanscompass watches Telly #power of the doctor #goodbye Chibs #goodbye wHITTAKER #GOODBYE AND GOOD RIDDENCE #ANTI CHIBS

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don-dake · 3 years

Photo

“He's standing right behind me, isn't he?”

#I have no Dino but a Dragon would do too I guess!#No prizes for guessing where this quote came from #He got the gender *wrong* for the original pic #But it's *correct* now for my pic! Heh!#My Snapshots #Funko #Ian Malcolm #Jeff Goldblum #Jurassic Park #HTTYD 3 #How to Train Your Dragon #Toothless #Night Fury #Western Movies #Movies #My FunNen #Merch

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triptuckers · 3 years

Text

New In Town (part three) - Kaz Brekker

Request: nope Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader Summary: after hearing an interesting conversation in the pub you work at, you're determined to find out more Warnings: none Word count: 2.3K A/N: thinking about a video someone sent me on twitter of freddy saying the quote on bottling inej' laugh..... yea <3 enjoy reading! PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART TAG LIST (all grishaverse fics): @ayushmitadutta @mrs-brekker15@dancingwith-sunflowers @thegirlwiththeimpala @parker-natasha@story-scribbler @romanoffstarkovs@daliareads@meiitanoia @itsnotquimey @sanktaesperanza @whymyparentscheckmyphone @aleksanderwh0r3 @ilovemarvelanne1 @marlenaisnthappy @brekker-zenik @just-deka @Graceknxwlson @the-very-tired-mess TAG LIST (Kaz Brekker): @mufnasa @janesofia7 @stairscortana @parker-natasha @illicitghosts @brick-by-brick553 add yourself to my tag lists here

When all of the customers have piled out of the pub, and you're cleaning the tables, you can't stop thinking over Jesper and Kaz' conversation.

If only you knew what gang they were part of, you could have easily snuck into their main building. You needed to find out exactly when this party was going to take place, if you wanted to steal the necklace.

You tried to think of any other way to find out the date and location of the party. You hadn't heard any other customers talking about it, so you guessed it was a party reserved only for the elite. And Ketterdam's finest didn't come to a somewhat dirty little pub like the one you work in.

You had to be smart about this. Maybe if Jesper or Kaz came back, you could try to follow them. Find out where they were meeting, what gang they are.

And if that didn't work, you'd just have to find some dirt on them and use it to your advantage. You'd done it countless of times before. Though this was an entirely new city, with new potential targets and clients, you are confident you can pull this off.

You have to, if you ever want to be able to rent a clean room, preferably one not directly above a pub.

But it looks like your luck has decided to abandon you. In the next three days, you don't see Jesper or Kaz in the pub. You even take on extra shifts, claiming you just want to earn more money. When in reality, you are on the lookout for either one of them.

They don't show up. And you have no way of telling if the party already took place or not.

On the fourth night, your gaze is fixed on the door again as you're working. Finally, your coworker steps closer to you.

'Did you like those two that much?' she says.

'Huh?' you say. You'd been so lost in your thoughts you hadn't heard her approach you.

'I'll take that as a yes.' she says. 'That tall one was cute. The other one gave me some creepy vibes.'

'What are you talking about?' you ask her.

'Those two that came by a couple of days ago. You kept hovering by their table, and you've been daydreaming ever since.' she says, smirking at you.

You laugh and shove her away. If only she knew the real reason why you had been hovering around their table. You decide to try if maybe she knows about the party. You doubt it, but there's no knowing unless you try.

'Hey, are there any good parties around here?' you say. 'I've yet to explore Ketterdam's night life.'

'Well, there are some.' she says. 'But most of the fancy ones take place at some merchants house. We'd never get in.'

'Sounds like one hell of a party, then.' you say.

'Oh, they're the best. On nights like those, you can see them all dressed up in their best clothes, jewellery all over the place. It's quite impressive.' she says.

'Hmm.' you hum. You hadn't seen a scene like that, so the party probably hadn't taken place yet.

'The merchants' wives have a new gown for every party.' she says.

'Really?' you say, genuinely surprised that they do. Surely you could spend your money on better things than a gown you'd only wear once.

'Uh-huh, they never wear the same thing twice. The other day, I was in one of those expensive stores to pick up an order for my aunt, and one of them was there. She kept raging on about how her dress wasn't going to be ready in time for a party.' she says.

This gets your full attention. Maybe this was about the party Jesper and Kaz were talking about.

'Was she really mad?' you say, pressing on.

'Furious.' says your coworker. 'She said that if her dress wasn't ready by Tuesday morning, because the party is that night, she'd never come to the store again.'

'Huh, what an attitude.' you say, trying to hide your gratitude for finally finding out the date of the party. All that was left was the location, and which wife exactly would be wearing the priceless necklace. But at least you got one piece of the puzzle.

'You really should have heard her. She kept yelling she couldn't possibly show up to Christensen manor without a new dress.' she says.

'Christensen manor?' you say, hoping you don't sound too curious. But apparently, your coworker loves gossiping way, as she nods eagerly.

'He's one of the richest merchants around. He's the one hosting the party. Rumour goes the ring he always wears is worth so much money, it could buy half of Ketterdam.' she says.

You snort. 'Half of Ketterdam? That seems a little too much.' you say.

'Oh, you'd be surprised.' she says. 'His family is always nearly sinking to the floor with the amount of jewellery they wear. They like to show everyone just how much money they have.'

'Aren't they afraid it gets stolen?' you say.

She shakes her head. 'They have too much security for that. Even the gangs back in the Barrel wouldn't dare to pull off such a daring stunt.' she says.

You smile to yourself. If only she knew at least five gang members were planning exactly that.

The two of you look up when a bell rings, signalling the end of your shift.

'That's my cue.' you say. 'You sure you're gonna be alright out here?'

'I'll manage. Go and get some rest.' she says.

'Alright, goodnight.' you say.

She waves at you as you walk toward the stairs to go to your room. To her, it seemed like you were just gossiping away. Little did your coworker know she'd given you exactly the information you needed. Maybe working at a pub turned out to be useful after all.

So the party would take place on Tuesday night, at Christensen manor. And his wife would most likely be the one to wear the necklace, if they parade around with their riches so much.

All you had to do was make sure you arrive before Jesper and Kaz do. You'd worked your way through more difficult plans, you could handle this.

When you wake up on Tuesday morning, you get dressed quickly and sneak out of the pub without being seen. You're grateful you bought loose pants with a lot of pockets.

You've hidden your gun in your pants, and your knives are strapped around your thighs. You didn't expect there to be an escalation, but you liked to be prepared.

You arrive at the manor, which looks abandoned. There are no lights on yet, but then again it's barely dawn. The reason why you came here so early is so you could inspect the building.

There are at least four different escape routes you can see. But you didn't know if you woud still have access to them when the manor is swarming with drunk party guests. And guard. And, of course, a few disguised gang members.

You pick out a spot in an alley across from the manor, and wait.

When you first stared doing jobs like this one, you didn't have patience at all. It caused you to be sloppy, to make mistakes and miss opportunities. But over the years, you learned that patience is a valuable ally.

You sit in the alley for hours, eating the food you'd brought with you. You're observing the manor, watching as servants come and go in order to prepare the party that would take place later that day.

When the sun starts to go down, the party guests arrive. Your coworker had been right; they're all dressed in expensive looking clothes in the brightest colours. Jewellery shines on their ears, around their necks, on their fingers and wrists.

You're lucky you're patient. Otherwise you would have simply snatched a less valuable necklace. But you had your eyes set on a prize, and you're determined.

When most of the party guests have entered the manor, you sneak closer and enter through the door the servants had used all day. Luckily, there's no one in the room you enter.

All you have to do is follow the music to the main area, and find the merchant's wife. Easy.

You make your way through the hallways, occasionally stopping to take cover when you hear someone approaching. Finally, you make it to the room where the music is the loudest.

People are laughing, drinking and dancing. You'd love to be part of that life some day. To just spend your days dancing with your friends, playing dress up. But that kind of life would have to wait.

You scan the room from where you are standing, and spot a couple dancing in the middle of the room.

They're dressed in colours so bright they seem to light up the room. The woman is nearly entirely covered in shining gemstones. And on her chest rests a heavy necklace, a large diamond dangling from it.

You look around the room, but don't spot Jesper or Kaz. They aren't here yet, or you just hadn't seen them. You had to be careful. They knew what you looked like. And as soon as they caught sight of you, you didn't doubt they would tell their companions.

Behind you, a servant approaches with a tray laden with glasses of wine. You smile and walk up to him.

'I'll take it from here, Christensen said you could take a break.' you say, holding your hands out to take over the tray.

It surprises you how easily he hands it over to you. Was working at a party really that bad you'd take the first change of getting a break you got?

You don't have time to question it. You have to move quickly if you want to be out before the gang members arrive.

You manoeuvre your way through the crowd, and most people don't even seem to notice you're not wearing a servant's uniform. Maybe they're too drunk to notice. Or maybe they just don't care.

After spotting Christensen and his wife again, you make your way toward them. The music stops just about the same time as you reach them.

Before the next song starts, you make yourself trip, spilling wine all over Christensen's wife.

She lets out a yelp of surprise when the red liquid stains her dress. She furiously turns at you and you're quick to put on a shocked face.

'I am so sorry, my lady.' you say. 'I tripped, oh Saints, I'm so sorry.'

'Watch where you're going!' she says. 'You ruined my dress.'

'I'm sorry, I'll help you clean it up.' you say.

'You better.' says the merchant, Christensen, as he roughly takes a hold of your arm and pushes you to follow his wife out of the room.

You keep your eyes down as you follow her through the halls. She opens door after door, muttering to herself about useless servants. She stops when you've entered a bedroom.

She opens another door to reveal a bathroom. When she sees her dress in the mirror, she glares at you.

'I haven't seen you here before.' she says.

'I'm new.' you say, keeping your eyes on the floor.

'New and clumsy.' she says. 'Wait here while I change.'

She takes off her jewellery and shoes before disappearing in the bathroom, closing the door. You don't know how much time you have, so you move quickly.

You grab a hold of the necklace and shove it into one of your coat pockets. You're debating wether or not you can go back the same way you got here, but then you hear footsteps approaching.

You whirl around, and spot a window. You could climb down and get as far away from the manor as possible.

With three big steps, you make it to the window and open it. You carefully climb through the window and being to work your way down to the street.

Just when your feet hit the ground, you hear the merchant's wife scream.

'Thief!' she screams. 'I've been robbed!'

You smile as you start jogging toward the street, to go back to the pub. When you round the corner of the manor, you see a few people making their way toward it.

Two guards and three people dressed as elaborately as the other guests. For a split second, you wonder why three guests would be accompanied by two guards, but then you remember Jesper and Kaz' hushed conversation.

A grin starts to spread across your face. You'd been fast enough. They'd go in only to discover there was no necklace to steal.

You walk across the street, keeping your head down. In the distance, you hear the woman still screaming. She had made it to the main party room.

'My necklace!' she yells. 'That damned servant took it! Find her!'

You see the small group of people outside the manor stop, and turn to each other. You can tell they're confused as they talk to one another. Probably wondering what the odds were someone else would steal the necklace they had their eyes on.

They're all looking at each other, except for Kaz. You can see even more clearly now he's the leader. Instead of looking at his companions, he's suspiciously looking around, his eyes scanning the dark streets around the manor.

You smile to yourself and disappear into the shadows. If you had it your way, he'd never find out you'd outsmarted him.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

#kaz brekker #shadow and bone #grishaverse #Kaz Brekker x reader #kaz brekker fanfic #Kaz Brekker fanfiction #Kaz Brekker fanfics #Kaz Brekker fic #Kaz Brekker fics #shadow and bone fics #shadow and bone fanfics #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone fanfiction #new in town

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bookishofalder · 3 years

Text

Night Changes [One]

Night Changes Series Masterlist

Summary: It may have been years since Poe and the reader have seen one another, but that doesn’t make the emotional upheaval any easier to navigate for either of them.

Warnings: Fuck ton of angst, language, a lot of feelings, mentions of death and loss, grief. WC-5,780 (Jesus buckle up I guess!)

Poe was dreaming.

Nothing particularly special, but it was a dream nonetheless, a break from the usual nightmares that tended to invade his sleeping mind night after night when all he wanted was to succumb to the darkness for a few hours. The dream was more of a memory, a replaying of a night back on Yavin-4 so many years ago before he and Charlie had gone to flight school.

A night like every other, yet the humid evenings on Yavin 4 always did seem to hold a little mystery, like a warm blanket that wrapped one in a false sense of security; he could do anything. And on that evening, he had snuck some of his father’s good whiskey, the stuff from a planet far, far away, and gone to knock on Charlie’s window in the cover of darkness. It wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence, though the whiskey was a new addition.

Charlie had answered immediately, a big grin stretching across his face even before he saw what Poe had brought, the relief in that grin piquing his curiosity-why did he seem grateful that Poe was there? When he climbed through the window, he found you were already there, sat on the floor across the small bedroom with your back against the end of Charlie’s bed, your face wet with tears and he understood your brothers reaction.

Before Poe could ask what was wrong, Charlie noticed the bottle in Poe’s hands and tapped it excitedly, “Just what we needed! How do you do it, brother?” His voice was always so loud, but in the Horn household it wasn’t an issue. Your mother was asleep on the other side of the house and even if she did wake, she wouldn’t come in and begrudge a little teen rebellion. Poe really liked her for that, for trusting them, for never making him feel unwelcome.

“Didn’t realize it would come in so handy. What's going on, sweetheart?” The affectionate nickname had been around for years, so long now that he hardly noticed himself using it. He liked the way it tugged the corners of your lips up, even when you were sad. But he didn’t like that you were sad right now, his concern only growing when you pulled your knees to your chest and dropped your head to them, hiding your face and, no doubt, a fresh wave of tears.

You had always hated crying in front of them, for some reason. Charlie never cried, but Poe had no issues with sobbing outright in front of you both. He didn’t understand why you felt you had to hide it from him.

Without speaking, Charlie and Poe sat down on either side of you, your brother taking the whiskey and opening it, taking a small swig and huffing through the smoky burn.“Kid, you tell him.” He used that extra soft voice reserved only for you, his free hand reaching over to pat your foot on the ground next to him.

Poe had his shoulder pressed against yours. He knew you enjoyed how warm he always was, that you thought of him as your personal furnace, cuddling him even on warm days like this because you seemed to forever run a little chilly, or maybe you were just a touchy person and you were that comfortable with Poe.

After a few moments of quiet sniffling, you finally raised your head, setting your chin on your knees and staring straight ahead. “Gus ended things earlier.” You whispered into the moonlit room, your voice wavering somewhat with emotion, though Poe could sense it was more of embarrassment and disappointment of being dumped than that of actual heartbreak.

Poe felt an odd mixture of both anger and relief sweep through him, the latter of which he resolutely shoved away, into the far reaches of his mind to be stubbornly ignored. “That kriffing asshole! Who does he think he is, dumping our girl?” And truly, what the fuck audacity did that guy have? Did he not have eyes? Did he not spend just five minutes with you and feel like he was sitting in the company of a Sun, so bright and warm as you were?

You gave a watery laugh at his words, and Poe felt warmth pool in his chest; he was always good at making you laugh. He saw Charlie’s shoulders sag somewhat with relief upon hearing you, always so protective and yet he had difficulty reigning in some of your big emotions, often looking to Poe for his help.

“He said it was because I’m a prude. Because I wouldn’t, you know,” You broke off, and Poe glanced down at you to see you bite your lip briefly, eyes still forward, “He said there was no point going on dates if I wouldn’t even give him the chance to, and I quote, ‘appreciate your tits properly, at the least.’”

Poe turned to face you fully now, his eyes meeting Charlies over your head. His friend looked just as annoyed as Poe felt, hearing what that skinny piece of shit had dared to say to you. A silent agreement crossed between them then, Gus would be meeting their fists come morning. For now, though, Poe focused on you, tossing an arm around your shoulders and pressing a kiss to your hair, “He’s a prize fucking idiot, sweetheart, doesn’t know what he’s losing. Right, Charlie?”

“Exactly. Remember kid, no guy is ever going to deserve you because you are perfect. You don’t need to cry over someone who can’t see how lucky he is you even let him breathe the same air as you,” Charlie added his arm to your shoulders, curving under Poe’s, “Flyboy and I will take care of you, always.” He promised, and you nodded before reaching both hands up to grab each of theirs on your shoulders.

“Thank you.”

And Poe stayed the night, each of you taking turns to sip the whiskey until eventually sleep won out and Charlie crashed on his bed. You and Poe curled up on some pillows on the floor together, your head resting on his chest and even though he knew you were sad, which made him sad too, he couldn’t help but feel truly whole in those moments before sleep took over.

It was a good memory, one which he would have been content to remain in until the abrupt and incessant whirring and beeping of his droid woke him, Poe shooting up in his bed with a shout of surprise. “What? Are we being attacked?”

BB8 came to a stop near the edge of his bed, his noises growing quieter now that he’d woken Poe up.

“Buddy, it’s my day off. You better have a good reason for scaring the living hell out of me-“

The droid beeped again, clarifying his reason for interrupting his rest day. Interest piqued, Poe ran a hand over his face before planting his feet on the floor and leaning towards the droid.

“The new replacement is here? Guess that means the General wants me to come and meet them?”

BB8 confirmed, and now his alarming wake-up made more sense. The droid was as excited as Poe to meet his new second in command. He’d just lost his long-time friend, Jess Pava, to a new unit on an outpost for the Resistance. He’d recommended her for it, at her bequest, because he knew she’d be damn good for the role. But it didn’t make the loss any less disruptive; she’d been gone a few weeks now and he’d had to take on extra duties to compensate.

General Organa had profusely apologized to him a few times now, only explaining that the replacement was due back from a classified mission ‘soon’, and once they were they would be coming straight to D’Qar to join his squadron. He didn’t mind the work, but he was a little miffed that the day the new Major arrived was his only day off.

Poe quickly got himself ready for the day, taking a speedy shower in his fresher before pulling on his khaki’s and button up. Once pleased with his appearance, he stepped out of the fresher and walked toward his small desk area, above which he had a corkboard with a few mementos pinned up, including his favourite picture.

You were standing in the middle, sandwiched between him and Charlie, a big, goofy grin on your face. Charlie was laughing in the photo, and Poe was looking down at you with a fond smile. You all wore flight suits, as it was taking when you had first joined Gold Squadron. Charlie had his arm flung over your shoulders while Poe’s was snaked around your waist. You had your arms wrapped around each of their waists, though Poe remembers how your hand had brushed up his back before the picture was taken, fingers unknowingly leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

He looked at this photo every morning, tapped it once and then carried on with his day. It was the only time he allowed his conscious mind to think of Charlie, of you, and the life he lost in the blink of an eye.

When the door to his quarters opened, Poe saw a few service droids unloading a couple of crates into the room directly across from his. The room where the new member of his team would live. He could see within the unit as the door was open for the droids to carry items in, a few cases already inside the otherwise bare space.

Being careful to step around the droids and avoid falling over his own, who was wheeling excitedly along next to Poe, he made his way to command, hoping the introductions wouldn’t take too long. He had woken up with a big appetite.

And he really needed his morning caf.

“Ready to meet them, buddy?” He asked of his droid, and BB8 gave a happy little ‘weeee’ as he zoomed along beside Poe. He laughed loudly and BB8 pulled ahead, the doors of the command room opening at their approach.

Poe could see into the room now, activity within quiet enough that General Organa and the new arrival both heard his laughter and turned as he walked into the room. For a few beats, Poe kept walking, his mind not processing what he was seeing because it simply could not be. And then he froze, mid-stride.

It was you.

And from the patch on your uniform, it was now Major Horn.

And just like that, every emotion, every feeling of guilt and self-hatred and heartbreak came roaring to the surface, breaking through the walls he’d so carefully built up around what he’d done when he lost Charlie, when he’d lost you, walls he spent the last few years reinforcing as best he could.

Leia knew of the history, though she didn’t know any details of why neither of you had spoken since that terrible fucking night. She simply knew you’d all grown up together, which was probably why she hadn’t felt the need to warn Poe that it was you coming to take over as his second in command. Maybe she thought you had kept in touch and were expecting her.

Stars, Poe hadn’t seen you in person since the funeral. The night he ruined the best thing he had in his life because he couldn’t deal with his grief and took it all out on you, of all people. Poe thought of Charlie then because your brother and you looked a bit alike, but it was your eyes; you each had the exact same eyes. Though yours were lined with thick, long lashes that would sometimes tickle Poe’s cheeks when you would lean in and press a chaste kiss to them.

It had only been a few years, but so much about you had changed. Gone was the goofy girl with braids falling past her shoulders, her big smile that stretched from ear to ear. No, now Poe was looking at you and you were all grown up, wearing your uniform, hair pulled back into a low bun that was woven with intricate braids, a few wisps framing your face. You had leaned out slightly, though you still had your curves, the ones that had boy after boy falling for you back in the day-no doubt now it was man after man. He found his eyes flicking from your face to your hands, but he saw no ring. Not that he should even be thinking of whether you were single or not.

But somehow, it felt like he should know if you were with someone. Because Charlie would have expected Poe to always keep an eye on you, be there for you. The only person he let down more than Charlie was you. He knew his best friend would murder him if he knew the things Poe had said to you that night. He had never known a greater regret, a regret that he carried with him since the moment he spoke and watched your face contort in pain, as though he’d hit you with a physical blow.

He had wanted to apologize, to take it all back that very moment. He couldn’t believe himself, but you’d pull away to be sick and he was so shocked at how much he’d managed to hurt you that he couldn’t do anything other than listen to you when you ordered him to get away from you.

The irony of that wasn’t lost on him, either.

He’d walked straight to the hangar where his x-wing was parked and took it out, finding a secluded spot a few hours away to camp for two days, just to clear his head. He cried and grieved and then he realized just how badly he’d fucked up and he panicked. He started to plan how he would apologize, what he would do to earn your forgiveness and then tell you how he truly felt. But he failed you, hurt you, and he knew he had a lot of work ahead to repair what he’d broken.

Only, when he came back to base and sought you out, he instead found Jess and Tommy waiting for him by your room, their faces so grim his heart had stopped in his chest, and he’s not sure it ever restarted once he found out you’d left. Without a word or a note, you had just...deserted him.

And he knew he deserved it, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. Nor did finding out that you’d been clever enough to have your new assignment sealed, eliminating any chance he could have had of going after you.

And he would have. He’d have flown across the galaxy to find you.

Instead, Poe was alone and never, ever forgave himself for being the reason you had fled in the first place.

Eventually, Poe grew enough in rank that he was able to access your private files. He only did so now and again, just to check-in and make sure you were still alive and on active duty. The last time he’d checked had been about five months ago, and it had stated you were on a classified mission that even he couldn’t access the details of. But he knew you were alive and doing well enough that you were getting assigned seriously high-class missions. Charlie would have been so proud of you.

It was a few awkward moments before Poe was able to function, quickly shaking off his shock and continuing forward, his eyes tearing away from your too-blank expression to meet the warm gaze of General Organa. “Commander Dameron, I believe you know Major Horn here. Thank you for coming to greet her with me this morning.” Leia smiled between him and you, and Poe had to swallow before returning it, breaking out his usual grin.

When he looked back at you, he found your blank expression had now morphed into one of utter contempt. An insane part of him wanted to laugh, because how could (y/n) Horn, his best friend since he was a boy, the girl who had owned his heart, ever look at him like that?

Instead, Poe forced a friendly smile, nodding to you politely, “Welcome, Major. It’s...it’s good to see you. And congratulations on your promotion. I’m happy to have you join our team.” He stuck his hand out and hoped you would grasp it.

Your eyes, so much more intense than he ever remembered, searched his face for a second before you took his proffered hand and shook, a small smile appearing on your lips.

“It’s an honour to be here, Commander.” You replied, and Poe had to blink, pulling his hand way almost too quickly. Stars, you even sounded more grown-up. Your voice had always been a little breathy, which Poe had always found alluring. But now it had matured, the breathless way you spoke now demure, feminine.

“I was just telling Major Horn that after you two had met the day was open,” Leia said, seemingly unaware of the tension between her two best pilots, “I know you earned this day off, Commander, so enjoy it!”

Poe couldn’t help but give her a wide grin, “Thank you, General.”

“Yes, thank you for taking the time to...reunite us, General.” You said, excusing yourself before abruptly walking past Poe and out of command.

He rushed after you, BB8 still at his side, now beeping in confusion at what the hell was going on. Poe ignored the droid, catching up to you just down the hall. “Wait...(y/n)...”

He trailed off, unsure of what he could even say to you, questioning why he’d stopped your departure. You ceased walking and turned to look at Poe, your expression now openly hostile, which he knew he deserved yet it still stung. He opened and closed his mouth a few times as he stood before you, a huge part of him wishing you’d start yelling at him. Or hitting him.

Instead, you gazed up at Poe and after a moment your face fell, a storm of emotions rolling across your pretty features. You took a careful, measured step back from him, as if afraid he might try and reach out to you. “I didn’t know I was coming here to be on your team,” You didn’t meet his eyes when you spoke, instead focusing on the droid at his feet, “But this is a big opportunity for me, so we’ll make it work.”

You sounded more like you were trying to convince yourself rather than Poe, but he nodded all the same. “Of course. And you deserve it.”

You scoffed, “Thanks so much, Commander.”

“I’ve missed you.”

He didn’t know what possessed him to say that. It was just that one moment you were biting your lip, and then the next you were giving him a familiar look of incredulity that he remembered receiving more than once growing up and he suddenly needed you to hear that he did miss you. Missed you more than you could ever really know.

Poe saw a flash in your eyes before you spun on your heels and marched away, not looking back. He didn’t try to follow you again. He knew there wasn’t a whole lot he could say, not right now when you were both still reeling from the shock of seeing one another again.

And what could he even say to you? Sorry for taking our friendship and smashing it to pieces at the worst possible time? For never speaking to you again because I was too cowardly to try and find you, especially once I realized how deeply I felt for you? And how could he explain how those feelings seemed to develop over such a long time that he didn’t recognize them for what they truly were until you were gone?

Charlie would have hated what had happened between you both. He would have killed Poe, easily, but he’d had also been disappointed in you. Charlie had protected you both that day because you and Poe were his family, and if he found out that his family never spoke again after the funeral? He’d have been livid.

Guilt and regret now at the forefront of his mind, Poe had lost his appetite. Instead, he found the nearest caf machine before hurrying to the flight deck and climbing in his x-wing eager to get off the ground and clear his head for a few hours.

He spent the rest of the morning thinking about Charlie, his heart tight in his chest.

✨

“I’ve missed you.”

You could hit him, you really could. No one was around, either, you might get away with it. But that would be too easy and not nearly as satisfying as you might hope, you knew.

The audacity of Poe fucking Dameron saying he missed you was so infuriating, you briefly considered violence. But you had grown up with him, knew the way he worked even if it had been a few years. You could hate him and still understand him, which meant that he wanted you to give him a strong reaction that he could confront head-on. Scream and punch and cry and he would instantly work to comfort, to apologize, but it was really just a way to make himself feel better.

You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

You spun away-not before seeing the pained expression cross his face-and hurried off. You figured if you still had such a decent read on him, the same went for Poe. He’d always been able to read you, your body language, expressions, hell Charlie usually went to Poe for help when he couldn’t figure out how to support you, comfort you.

You needed some time alone, time to process and figure out the best way to make this work.

When you were invited by the General herself to come to D’Qar, to work under her ‘top pilot and most trusted Commander’, you hadn't blinked before saying yes. And you’d known that it would mean, inevitably, seeing Poe again-you knew he still worked here. But you’d had no idea until he walked into command that morning that it was his team you were joining.

When you’d been standing with General Organa in the control room, chatting amicably about the weather, the very last thing you’d expected to hear was his booming, rich laugh. And then the doors had opened, a small droid whizzing in, and his laughter continued as he stepped into the room. You had thought you might pass out, throw up, or start screaming.

With no idea what he was doing there, you had simply stared at him, watched as he reacted to seeing you. Actively working to keep your expression blank, you stared at your once best friend for the first time in years, going numb inside.

In some ways it had been almost comical; he’d frozen mid-step and gaped at you stupidly for a few beats before coming to his senses and continuing forward. And it was at that moment you had realized he was the superior you were meeting. He was the Commander you’d be working under. When he stood directly in front of you, your mind betrayed you by immediately zoning in on one specific thought.

But stars, he’d aged well.

When he finally was able to collect himself enough to wipe the surprise off of his face, it had settled into that easy smile you remembered so well. The one you tried to never think of because of the pain that would build in your chest, the memories and feelings that you had refused to look back on for a very long time now at risk of bursting through your mental walls if you weren’t careful.

Now, that smile revealed a slight crinkling around his eyes, though he hadn’t changed much beyond that. He was just as broad and lean as you remembered, just as handsome and you thought he might be a little more built up, a new layer of muscle moving under his button-up. Charlie would have loved to tease him over the grey flecks you could barely discern in his raven locks, and you suddenly wondered if your brother would have had any grey hair himself.

Those thoughts were fleeting at that moment before fury and sadness and longing were suddenly overtaking you and it was all you could do to remain composed in front of the General when, for the first time in years, you wanted to crumble to the ground. That fucking grin of his, it was always maddening, always so attractive and disarming.

When you were kids, he’d do it to get away with something and even though your parents knew he’d done it, it would work and he’d barely get a slap on the wrist. As teenagers, the strongest memory you had of that grin was one time when he’d climbed into Charlie’s room late at night and your brother wasn’t there-he’d fallen asleep on the couch-so Poe wandered to your room.

You had just gotten out of the fresher, having taken a quick rinse off to cool down, and hadn’t shut the door. Your bedroom door was closed and it was the middle of the night; you hadn’t expected any company. And then Poe just sauntered in, his eyes on your bed where he doubtless thought he’d find you. You had barely had time to freeze, completely naked and mid-stride as you sought a clean nightgown when he seemed to sense you. His head had jerked in your direction in surprise.

That memory forever burned into your mind. The way his eyes had fallen, then snapped up to your face and instead of seeing amusement or a pervy smirk, Poe had slapped his hands over his eyes, cursed, apologized vehemently in a loud whisper, and then he grinned. That grin, just as powerful even though his eyes were covered. It spread across his face and you couldn’t help but laugh despite your embarrassment, quickly throwing on a nightgown before walking over and punching him in the sides a few times, hissing didn’t he know how to knock?

And though you worried it might affect things between you and your best friend, it never did seem to. For you, it did in some ways because you couldn’t seem to get the look on his face (the one that slipped out just before he could properly react and compose himself) out of your head and you wondered what it meant-if anything. He still stayed the night, climbing into your bed, his arms casually behind his head as he laid next to you and told you about his day while never once teasing you.

At one point, when sleep was close, eyes drooping and your cheek resting against his arm, Poe’s soft voice had pulled you from unconsciousness. Barely a whisper, he said, “I really am sorry I came in without knocking, sweetheart. Please forgive me.”

And he’d sounded so concerned, so genuinely stressed that you would be mad at him, you had snuggled closer into his side and murmured your reassurances until eventually, you fell asleep.

Today, however, it was only memories of what that smile used to mean to you and anger for what it was now. That he got to keep that easy fucking grin all these years, it only pissed you off. The logical part of you knew he had been just as surprised to see you and was no doubt struggling himself now, but you didn’t have room to care.

He had been the one to break you, to take your friendship and pulverize it by saying the worst possible things to you.

He had broken you.

That fight hadn’t just been the loss of what you had thought was the greatest friendship in the galaxy. It had been the final moment that took your life from carefree and fun to what it was now, what it had been since. Joyless, lacking, lonely-so fucking lonely.

That had been the night you had to grow up, realizing that not only was Charlie gone, but the life you’d had was too. Gone were the days of adventure, of going on test flights and racing one another, of Poe getting you drinks at the cantina and Charlie sitting with his arm slung casually over your shoulders, until any of you spotted someone who caught your interest. Someone who would only be around for the night but would bring a little pleasure and escape. Charlie was more often the one to go home with such a person, happy to play the field and often making new friends you’d see again, even though he never exclusively dated them.

And the little flare of excitement you’d get each time it was just you and Poe? That had been carefree too because whatever it meant didn’t need to be examined, it just was. Casual touches that lingered and sent heat up your spine, easy and flowing conversation, long hugs even when you’d see each other the next day. All of that had been such a prominent fixture in your life, the slow escalation between you and Poe was something that, to this day, you never tried to understand.

But then Charlie died; everything changed, and you left and never looked back. All the while, Poe Dameron kept grinning like that. Fuck, fuck!

You almost walked straight past your new room, so lost in your thoughts and memories, but thankfully a passing droid greeting you politely pulled to the moment, and you only had to retrace a few steps back. Immense relief washed over you the moment you saw that all of your items had been delivered and unpacked, only a box of mementos and photos left on your desk for you to find new homes for.

Even the bed had been made already. And as much as you wanted to just climb under the covers and shut the world away, you instead set yourself to the task of putting the final touches on your space.

The room was silent save for your occasional gasps and hiccups as you let your emotions run free in the privacy. You proudly displayed the plaque you had been given from the Resistance following Charlie’s funeral; a handsome photo of him in uniform set in the middle, his name inscribed along with his rank, years of life and final resting place on Yavin-4. His flight suit patch was attached to the plaque above the photo, the final touch to a beautiful little tribute to Charlie that you could take with you wherever in the galaxy you went.

The final item you pulled out was a small protective album for photos you displayed in your room. You pulled out the photos, ones of you and Charlie as kids, of your parents, of the whole family plus Poe during one hilariously disastrous little vacation that resulted in all of you returning home and ignoring one another for three days, even Poe. A few from your teen years, early and late, Poe and Charlie usually taking up the most space in the photos between their sizes and huge smiles, and the final photo you had was your absolute favourite.

Smushed between Charlie and Poe, you had a smile on your face that hadn’t been seen in years. It was silly, girlish and youthful and not the person you were anymore. You were looking at the camera, Charlie with his big arm over the top of your shoulders, laughing as he looked toward the camera as well. Poe was looking at you. Giving you a warm smile that you always suspected he only shared with you, one that melted his eyes to pools of warm honey and made your insides wriggle. You remember how his hand burned where he gripped your waist, and you had instinctively traced your hand up his spine in the moment, though you never understood why.

That photo both broke your heart and made you smile every time you looked at it. The last photo of the three of you together, the three of you happy. A photo that not only showed your love for one another but also hinted at that feeling you never did examine. A photo that revealed that feeling might not have been one-sided, not at all.

When you finished your tidying, you took a seat at your desk and used your data pad to pull up your schedule, curious what the days ahead would look like. Right away you could see no missions in the queue, though that could change in an instant. And as eager as you were to get flying, you knew it would probably be best to spend the next couple of days trying to establish yourself on base, meet the rest of your team, and figure out how you were going to keep a cool head spending so much time working with Poe.

With a heavy sigh, you glanced at the clock and decided a late lunch was in order, hopeful that the weird hour would leave the caf quiet. Although you knew you’d be recognized you did hope to push that off for as long as possible.

You needed to swallow back your feelings and face the fact that you weren’t just working directly for General Leia. You were back on D’Qar; a planet that Charlie had spent enough time on, even before you joined Gold Squadron, to make lasting friendships and leave an incredible reputation behind after he’d died. You hadn’t been back since the funeral, so it was inevitable that others would be bringing him up, asking after you, where you had disappeared to, why you’d left without saying goodbye to pretty much everyone.

You needed to suck it up because you had a job to do and your work for the Resistance was the only thing anymore that made your life worthwhile. No family, no close friends, no partners, just fighting the fight and being the best damn pilot you could be.

You wondered if Charlie would be proud of you. Of how far you’d come, of the fact that you were now the same rank as he had been before his death. But after seeing Poe today you knew that wouldn’t have entirely been the case, not with how things all ended up.

So, you reasoned with yourself, that meant that you had to work extra hard here on D’Qar to push aside the history between you and your Commander. And actually, indifference and coldness were probably going to be your best assets going forward.

At least you had a game plan.

Taglist

@mermaidxatxheart

@foxilayde

@eleinemk

@paintballkid711

@mylifeisactuallyamess

@20th-centu-fairy-girl

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prawns-are-cannibals · 2 years

Text

Taskmaster S10

I honestly love this series so much, and I'm glad this was the first series I watched as it went to air. I know it gets some hate which I can actually understand, but I feel its exactly what I needed when it was broadcast. The contestants seemed so giddy to be out of the house, and to be around other people after the lockdown. I loved how incapable all 5 of them were, especially Daisy and her prize tasks. How she didn't go into labour half way through the series just from laughing so hard is beyond me. I'm so glad Richard won too, and I loved how you could hear him giggling away in the studio after every task. They were the biggest group of dorks that have ever appeared, and will probably ever appear on Taskmaster UK. Mawaan and Kathrine both gave off such pure vibes, and Johnny was the exact degree of chaos I was expecting him to be. Let's face it though, Richard and Daisy were probably the best matched team for tasks ever, with the accidental/unofficial team of Kathrine I Alex coming in second. Daisy's attempts at saying 'phenomenon' in the last series was endearing.

Top 3 tasks

I had about nine or ten tasks I could have included on this list, it was so hard to narrow them down.

Eat the most watermelon

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. This one was horrific but will always make me laugh. I do love the contrast between the teams on a socially distanced perspective as using those grabbers must have been so tricky. The amount of coordination you would have to have to both eat and feed someone. Highlight quote for this team is Johnny saying “I want daddy’s watermelon”.

Daisy sounding like some kind of angry, rabid animal when eating it topped any of the food related tasks for me, as I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. As Richard described it “its like the walking dead". He eats so little if it compared to Daisy, it’s hilarious. I'm so glad that they paired those two up.

Quietly make a cocktail

Yet another one which consists of Alex consuming weird stuff. I’m so glad that this task was included in this series, as Daisy has to be one of the loudest, angriest contestants in TM history, and this wound her up so much. The name she came up with for hers had to be the best ‘the fucks sake'. I honestly think that Kathrine would have done so well if she hadn’t insisted on using ice for it. That’s where most of the noise came from, but she stuck with it. Johnny drinking straight from the champagne bottle was such a mood, as was him testing how loud a sparkler was just out of curiosity. This task did confirm one thing for me though, Richard is seemingly incapable of shouting properly, and I love it. I don’t know whether Mawaan was deliberately sabotaging himself with the idea of the bin juice in mind, or he genuinely didn’t realise how loud he was being. The question “do you think wine and milk go together?” will forever haunt my dreams.

Knock over the coconut/move the drinks

I was not surprised ir disappointed by Johnny being the one who knocked the coconut over the slowest. He gave so much in this task, but “me and Teddy are going on a bender" will live on in my mind forever. It gave me so much joy watching Richard carrying a Teddy that was roughly the same size as him or bigger. How he failed to notice the tray, I have no idea. I momentarily felt bad for Daisy when her tray went over taking a full pint with her, but she’s far too angry during tasks for anything she does not to be funny. I like to think that I would have done the same as Mawaan and somehow attached the bear to me.

Obvious shoutout to the best live task ever; the drawing task in E6 that gave us Hippo!Gate. Poor Richard having to feel the pure rage of Daisy but Jesus christ my body hurt from laughing even rewatching it. It was made even better by Daisy not guessing the very obvious kangaroo Rich drew. And to the last live task of the series where Daisy had a bit of a breakdown, and narrowly missed out winning the series.

Contestants

Richard

Daisy

Mawaan

Johnny

Kathrine

(It was so hard to rank this bunch, I love them all dearly, any of them would have been my favourite on any other series)

Series 9

Series 11

#Taskmaster #Taskmaster S10 #Richard Herring #Daisy May Cooper #Johnny Vegas #Mawaan Rozwan #Kathrine Parkinson

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nordleuchten · 3 years

Note

so, I was reading some letters between Lafayette and Washington in the founders archive, and when I came to tumblr, I saw one or two posts of yours and now I'm curious, what are your favorite quotes from letter between the two of them??

Ty for answearing and gm/gn wherever u are!! <3

Hello there :-)

I have actually answered two similar questions but I never did that explicitly for the letters between George Washington and La Fayette. I find these questions always quite hard because there are just so many interesting letters that we know of - and even more letters that we may never knew about. In general, I like those letters the best, that show historical figures as persons, a real living breathing human beings with all their interests and feelings and flaws.

February 23, 1778: La Fayette commented on the failed invasion of Canada - he makes it sounds like he just discovered a great secret, but the suspicions expressed in the letter were more or less common knowledge.

“I fancy (betwen us) that the actual scheme is to have me out of this part of the continent, and general connway in chief under the immediate direction of general gates (…)”

January 11, 1779: La Fayette wrote Washington a last farewell before returning to France for the first time during the War.

“Farewell, my dear General, I hope your french friend will ever be dear to you, I hope I Schall Soon See you again, And tell you myself with what emotion I now leave the Coast you inhabit, and with what affection, and Respect I’ll for ever be, my dear General Your Respectfull and Sincere friend”

September 30, 1779: Washington being very playful with La Fayette and Adrienne.

“But at present must pray your patience a while longer, till I can make a tender of my most respectful compliments to the Marchioness. Tell her (if you have not made a mistake, & offered your own love instead of hers to me) that I have a heart susceptable of the tenderest passion, & that it is already so strongly impressed with the most favourable ideas of her, that she must be cautious of putting loves torch to it; as you must be in fanning the flame. But here again methinks I hear you say, I am not apprehensive of danger—My wife is young—you are growing old & the atlantic is between you—All this is true, but know my good friend that no distance can keep anxious lovers long asunder, and that the Wonders of former ages may be revived in this—But alas! will you not remark that amidst all the wonders recorded in holy writ no instance can be produced where a young Woman from real inclination has prefered an old Man—This is so much against me that I shall not be able I fear to contest the prize with you—yet, under the encouragement you have given me I shall enter the list for so inestimable a jewell.”

December 8, 1784: Washington wrote this letter just after he parted ways with La Fayette who was visiting the United States right after the conclusion of the war.

“In the moment of our separation upon the road as I travelled, & every hour since—I felt all that love, respect & attachment for you, with which length of years, close connexion & your merits, have inspired me. I often asked myself, as our Carriages distended, whether that was the last sight, I ever should have of you? And tho’ I wished to say no—my fears answered yes. I called to mind the days of my youth, & found they had long since fled to return no more; that I was now descending the hill, I had been 52 years climbing—& that tho’ I was blessed with a good constitution, I was of a short lived family—and might soon expect to be entombed in the dreary mansions of my father’s—These things darkened the shades & gave a gloom to the picture, consequently to my prospects of seeing you again: but I will not repine—I have had my day.”

December 21, 1784: La Fayette’s reply to Washington’s letter from December 8, 1784.

I Have Received Your Affectionate letter Of the 8th inst., and from the known Sentiments of My Heart to You, You will Easely guess what My feelings Have Been in perusing the tender Expressions of Your friendship—No, my Beloved General, our late parting was Not By Any Means a last interview—My whole Soul Revolts at the idea—and Could I Harbour it an instant, indeed, my dear General, it would make me Miserable—I well see You Never will go to franee—the Unexpressible pleasure of Embracing You in My own House, of wellcoming You in a family where Your name is adored, I do not much Expect to Experience—But to You, I shall Return, and within the walls of Mount vernon we shall Yet often Speack of old times—my firm plan is to visit now and then My friends on this Side of the Atlantick, and the Most Beloved of all friends I Ever Had, or ever will Have Any where, is too Strong an inducement for me to Return to Him, nor to think that, when Ever it is possible, I will Renew my So pleasing visits to Mount vernon.

March 17, 1790: The letter that accompanied the Key of the Bastille that La Fayette send Washington as a gift and that is still displayed in the front pallor of Mount Vernon.

“Give me leave, My dear General, to present you With a picture of the Bastille just as it looked a few days after I Had ordered its demolition, with the Main Kea of that fortress of despotism—it is a tribute Which I owe as A Son to My Adoptive father, as an aid de Camp to My General, as a Missionary of liberty to its patriarch.”

August 23, 1790: La Fayette had received news that Washington had just recovered from a very serious illness.

“What Would Have Been My feelings, Had the News of Your illness Reached me Before I knew My Beloved General, My Adoptive father was out of danger! I was Struck with Horror at the idea of the Situation You Have Been in, while I, Uninformed, and to distant from You, Was Anticipating the long waited for pleasure to Hear from You, and the Still More Endearing prospect to Visit You, and present You with the tribute of a Revolution one of Your fine Offsprings—for God’s Sake, my dear General, take Care of Your Health, don’t devote Yourself So much to the Cabinet, while Your Habit of life Has from Your Young Years, Accostumed You to a constant Exercise. (…)You may Easily Guess what I am Exposed to Suffer, what would Have Been my Situation Had I known Your illness Before the News of Your Recovery Had Conforted a Heart So Affectionately devoted to You.”

October 6, 1797: La Fayette’s first letter to Washington after the long years of his imprisonment.

“(…) in Vain Would I Attempt, My Beloved General, to Express to You the feelings of My filial Heart, when, at the Moment of this Unexpected Restoration to Liberty and Life, I find Myself Blessed With the opportunity to let you Hear from me. This Heart Has for twenty Years Been known to you—Words, that, Whatever they be, fall So Short of My Sentiments Would Not do justice to What I feel—But You Will Be Sensible of the Affectionate and delightful Emotions With Which I am Now Writing—to You, and I know also it is Not Without Some Emotion that after five Years of a death like Silence from me, You Will Read the first Lines I am at Last Enabled to write —With What Eagerness and pleasure I Would Hasten to fly to Mount Vernon, there to pour out all the Sentiments of Affection, Respect, and Gratitude Which Ever Bound me, and More than ever Bind me to You (…)”

December 25, 1799: The last letter Washington wrote to La Fayette

May 9, 1799: The last letter Washington received from La Fayette

… and I can guarantee you, as soon as I hit “post” I will realize that I have forgotten at least one other quote. Anyway - what are you favourites, if I may ask?

I hope you have/had a beautiful day!

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suganovakawa · 3 years

Text

𝐒𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐄 .

PAIRINGS : tooru oikawa x fem! reader , slight hajime iwaizumi x fem! reader

GENRE : angst , romance

WARNINGS : cursing , car accident , recovery from amnesia

SYNOPSIS : tooru doesn’t understand how special you are to him until he comes close to losing you forever . as he struggles to comes to grips with his feelings and balance it with his future , you still have to recover from your own injuries , but without your memories to assist you .

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈 < [ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐗𝐈𝐕 ] > 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐗𝐕

can you handle the truth?

word count : 1.2k

saudade masterlist .

SAUDADE

( 𝐧 . ) a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant , or that has been loved and then lost ; “ the love that remains ”

⠀your stomach leaped across fields the moment you woke up. there was an uneasy tension in the air as you opened your phone to see no new notifications. what was hajime so nervous about? what could've possibly happened for him to be so... stubborn in wanting to keep it from you? you were beginning to think you were some sort of serial killer, and hajime was hiding you from the government. that wouldn't be too drastic... maybe?

⠀hajime showed up at your door in the afternoon, you were surprised to see the dark circles under his eyes. he hadn't slept a wink. his abnormalcy was making you second guess yourself. did you really want to know everything? or was iwaizumi right?

⠀you shook that thought out of your head before it could become your main worry. you did want to know. that was why you confronted him once and for all yesterday. he, as far as you knew, was the only one who could give you the answers you wanted. no one else seemed to know - or they just weren't willing to tell you.

⠀you clenched your jaw as you opened the door for hajime, who had his hands in his pockets, uncharacteristically quiet. you didn't bother to begin a conversation, and neither did he. you kept your distance as you walked side by side, alongside hajime as he took the lead to his desired location. you didn't realize where you two stopped, until you stood right underneath the doorway - an arcade.

⠀this silence wasn't going to get you anywhere. "why are we here?"

⠀"before... we get to the serious matters," he spoke, noticeably choosing his words carefully, "get your mind off it first. i know you've been tense the past few days, and it's good to wind down, even if it's only for a little while."

⠀"hajime, i swear to god if you - "

⠀"i'm not avoiding it, i promise." his face wavered, but his voice didn't. "before you go home today, i swear you will know everything you want to know."

⠀he had that finalty in his tone that told you, indefinitely, that it wouldn't go any other way. might as well see this through. you had your head set like steel, no distraction would let him get under your nerves. whatever game iwaizumi was trying to play with you, he wasn't going to win. the truth was so close, you could reach out and feel it in your fingertips.

⠀"i was... hoping this place would trigger some memories, you know." you shrugged your shoulder off as hajime placed a hand on it to help you inside. "this is actually the place we first met, before your accident."

⠀"oh?" you looked around and examined the arcade - retro, dark electronic aesthetics painted the building, with counters of prizes and games galore. however, nothing special came to you about it. "nothing stands out to me. are you sure this is where we first met?"

⠀"well, not actually meet." he put air quotes around 'meet'. "rather, this is where we first got to know each other. since we were on the same team and never spoke, we all came here and this is where we all got a bonding moment." he laughed, rather fondly, but you didn't react to it. "the entire team came together after practice one day, and we spent a good few hours here."

⠀"sounds fun." you didn't feel like playing at an arcade, of all places. the neon lights hardly piqued your interest; hajime seemed to be the only one excited to be here. or maybe it was just a front, and he was merely trying to pass the time and make you forget. you almost laughed at the thought of it. with how desperate you were for answers, any attempt to make you forget would be pathetically futile.

⠀"it was. you had a nasty flick when it came to air hockey." as if right on cue, there was the air hockey table, right in your line of sight. "want to play?"

⠀you really didn't. "i could go for a round."

⠀placing the tokens in a slot, iwaizumi took a side, and you took yours. the plastic of the little paddle was cold against your hand, but the clang of the puck had already begun to slide against the table before you could pinpoint any nostalgic feeling to it. each point seemed like a drag, but hajime seemed to be telling the truth about one thing - your flicks were pretty damn good.

⠀before you could get into the game, the table had stopped, the puck disappeared, and the scoreboard read 7 - 4. you gently bit the side of your cheek to conceal an oncoming cheeky gloat as your company simply brushed his loss off with a huff.

⠀"come on, i'm hungry. let's go and eat. it's lunch time." before he could drag you off somewhere else, you began to walk off, hoping to make it out of the arcade.

⠀"already? but we just got here and only played one thing - "

⠀"i'm hungry, hajime." by the looks of your glare, you knew that iwa knew that you weren't hungry.

⠀a walk around the block and a restaurant later, you two ended up sitting down in a booth in the back of the same place you two had gone to not long before. you sat him down before he could go up and further procrastinate. he was a deer trapped in headlights - he was genuinely scared of what was to come. but enough was enough, you were tired of him relentlessly beating around the bush. you wanted answers, and you wanted them now.

⠀"just get it over with," you pleaded. "i want to remember. i want to know, hajime. don't you understand? why won't you tell me? what are you so afraid of?"

⠀"it's more complicated than that, y/n." he kept his voice low, but his hands were balled up into tight fists. "if it were so easy, i would've come out and tell you the moment i saw you. but it's much more complicated. i'm trying to protect you."

⠀"forget protecting me!" your sudden outburst caused a turn of heads, but you sank down in your seat long enough for everyone to continue their own daily agenda. you leaned forward to stare iwaizumi right in the eyes - you had never seen him so scared before. "i'm not your damsel in distress," you whispered, "enough is enough. you need to stop the hero act. i'm grateful for everything you've done for me, but keeping something vital to my memory for your own personal gain? what do you even get out of keeping me in the dark, hajime? just what?"

⠀hajime was silent. his eyes had turned away from yours, the gears in his head visibly turning. you sat back and crossed your arms, not knowing what could possibly be running through that head of his. it was on the tip of his tongue, all he needed was a push to get him to confess.

⠀"what do i gain?" he muttered, after continuous moments of ongoing silence. a strange smile appeared on his lips, expressing something you had never seen from him before. "a second chance."

⠀a what?

⠀"a second - "

⠀"we were in a relationship before, you and i."

⠀and just when you didn’t think it would get more complicated than this, the cat had been let out of the bag.

a/n : for my own health (and possibly yours), i am never writing another angst series with hajime iwaizumi ever again 🧍🏻‍♀️

taglist ( closed ) — @ot127 @rena0921 @karlitabi-rrito @psychicpercyjacksonfan @crescentbitch @amelimiles @damnirina @pasta-warlord @blossomingbangtan @clinomanians @i-am-kinda-in-alot-of-fandoms @manq-fandoms @cirtruss @sugar-wara @haikoo @anime-simp @kairostatue @awkwardspontaneity @iwantapoptartqwq @aquariarose @softestdreamer @plantisnotplant @avylee @froppysgirl @that-animebitch @wisepandaslimeland @samanthaa-leanne @dumplingzumispam@0hakaashi @captain-janeway @afterglowkuroo @bellabelieveme @attixca @chickenrest @tycrackculture @ynjimenez @karaseijoh @lavieenblancetnoir @dabilove27 @cuddlesslut @crypto-s @keigosbitch @readeretal @shittykawaa @donghyuckster @adriloen @ella-solei @emiyummy @kukiisan @catyuyuyuu @sillykittt @dolan-mendes @kiritokunuwu @the-third-wall @yammers @todohawki

— continued in the comments! starting this new year off strong <3

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fallingstarnovel · 3 years

Text

Chapter One

Evan Golightly didn't consider himself an unlucky kind of guy. It wasn't like he was wandering around winning the lottery, but he also wasn't getting hit by chunks of blue ice from the sky from a passing airplane.

This week was just like every other week he had experienced so far. As he walked to his lecture across the university campus, he saw the same people he usually did and went to the same places as always. He didn't step on any cracks in the pavement, and he didn't walk under any ladders. He didn't find any four leaf clovers either, and he didn't have a lucky rabbit's paw on his key chain. He had a coffee cup in his hand – medium sized, not big and not small.

He was a little late, because he had stopped to pet a black cat that lay on the pavement in front of him, but that was okay. The lecturer was very forgiving, and most people were a few minutes late anyway due to a clash in timetabling.

Evan couldn't remember if seeing a black cat was good luck or bad luck. As the kitty purred and rubbed itself up against his fingers, he couldn't help but smile and talk to it quietly.

"Oh, you like that? You like the scritches? You're so handsome, such a handsome boy..."

Someone behind him coughed disapprovingly. A little embarrassed at getting caught, Evan straightened up and kept walking, forgetting all about whether black cats were lucky or not.

As he approached the building where his lecture was held, Evan started climbing the concrete steps up to the entrance.

If luck could be charted on a bell curve, with some people being extremely lucky, and some being extremely unlucky, then Evan considered himself to be slap bang in the middle. If he entered the lottery, he might win one of the smallest prizes, but not very often. If he got onto a crowded bus, there would be a seat available, but not a very good one. If he chose answers at random on a test, he would get a 50% grade at the end.

There was a meow from down by his feet. The black cat was following him. It had big green eyes which were staring at him as it meowed again.

"I'm sorry, I would love to play with you, but I'm late," Evan said. He knew the cat didn't understand, but he still felt like being polite.

The cat meowed very loudly and then started walking in between Evan's feet as he climbed the stairs. He started to worry that he was going to trip, slowing down and trying to shoo it away with his foot. It meowed again, but ran away, standing at a distance and staring at him.

Evan had always been weak for cute things. He bit his lip. "Ahh, I'm sorry! Wait until my lecture finishes, I'll come back and give you scritches then!"

He was almost at the top of the stairs now. Evan turned away from the cat – only to see a small black shadow out the corner of his eye down by his sneakers. He felt something brush against his leg, and then he tripped over something, and before he knew what was happening, he was falling backwards down the stairs.

Evan let out a sharp cry, his arms windmilling around him as he went into freefall.

Not the stairs... not the stairs! This was why he hated stairs! He always knew they would kill him one day!

Before he could fall any further and roll down the stairs and smash like a boiled egg, he felt someone grab his arm and hold him still. His bag hit the ground and his coffee cup went flying, bouncing down the steps and spilling coffee everywhere, but Evan...

Evan was being held up at the top of the stairs by a strong, sure grip.

He looked around in surprise. Holding his arm was a smiling youth with curly blond hair, tumbling in cherubic whorls around his ears. The youth looked just as shocked, his eyes big and wide as he stared at Evan. As he stopped Evan from falling.

There was a moment of silence. The youth pulled Evan forward onto the flat ground at the top of the steps, and let go.

"You..." Evan said in a rush. "You saved me! Thank you so much, I thought I was a goner..."

The youth hesitantly smiled back, his eyes flickering down the stairs. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, I just tripped on a–" Evan said, gesturing to the cat.

The cat was no longer there. It had disappeared.

"... Huh. Guess I tripped on nothing. Um, thanks. Oh, man, my coffee..."

The youth picked up Evan's bag and handed it over to him. His eyes were wide, like he was recovering from a sudden shock. "Sorry. I'll buy you a new one."

"Don't worry about it, it was my fault," Evan said with a laugh. "I owe you for saving me. I should buy you a coffee!"

The youth looked at Evan. He couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were light grey, bright and cold, crinkling at the corners in a warm smile. "There's no need to thank me. You don't owe me a thing."

Evan had heard those two sentences before many times in his life. He had heard it from friends who had done him a favour, and from customer service workers who helped him get a discount for his broken laptop, and from the nice woman in the corner shop who sent his mom flowers when she heard his grandfather had died.

They had always been said with varying levels of sincerity. A lot of people said "no need to thank me", but secretly wanted to be thanked very much. If you didn't thank them, they wouldn't help you in the future. People were weird like that.

But when this guy said it, for some reason Evan understood that it was the absolute truth. Like it wouldn't matter if Evan thanked him or not – he would still help him.

Feeling a little flustered, Evan scratched the back of his neck. "Well, I have a lecture now, so I better... uh, you're sure you don't want a coffee afterwards?"

The youth seemed to think about it for just a second too long, before shaking his head. His smile was apologetic. "It's fine. Enjoy your lecture." He started walking away.

"Ah, uh, you too," Evan said in a panic, before quietly smacking his own face. He had no idea if the guy even had a lecture. Stupid, stupid, stupid...

The youth came to a stop. He slowly turned around, an angelic, apologetic smile on his face. "Actually, I'm a little lost. Could you tell me where room M42 is?"

"That's – that's where I'm going now! That's where my lecture is!" Evan gave him a wide grin. "Astro 228, right?"

The youth nodded. "Right."

"Just follow me, then. Huh... I didn't know we shared a class, sorry I didn't recognise you!"

"That's okay," the youth said quietly from behind him as they entered the lecture building together. "I tend to stay quiet."

Watery winter sun did its best to shine through the floor length windows of the lecture building. It shone off the back of Evan’s pale neck, the black hair that fell in every direction. It reflected off the otherboy’s grey eyes, making them seem more luminous, more pallid, as they watched Evan with keen, unwavering interest.

Evan walked slightly ahead to lead the way. "Well, I definitely won't forget you now. You saved my life! What's your name?"

The youth was quiet. Evan waited for an answer for an uncomfortably long time, before wondering if he had spoken too quietly. He was about to repeat the question when a soft voice from behind him said "Ruth."

Ruth? Wasn't Ruth a girl's name? Was this guy actually a girl? "Oh, Ruth? Ahh, that's a cool name."

"You don't think it's weird? That a guy has a girl's name?"

Oh, thank god, he didn't have to try and subtly ask awkward questions about pronouns. Maybe the guy was used to this kind of thing and anticipated the awkwardness. "No, I don't think so. As long as you like it, then that's all that matters. I'm Evan by the way."

The youth hummed. "I know."

Now Evan felt guilty. He didn't even remember seeing this guy around, but he remembered Evan's name. Ah, this was too bad. He would definitely make an effort to remember him now. "Well, here it is. Just in time–"

"Actually, you go ahead," Ruth said suddenly. "I need to use the bathroom."

Evan turned around and blinked at him. "Oh. Sure. I'll see you in a bit, then."

The youth nodded. He hesitated, before speaking again.

“It was nice to talk to you.”

He gave Evan one last beatific smile, before walking away and disappearing around the corner. Evan quietly let himself into the lecture and scurried to the back, mouthing "sorry" at the lecturer, who ignored him.

He made sure to keep the seat next to him free for Ruth even as other students trickled in.

The lecturer coughed several times to get the attention of the class.

"So, last week I opened the lecture with the following quote: God does not play dice with the universe. This is oft quoted and attributed to Einstein himself in a letter to a friend criticizing what he saw as the unacceptable flaw in quantum mechanics, that is, the possibility of unpredictable random events on a molecular level. In many ways, he was right. We have been learning how to chart the movement of objects in a vacuum – predicting the orbits of distant planets and stars around the insatiable black holes that are, themselves, in a perpetual state of movement. I know that most of you have grasped the basics of this particular module very quickly. Predictability is a magnetic lure – one gets lulled into the false sense of security knowing that we can work out the trajectory of some far flung meteor to a high degree of accuracy. As if space can be imagined as some unfathomably large clock, each cog in place, every heavenly body caught in an eternal, rational, predictable waltz to the swing of a baton that, if only we have the numbers, might one day understand the rhythms of. If you turn your attention to the notes we made on how you can work out the speed of rotation of a planet..."

Evan tried very hard to concentrate and make notes. There was always a buffer at the start of the class where this particular lecturer went on a long tangent about random things he thought were interesting, and he usually zoned out through them, but once the actual maths was brought in, there was no possibility of daydreaming and letting it slip by. If you missed anything, you ended up being more confused down the line when the more complicated stuff got brought in.

The poor girl next to him was doomed. She fell asleep almost immediately, and Evan lit a candle in his mind for her. RIP your grades, you snoozy bitch. At the same time, he was envious. Why couldn’t he take a nap instead of doing work?

He tried to concentrate, but all through the lecture, Evan couldn't help but keep looking at the doorway, wondering when Ruth was going to appear. How long did it take to use the bathroom? Did the poor guy have a stomach upset?

By the time the lecture was over, Evan had accepted that Ruth wasn't going to appear. He lit a candle in his heart for the guy's bowel system. Clearly, he had been having some kind of toilet trouble and decided to skip the lecture.

What a shame. He seemed so... interesting.

After the lecture was over, Evan slowly clambered out of his seat. The lecturer had set a bunch of exercises to do at home, and the library was calling for a study session. Time to shuffle into Tesco to get a £3 meal deal and sit down for several hours to pound his brain into submission!

"Hey, Evan," someone called out as they left the lecture. "Evan, wait up!"

There was a girl chasing after Evan. She had warm brown skin and an infectious smile, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Oh, sorry Aliya," he said, slowing down so she could catch up. "Did you enjoy the lecture?"

Aliya pouted. "No, are you insane? Enjoy it? Why did I do an astrophysics course again? There's so much maths. I genuinely think I would drop out if I didn't think my mum would kill me."

Evan nodded in agreement. "Sometimes I think about switching to an art degree instead. I won't do it. But I just think about it sometimes."

"Wait, wait, I wanted to ask you something," Aliya said, slapping his arm lightly. "House party. I've been invited, but I don't want to go alone. It's a bunch of people I don't know very well, and..."

Evan rolled his eyes. "If you don't know them, why are you going?"

"Because I don't know how to say no!" Aliya moaned. "It's a pretty casual thing, don't worry. You know I don't drink, so I'll probably be dipping early. Please? Please please please? Please just come for a little while, just to keep me company..."

Evan wasn't a prude. He liked a good party. The thing was that he liked a good party with people he knew. "And I don't know anyone there?"

"Probably not, they're all from netball club. But hey – you'll know me!"

"I don't know you. Who are you. Why are you following me."

"Evaaaaan. Please! I'll do anything."

There was a long silence as they exited the lecture building together. Evan watched the students stream out of the building on their way to other classes, or the library, or their rooms to go back to sleep.

He wasn't exactly great at making friends. Aliya was the only person on his course that he talked to regularly. It was why he was pretty excited to get to know Ruth, except he disappeared, so that was a bust. He tried a few clubs and societies, but none of them had really clicked so far.

He hadn't been to a party in ages. He was wasting the best years of his youth in university, and he wasn't even going to parties. What was the point? He was living like a grandpa and he was only twenty one!

He wasn't an old man yet! He didn't have a pension! He still liked electronic music!

Maybe this was the chance Evan needed to make new friends. How hard could it be?

"Sure, why not."

Aliya cheered. "Yay! Thank you, big guy. I owe you one. Oh, wow, watch your feet, it looks like someone spilled their coffee down the stairs... haha, poor them..."

Contents | Next Chapter

#chapter

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louiseleblancdiggory · 4 years

Note

can you do some rowaelin content based on invisible string by Taylor? pretty please

I love TS!!! Invisible String is so pretty and I had the perfect idea for it immediately. The whole bracelet thing was a real thing where I grew up, so it was nice to write about it. Enjoy!

Invisible string

May 1993

Aelin didn’t believe in love at first sight, but the first time she saw Rowan Whitethorn, she wanted to.

She had barely turned fifteen, just two days before, when she saw him for the first time. Then, she didn’t know his name, his age or anything about him, but she wanted to.

She was sitting down on a shaded spot on the green grass. Lysandra and Elide had dragged her to the park in the morning to watch the early Beltane commemorations. Every year on Beltane day, the kids were provided a series of games and prizes in the Centennial Park, and at night the adults would come, light up the fires and dance until the sun shone in the sky once more. Aelin loved Beltane, it was her holiday. Her family used to joke that it made sense that a girl that had so much wildfire inside of her had been born so close to Beltane.

Her spot in the grass gave her a direct view into the yogurt shop on the other side of the park. And there, standing in a ridiculous pink-and-blue apron and white hat, was the silver headed guy she couldn’t stop staring.

“You know who’s the guy working at Emrys’s?” She nudged Lysandra with her elbow, and her friend sat up and looked to where Aelin was jerking her chin.

“The silver headed?” Lys asked, her nose scrunching up. “Rowan Whitethorn. He’s in your cousin’s class, turning seventeen in a few months, I think.”

“Hum.”

“Oh, no. I know that look. Whitethorn is bad news, Ace. Stay away from him.” Lys warned and Elide nodded from where she was laying down.

She nodded vaguely, but her eyes didn’t leave Rowan. Even for his age, he was already tall and toned. His teal shirt was rolled back at the sleeves to reveal a tattoo sneaking up his arm from his wrist. He was completely serious, not smiling at one costumer and seeming infinitely bored.

Rowan Whitethorn looked like bad news, and Aelin was attracted to it like a moth to the flame.

However, she didn’t go up to him. At that time, as much daring as she was, she still possessed that teenage natural shyness, and talking to a boy two years older than her who looked like he wanted to smash everyone’s skulls wasn’t really her area of expertise. She watched him every now and then, though. The morning ended, giving away to a hot afternoon. At some point, a few kids started running around with buckets, giving away little strings to everyone.

“It grants you a wish.” The little boy told her when he stopped by her tree. “You tie it around your wrist and when it falls down naturally, you can make a wish and it comes true.”

“Oh, really?” Elide, always the nicest one of their trio, asked sounding genuinely interested.

“Yes. Anything you wish becomes true. Sometimes it falls after days, sometimes it takes years, my daddy told me. But it falls eventually and you get a wish.” The boy sounded extremely excited. Aelin guesses that being eight and going around giving magical strings did that to a kid.

“I’ll take one, then. Who doesn’t want a wish, right?” Elide said and the little boy nodded eagerly, handing her a purple string.

“I’ll take one too, of course.” Lysandra smiled, receiving a green string and tying it around her ankle.

When the little boy turned to Aelin, she grinned at him. “I wouldn’t waste the opportunity of having a wish come true, would I?”

The boy smiled back at her, giving her the only gold string inside his bucket. He was running off to the next group of people before she could even thank him. She laughed under her breath, starting to tie it around her wrist. As she gave it the final knot, she looked back at the yogurt shop. Rowan had, surprisingly, also accepted a string from a little girl. He gave her a little smile as he knelt near her, and when she sauntered off, his eyes roamed around the park, stopping on her.

Aelin thought she was mistaken, that in no way in hell he was staring at her, but as Rowan finished tying his string, he raised his wrist and winked.

Aelin could only stare at the equally golden string on his wrist.

———————————

October 1996

Rowan was celebrating his twentieth birthday just the way he planned: getting drunk.

He and his friends had been planning this trip to Los Angeles for months now, and they had ditched a whole week in the university to do it . It was completely worth it, though. They had spent the last three days doing fucking nothing other than drinking and playing some shitty videogame. Rowan had watched Fenrys flirt with every woman that talked to him, watched Lorcan and Aedion scowling and Connall and Vaughan acting like the loving couple they always were.

Things were normal and they were good.

“Man, how the fuck did you find this restaurant?” Fenrys muttered, taking a sip of his beer. Rowan had to agree, the pub’s entrance was almost unnoticeable, and if it wasn’t for Aedion, they would have never found it.

The food was great, the drinks were great and whoever was in charge of the playlist had impeccable taste. Rowan couldn’t think of a better place to spend his birthday.

Aedion scoffed, putting his phone down. “I didn’t find shit. My cousin has been to LA a thousand times and pestered me about coming here. She said, and I quote, that it was her favorite pub in LA, that the food was divine, the beer didn’t taste like piss and, even if the two latter statements weren’t true, the amazing music makes up for it.”

“You are Aelin’s cousin!” The waitress exclaimed, a heavy Scottish accent making the words roll out of her tongue. She must have heard what Aedion was saying when she was walking back to their table to ask if they wanted anything else. “You have her face, and I’ve heard her say those words every time she visited us. Lovely girl, wicked smart, too. Tricked poor Rolfe into letting her buy beer at the age of seventeen! We all though she was twenty two until she was tipsy enough to reveal the truth.”

Aedion grinned. “Sounds exactly like my cousin.”

The waitress laughed out loud, looking at the rest of them. For some reason, her eyes stopped at Rowan. “Beautiful girl, isn’t she? Gets prettier every time she comes by. Looks like one of those American singers.”

He smiled politely at her, but didn’t answer. Rowan had never spoken to Aedion’s cousin. Actually, he had only seen her once.

Rowan looked down at the worn string on his wrist. All his friends had lost theirs already, but Rowan’s was still standing strong. He didn’t believe in any of that bullshit, but he had to admit he had grown fond of the soft scrapping the string gave him. The mention of Aelin and the vision of the golden string only helped him remember the only time he had seen her. It had been Beltane little over three years ago, he was just sixteen and working with yogurt because he really needed the money.

He would have never wore a blue-and-pink apron otherwise.

The day was terribly hot, and Rowan hated interacting with people. Hated small talk and it looked like every person that came by decided that they didn’t want only yogurt, but also a five minute talk with him.

Absolute fucking torture.

When the kids had come around with the strings, it was the first time Rowan wasn’t pissed at the need to talk to someone. The kid had been lovely; a little girl explaining how he would be granted a wish if he wore the string and let it fall naturally. She grabbed the only golden one inside her bucket, running away as Rowan tied it on his wrist.

He looked around mindlessly, but his gaze stopped on a golden haired woman looking at him. Being so far away, Rowan couldn’t identify who she was exactly, but there was something familiar about her. And even from afar he knew that the girl was drop dead gorgeous.

And then he noticed the golden string on her wrist. If it was any other color it might have been something he would have missed it, but the golden thing caught in the light and shined, just like the one on his own wrist. Rowan never understood why he did it, but he raised his wrist to how her his string and winked at her.

Later he discovered why she had looked familiar. She was his best friend’s cousin.

“Ace does get prettier every year.” Fenrys’s voice rang, taking Rowan out of his memories. “Much to the dismay of anyone who has to deal with her ego.”

Vaughan laughed at that. He and Fenrys were the only ones besides Aedion who had any contact with Aelin.

Still staring at the golden string, Rowan almost opened his mouth to ask Aedion for her number. He didn’t know why, the thought had come all too sudden to his head, and he bit his tongue to stop the words.

He didn’t know Aelin one bit, and just ask for her number after a waitress said she was beautiful sounded like a way to pick a fight with Aedion who was extremely protective of his younger cousin.

No, Rowan thought, better to just leave things as they are.

——————————————

New Year’s Eve 1999

Aelin never thought she would be spending New Year’s Eve in a dive bar with her friends and her cousin’s friends.

Usually for end of the year celebrations, her parents would organize a gala or some shit that would force Aelin to wear a boring dress. This year, however, her parents decided to go travel to Europe and spend two weeks there.

And because of that Aelin was wearing a mini red dress, extremely high stilettos, listening to obnoxiously bad music in a small dive bar as she and her group drank beer of questionable quality.

It was fucking great.

She toyed with the dull string on her wrist, the thing probably just hours or days from snapping. After almost seven years, it was about time. She had thought about simply cutting it before, but could never go through with it. It had become a friendly bracelet, one she twisted when nervous or distracted. It had been in all her photos since the age of fifteen, and it would be strange when it fell.

“So I wasn’t the only one who didn’t get their wish yet.” A man’s voice came from behind her, and Aelin turned around to stare at her teenage crush.

Rowan had been attractive at sixteen, but now at twenty three he was straight up hot. He had grown even more, his body looking just as defined. Even with the heels, Aelin tipped her back a little to look at him.

They had never talked, never even looked at each other after that Beltane celebration. Every now and then Aelin would consider asking Vaughan or Fenrys for Rowan’s number, but that would have been strange. She had even once looked him up on social medias after a nasty break up with a man named Chaol. Rowan had no idea who she was, but a small part of Aelin would never be able to forget him.

He had been the crush of her teenage years, even if they had never interacted.

“I’m almost.” She said, raising her wrist the same way he had years ago. “Never thought I would enter the two thousands with this thing still on my wrist.”

“Looks like the golden ones are really lasting.” He showed her his wrist, an equally worn golden string laying there. “I’m Rowan.”

“Aedion told me about you. I’m Aelin.” She extended a hand, and he grabbed it with a smile on his face.

“Aedion has told me about you, too.”

“I tremble just from thinking about exactly what Aedion has told you.” She shivered and he laughed. He didn’t look like the angry teenager she had fallen for in secret, but like an easy going man that she would have no problems talking to.

Oh no. We are not going back to our fifteen years old crush. We have grown out of that.

“Want to go to the bar grab a drink?” He asked.

“Sure.”

Fucking idiot.

Aelin almost told her brain to shut up out loud.

“So, what have you been doing? Still with the whole yogurt shit?”

He smiled at her as they walked to the bar. “Fortunately have left those days behind. Most miserable job I have ever had.”

“The blue-and-pink apron and fake smile really did it for you, though.”

He laughed out loud and Aelin smiled, sitting on a stool.

“Was I that memorable, Galathynius? You saw me only once.”

And at that moment, a doubt she had for the past years had been answered. He had seen her that day, and the wink had probably been to her too.

“The sight was ridiculous enough that I could never forget, Whitethorn.” Her grin became wider. “And the little white hat on your hair was the cherry on top.”

Rowan was trying to scowl, but Aelin saw how he had to bite the inside of his cheeks to refrain from laughing. The moment he opened his mouth to reply, Fenrys threw his arm around her shoulders, taking all attention to him.

“My two favorite people.”

“You’re drunk.” Aelin deadpanned as Rowan sighed.

“It is my happiest state of mind, my dear.” He booped her nose. “I’m so glad the two of you started talking by yourselves. I thought I would need to introduce you guys.”

Aelin knew she would regret it immediately, but she asked anyways. “Why would you bother, wolfie?”

“Well,” he started, suddenly trying to act serious. Aelin had to bite her lower lip at the impatient look on Rowan’s face. When he looked at her, his eyes were almost pleading.

As if I could stop him now. She mouthed to him.

Wishful thinking, Galathynius. He mouthed back.

“Three years ago I thought it would finally happen, you know?” Fenrys continued, oblivious to Rowan and Aelin’s silent conversation. “Me and Vaughan always thought the two of you would get along. Same music taste, same movie taste, and bla bla bla… Three years ago,” hiccup. “Three years ago I thought Rowan was finally going to ask Aedion for your number after Aed said that you had been the one to choose the pub Rowan had loved. But he didn’t.”

Fenrys turned to Rowan, scowling deeply. Rowan’s ears were red, his cheeks slightly pink.

“And Aed was a prick and didn’t offer it himself.” Fenrys looked genuinely pissed. “And then tonight I learn from Lysandra about Aelin’s teenage cru—“

“Ok!” She said a little loudly, her own cheeks on flames. She tried not to look at Rowan, hoping Fenrys’s drunk words had been misinterpreted. “It’s two minutes for midnight, Fenrys. Go find someone else to make the last minutes of the century miserable.”

As if he hadn’t been about to drop one of her biggest secrets and embarrassments, Fenrys simply gave her a peck on the cheek and walked away.

She stared at his back, not wanting to look at Rowan.

“What was that, Ace? I didn’t catch it right. Teenage what?” He asked, but by the tone of his voice Aelin knew that he knew exactly what Fenrys was talking about.

She was going to kill Fenrys. And then Lysandra for telling him. And the Aedion for buying Lysandra the alcohol that made her tell him.

“I was young.” She said through clenched teeth. Her cheeks were burning.

When she turned back to him, he had a grin on his mouth.

“You liked me?” He sounded dopey.

“Fuck off.”

He laughed loudly, almost doubling over. Gosh, she wanted to open a hole on the ground and never see civilization again.

“Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the heartbreaker, had a crush on me?” A little bit of laughter was still on his voice, the smile still big on his face. “I’m flattered. Honestly.”

“Please, please shut the fuck up. And never talk about it again.” She pleaded, looking at the big clock on the bar. One minute for 2000. She was going to spend the last minute in the century dying of embarrassment. “Gosh, I want to kill you right now. And Fenrys, and Lys. Anyone with the information.”

“I remember when I heard that you had made Archer Finn cry when you broke up with him.” Rowan said as if she hadn’t said a word. “And you were head over heels for me.”

“I wasn’t head over heels for you, you insufferable bastard.” She grunted, crossing her arms and standing up. “And Fenrys said you were going to ask for my number three years ago, so stop gloating about me liking you.”

“I was.”

“I know you were gloating, I fucking heard you.” She raised her chin, looking at the clock again. Thirty seconds.

“I was going to ask for your number, I mean.” He explained, still smiling. Aelin didn’t know what to answer at that, so she only stared at him. He sounded so much more comfortable talking about it than she was. “You think these things accept me getting my wish before they fall?”

“What?”

Twenty seconds.

“Like, I get my wish now and when it falls I don’t wish for anything.”

Fifteen seconds.

“I don’t know?” Aelin replied. “I’m not really an expert on fake strings’ magic.”

Ten seconds. Everyone started the countdown.

“Well, let’s pretend then that it was an invisible string.”

Nine, eight, seven…

“Huh?”

“An invisible string. It broke right now and I get a wish.”

Six, five, four..

“An invisible string?”

“Yeah.” He smiled at her, and she instinctively smiled back at him.

They just stared at each other during the next two seconds, and when everyone screamed “one”, Rowan put his hands on Aelin hips and dragged her forward, placing her in between his legs as he bent down and pressed his lips to hers.

Aelin sighed, putting her arms around his shoulders and kissing him back. Rowan’s mouth was soft and warm against hers, and Aelin could feel his smile against her lips. She smiled too, and he took the opportunity to shove his tongue inside of her mouth, deepening the kiss. One of his hands went to the back of her head, holding her in place was his lips moved on hers, as his tongue moved against hers.

“Happy New Century, Galathynius.” Rowan murmured against her mouth, the screams around them sounding muffled by his voice.

“Happy New Century, Whitethorn.” She murmured back, smiling against his mouth as they kissed, not caring for anyone else, or anything else, as they focused on each other during the first minutes of the new century.

——————————————

December 2008

“And she had the biggest crush on me when she was fifteen.” Rowan whispered.

“Rowan Whitethorn, I swear to the gods that if you are telling them I liked you when I was younger, I’ll become a widow today!” His wife’s voice rang from the kitchen, and Rowan fake winced.

His kids only laughed at their parents, bright and happily.

Aelin’s golden head popped out of the kitchen, showing him her tongue. Rowan only winked at her, the same way he had when she had been fifteen. Her face morphed into a soft smile, and she came to them. Aelin sat on his lap, turning to their kids. Rowan pulled her back against her chest, putting his nose on the crook of her neck and breathing in.

He had been wrong eight years ago. The invisible string between them hadn’t snapped.

His wish did come true, though.

Tags:

@abookishfreak @faerie-queen-fireheart @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jlinez @courtofjurdan @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ladywitchling @maastrash @morganofthewildfire @queen-of-glass

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mayfriend-archive · 3 years

Note

Totally understand if you're not up for it and fully recognize the ronald mcdonald dom/sub anon vibes which is an AMAZING post btw but like...now i'm curious, what the hell did Lord of the Flies anon DO that got him blocked for the discourse? like...i just can't wrap my head around high school lit being...uh...that inflammatory i guess?

Okay so, I'll start by saying I've had a new anon from apparently the same anon saying they are NOT the person I blocked, just a rando making the same points, but I'll answer your question anyway just to set out why this person in particular got blocked, out of the several thousand who reblogged/commented on that very successful addition to the LoTF post I made.

First off, I added the 'real life Lord of the Flies' story because I thought it was a good story. I had read about it only a couple days beforehand in Humankind and, after reading out the entire chapter to my parents who weren't very interested, I was excited that there was not only a post where it would be relevant to post, but that I wouldn't be hijacking it, as it was already rejecting the widespread interpretation taught in many schools, that humanity is inherently savage.

When making the addition, I a) did not think it would get more than a couple reblogs, because the post was already at 50k notes and I figured anyone that might be interested would already have seen it, and b) I did not know the very specific context that prompted William Golding to write the book; all I knew was that he had been a teacher at a public school (basically, the poshest schools in the country - think Eton, Harrow, very 'old money' places that pump out Conservative politicians by the bucket-load 🤢) who hated his job and the boys he taught (which, valid), and new information I'd been given in Humankind - that Golding had said to his wife one day, "Wouldn't it be a good idea to write a story about some boys on an island, showing how they would really behave?" - which had no mention of The Coral Island by R. M. Ballantyne, which I have since learned was the text that Golding loathed enough to write an entire novel in refutation of - and included what I considered a very telling letter from Golding to his publisher, in which Golding wrote of his belief that 'even if we start with a clean slate, our nature compels us to make a muck of it.' Another Golding quote that I believe portrays his belief in humanity's 'innate savagery' is that "man produces evil as a bee produces honey."

Obviously, the author of a book putting forward the case for humanity's inherent goodness was going to oppose Golding's hypothesis; Bregman not only noted Golding's literary accomplishments and beliefs, but his personal life.

When I began delving into the author's life, I learned what an unhappy individual he'd been. An alcoholic. Prone to depression. A man who, as a teacher, once divided his pupils into gangs and encouraged them to attack each other. "I have always understood the Nazis," Golding confessed, "because I am of that sort by nature." (Humankind by Rutger Bregman, p. 24-25)

I have bolded the part about him as a teacher, because it is incredibly relevant to the original post that I commented on, which begins with a comic of a teacher locking her class in to see them 'recreate' Lord of the Flies, something which the follow up comments before mine staunchly reject as both misunderstanding the point of the book, and the fact that it took the kids in Lord of the Flies a significant amount of time without adult supervision to go 'savage'. This misreading of the text is widespread enough that when Golding won the Nobel Prize for Lord of the Flies, the Swedish Nobel committee wrote that his book 'illuminate[s] the human condition in the world of today'. Whether or not they misread it is beyond my expertise - they do at least mention the factors of the outside world neglected by many when analysing the book, but still seem to believe it says something about human nature as a whole rather than just, to quote thedarkbutbeige 'British kids being rat bastards' - but Golding quite happily took his Nobel prize on this basis. Which, in fairness, I would too. It's a fucking Nobel prize.

It was with this knowledge, and this knowledge alone, that I stated in my now very, very widely read comment that Golding 'wrote the book to be a dick', in response to the tags of the person I reblogged from. As I said, I now know that Golding did not write the book (solely) because he hated the kids he taught, but as a response to The Coral Island and the general idea that clearly the British were inherently civilsed, whilst the people they colonised and enslaved were inherently savage. So. That's the background.

The anon - or rather, the person I thought was anon - was the sole exception out of dozens of replies, who instead of telling me about The Coral Island politely decided it was time to go ALL CAPS and regurgitate points already made by thespaceshipoftheseus, and implied that the only reason that the real life Tongan castaways didn't go all Lord of the Flies was because they weren't British. Not because they weren't surrounded by violence like the boys in Lord of the Flies, or there wasn't a World War ongoing, or that they weren't the upper, upper, upper crust of a class-obsessed society like Britain - but because they weren't British. A complete inversion of the concept that Golding was trying to get across - now, instead of all of humanity being equally prone to savagery in the right conditions, it was solely nationality that determined it. As in, the British were inherently savage, but nobody else was.

I, trying for humour, made the terrible mistake of replying to them.

I won't lie, I was absolutely blown away that this was real life. What I think they were trying to do was be that Cool Tumblr Person who, after somebody's been shitty on a post, goes to their blog and sees something Damning in their about/description. In an ideal world, I imagine I'd have gone nuts or done something Unforgiveable. In what I can only call the rant that followed, they stated several times that I needed to go back to high school to get some 'proper literary analysis' skills and that the story of the Tongan castaways was completely unrelated to the point at hand which. I mean, I disagree, considering that I made the addition, but I couldn't get my head around how commenting on a post that was already rejecting the thesis that the 'point' of Lord of the Flies was that humanity was inherently savage and was, in fact, about how kids - British or otherwise - learn how to function from the adults around them, and that traumatised, terrified children aren't going to create a mini-Utopia, and put forward a real life example of how without the key additions of an ongoing world war, a colonial Empire and the subsequent mindset of thinking you are 'inherently civilised' and therefore can't do anything wrong, actually, people just want to take care of each other.

A friend has since asked me why I even have 'england' in my description. To be honest, it's a timezone thing - I talk to a lot of people online who don't share my timezone, and it generally makes me feel like if I don't reply immediately because it's 3am, they have the tools to see that I'm not in their timezone and not just ignoring them. I did consider changing it to 'british' or 'uk' after it was... 'used against me', I guess, simply because I didn't want to deal with it, but you know what. No. Not gonna do that. I am from England, and I have never hid that fact. I have a tag called 'uk politics', during Eurovision I refer to the UK's act as 'us' (even if I really, really don't want to. Because James Newman slaughtered that song and it was downright embarrassing), I regularly post stuff in my personal tag about where I live (and mostly complain about this piece of shit government). If people really think my nationality makes every point I make null and void, then they don't have to follow me or interact with my posts; tumblr is big, and I am one medium-small blog very easily passed over.

I did reply to them, trying to explain the above, but their next response really just doubled down. Because I used the word British instead of English - foolishly because the posts above mine focused on Britishness, and also because although Golding was English and taught English kids, the pro-Imperialism author of The Coral Island, R. M. Bannatyne was actually Scottish so, ding ding ding, falls into the 'British' category - they then decided that I was somehow trying to pretend I wasn't English and made all the same points, before ending with this doozy:

At this point, I knew there was nothing to be gained from replying, because if we're whipping out conditions like they're pokemon cards then there's no actual conversation anymore, and I'm not going to start mudslinging like an identity politician. They made up their mind, and I figured there could be no harm in letting them think that they 'won' by blocking them instead of replying.

Until the ask. INNATE ENGLISH SAVAGERY did, I'll admit, make me think it was them, back again. I even thought up a really good response approximately 12 hours after I replied, I was that sure. Until the second message came in, and said they were just someone who came from the post and made the same point by chance. So the saga draws to a close... for now.

It may have been them, it may not have been - the anon feature makes it impossible to be sure, but as the second message I got said, we're in a heatwave. It's too hot to argue. And I've just written a goddamn essay about a book I dislike anyway.

My pasty English ass is going to go melt. If there's Disk Horse, do not tell me. I am Done™

#emily speaks #asks #anon #lord of the flies #this is long. this is so long. why is this so long #i literally got out humankind so i could quote directly. how is this my life

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lovethestars1966 · 3 years

Text

STEREK FBI/FALSELY ACCUSED FIC

Chapter three is up from unforgettable!! The one where the Sheriff arrests and charges Derek with multiple murders. Also I have a competition going on the person who can guess the murderer first!! First and second prize. It’s to pay for some ART by a very talented Tumblr artist who we all know and love. Just a bit of fun. Give it a go if you're interested and who knows. Maybe you’ll be the winner. Can’t hurt.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31853854/chapters/79642657#workskin

Excerpt: (Big one today...)

“So you guys work with Stiles?” Isaac asked conversationally as he led Allison and Jackson along the track to where the body had been discovered.

“For a few years now,” Allison answered, assuming she would be the only helpful person for Isaac today. Jackson was forthcoming but anything he had to say seemed less than useful. “You knew him from school?” She asked.

“Yeah, but if you’re from Beacon Hills you pretty much know everyone from school.”

Jackson speaks up, “was he just as annoying back then?”

“Probably more.” Isaac laughs genuinely and it causes Allison to giggle alongside him. “Didn’t stop me from being madly in love with him though.” he admits sadly.

Allison isn’t afraid to admit she stumbled then. Freezing right alongside Jackson at the sudden bombshell Isaac had just dropped. Isaac himself didn’t notice he was walking alone for a few moments but when he did he looked back to find them both standing there gobsmacked.

“Guess Stiles doesn’t talk about me much huh?” he asked just a little bit embarrassed. Allison made a small choking noise while Jackson threw his hands skyward in disbelief.

“Seriously, how did that little weasel get two guys to fall in love with him?” He asked but Isaac skilfully ignored him in favour of Allison.

“Did he know?” She queried.

“Whole town knew.” the deputy answered, shrugging his shoulders and continuing towards their intended destination, “Although I would hope Stiles knew anyway since we dated.”

Allison had just started walking again.

“What the fuck is happening?” Jackson whispered, mostly to himself.

“Wait,” Allison threw a hand out to stop Isaac once more. “I thought Derek was the first and only person Stiles ever dated.” Isaac nodded and hurried them along once more.

“Well yes and no,” He relented to her enquiring eyebrow, “Derek was certainly the first person he dated and I assume he thinks he’ll be Stiles last. Stiles and myself dated for a few months when he and Derek broke up.”

“Stiles and Derek never broke up.” The conflicted agent to Isaac’s right argued which caused the young cop himself to huff quietly with laughter.

“Guess Stiles doesn’t talk about anything from his past much.” he states, “I gotta tell you, that does make me feel a bit better.”

“I’m starting to feel like none of us really know Stiles.” Allison muttered.

“Yeah, well I just learnt two people have actually seen Stiles naked and enjoyed it so now I’m questioning everything I know.” Jackson countered inciting another round of laughter from Isaac.

“Now that I can’t claim,” he admitted, “me and Stiles never had sex, though not from a lack of trying on my part.”

“Surprisingly that didn’t help.” Jackson grumbled and then wheezed out an annoyed breath after having a hand thrown across his chest. “Problem?”

“Not at all, we've just arrived.”

It was like flicking a switch. Allison and Jackson went from confused, and a little sickened in Jackson case, to professional in the blink of an eye. From the corner of her eye she saw Isaac looking mildly impressed.

“You got the file?” Jackson asked Allison who was already nose deep in said paperwork.

“Looks like she was found underneath that tree over there,” she pointed towards a large imposing trunk, and after a quick inspection they discovered specks of remaining blood confirming the assumption.

“wide space,” Jackson noted out loud, “no clear trails, lots of obstacles.”

“What does that mean?” Isaac asked genuinely interested.

“Means whoever did it has to be an experienced hiker.” Allison answered as Jackson wondered off a little. “Probably have an intimate knowledge of the area.”

“A local?”

“Not necessarily, could be anyone who travels here often enough to learn the terrain. Although statistically speaking a local is more likely.” She mumbled examining a photograph.

“Any tire tracks?” Jackson yelled, still out of view, startling the young deputy.

“None that our technicians could find.” He answered anyway as the male agent came stumbling back into the clearing.

“How wide were your search parameters?” he questioned further.

“Had a team of about six go about two miles in all directions.”

“Only two miles?” Allison asked shocked at the same time Jackson screwed up his face.

“Only six people?”

“We’re a small town,” Isaac huffed a little offended, “that’s actually a lot for us,”

Allison had the moral conscience to at least look sheepish while Jackson merely shook his head in judgement.

“Two miles is still pretty far to drag a body.” Isaac moved on smoothly. “At least it is for any normal human being.”

“Well you’re not wrong there, Kolchak.” Jackson retorted unforgivingly. “Maybe she was flown here on a magic carpet.” Isaac was becoming increasingly more put out the longer Jackson was allowed to talk and showed so in the narrowing of his eyes. Allison was going to have to watch that. Her best friends fiancé had a way of pissing people off that was unmatched by others.

“Obscure references to seventies si-fi-crime shows aside,” the deputy forged on, “the point still remains, this guy must be ripped… if it is a guy? Do we know that?” He directed the last part towards her.

“I highly doubt it’s a woman.” She responded, and Isaac looked extremely grateful. “the facts don't add up.”

“Meaning?”

“Statistics show that ninety two percent of all female serial killers know their victims personally. While it is extremely likely, almost definite even, that the unsub in this case knew at least one or two of their victims, considering the fact that they were spread across three states and share extremely similar aesthetics, knowing all thirteen on a personal level is virtually impossible.” Allison explained calmly only for Jackson to tag on the end.

“Pair that with the fact that most female motives are to do with money, and that we just ruled out magic carpet to the dumpsite, seems a bit ridiculous to suggest women doesn't it?” he asked with no small amount of mockery.

“Boy are you going to be sorry if it does turn out to be a woman.” Isaac replied shaking his head in judgment. Jackson’s only response was to roll his eyes.

“Okay,” Allison spoke up completely ignoring the boys little competition, “So if he didn’t drive here, and he didn’t carry her here then how did she get here?” she pondered aloud. Jackson furrowed his own forehead in concentration.

“Maybe she was killed here?” Isaac offered only to receive a scoff from his favourite agent.

“She died from blood loss Deputy,” Allison stepped in before Jackson could mock, “There was nowhere near enough blood near here for it to have been the kill site.”

“I know how she died, I saw her,” Isaac began then paused, looking like he regretted his short tone. He tired again. “Look Doc Deaton told us she had ligature marks around her ankles.”

“she was hung upside down.” Allison confirmed.

“Yeah but I watched this documentary on like war zones and militant extremist and stuff. It said that sometimes they have to take their victims to remote places to, you know, ‘question them’. Often they do it by cutting them and letting them bleed to death slowly hung upside down. To avoid attracting animals with the sent of blood they like, dig a hole, or place them over a bucket or something.”

By the time Isaac had finished he looked a little embarrassed, at his suggestion, but obviously couldn’t bring himself to tame the smirk he sent Jacksons way. Jackson however was just looking back with a seemingly bewildered look on his face.

“You are an idiot.” he stated and Isaac deflated a little. “You think this guy just so happened to watch the same documentary you did? You realise the chances of this are like five million to o-“

“Shut up Jackson!” Allison interrupted suddenly.

“What?”

“Shush, I think Isaac might be right,” she waved off his distress distractedly and Isaacs smile grew back tenfold. “Think about it. This guy is meticulous, methodical, dedicated. All things that can be easily explained with a military background.” She grinned back at the young officer before heading over to the tree and squatting down. She pulled out a glove from her pocket and began fitting it over her hand while continuing her thoughts aloud.

“What if he served overseas. He could have learnt everything he needed from the locals and simply applied it to some of his victims.”

She placed her covered hand to the ground where the body had been discovered and started to dig.

“Now considering he would’ve had to walk her here, tie her to the tree, kill her, get her down, and get the hell out of dodge, I doubt he had time to bring several buckets along with him and then carry them all the way back to wherever he came from without dropping any. No he is way to organised for that. However digging a hole would only require a small shovel. Military grade ones can be attached to a belt, which leaves only his faith that the local sheriffs department would never think to dig…”

Suddenly she stopped pulling up the dirt when she was almost elbow deep. The two boys froze in anticipation as she slowly lifted her gloved hand into view. There was dirt, soft and wet from the damp ground as well as small bits of leaf and bark but in-between all of soil, saturating the no longer white glove was deep red blood.

“To bad he didn’t know we would have a deputy as quick as you hey Isaac,” she spoke smugly looking over to him with an approving nod.

Isaac totally preened.

Jackson merely growled at being proven wrong.

“‘Pretend inferiority and encourage his arrogance’.” Isaac quotes smugly. She wasn’t sure is he was talking about Jackson or the unsub. Probably both. Either way it sounded familiar.

Allison scrunches her nose up. “What is that? Shakespeare?” She asks curiously. Isaac goes to answer but is cut off by Jackson.

“Call a CSI team already,” he spat before turning around and muttering, “If this backwater town even has one.”

#Sterek #Team Sterek #sterek fanfiction #sterek fic rec #stiles stilinski #derek hale #Stiles/Derek #derek and scott are brothers

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ifeveristoday · 3 years

Text

bubblegum misogyny

thinking more about the flavor of feminism presented by BtVS and the critical response to the Whedon brand of feminism now vs then - and it really is a product of the time.

Came across this article about what happened in pop culture during the heyday of Buffy - and the role young women played in shaping and being objectified by the culture. It's going to be a series, so I'm interested in seeing where it goes.

This quote though - "We were postfeminist: Women had already achieved equality and had become butt-kickers with girl power, and there was nothing left to complain about. We were in the midst of raunch culture, and it was important to be tanned and sexy and taut and down for anything. We were entering the Bush-era purity ring years, when virginity would be held up as a prize to be fetishized and evaluated.

Only one thing was clear: There was no right way to be a girl. There were only different ways to fail. And we learned that from pop culture."

#feminism #pop culture #whedon's feminism straddles somewhere between second and third wave i think #posing mostly but somehow despite himself there still were valuable examples of feminism in btvs #anyway bubblegum misogyny is a perfect term for it

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beautifulterriblequeen · 4 years

Text

The Secret of Stealth

Inspired by this post because this is how I feel about everything Rayla says and does. Thank you for the morning warm-up, @ladyandherbooks!

Characters: Runaan, Rayla, ft. Lain, Tiadrin, Ethari

Rating: Gen

Length: 1300

The Secret of Stealth

or, How Runaan Broke the Rules for Moonberry Surprise

“Runaan?”

The assassin opened his eyes at the sound of his tiny protégé’s voice and found her wide violet eyes peering up at him from just over the edge of his meditation rock. A tiny frown of concentration marked her forehead. “Yes, Rayla?” he asked softly.

Her fingers rubbed against the rock’s edge. “You’re gonna turn invisible tonight, right?”

“It is part of the ritual, yes.”

Her little shoulders slumped. “I can’t wait until I’m old enough. I wanna do all the things you do!”

He smiled. “In time, you will. Stealth is a vital part of your training. But there is more to stealth than turning invisible.”

Rayla stood taller, and her horn nubs nearly reached his knee. “Really?” she asked brightly. “Can you teach me some stealth right now?”

Runaan unfolded his legs and rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. Rayla bounced eagerly on her toes, clasping her arms behind her. “I will teach you,” he said. “But you must do the learning.”

“I will!”

He held out his hand, and she clasped it. Together they walked through the woods. Rayla bounced off tree roots and little rocks while Runaan read the forest around them like an open book. Finally he pointed to a honeycup bush. Its bright golden blooms tipped up toward the sun, and several hummerbirds flitted around them, sipping at the tasty nectar inside.

“The secret of stealth, Rayla, is that you don’t have to be invisible. You just have to be invisible to your enemy’s senses.”

He gestured for Rayla to watch from where she stood. Slowly, over several minutes, the assassin crept up on the feasting birds, freezing in place whenever one of them changed flowers. He never made a sound, approached from downwind, and eased forward in a patient crouch. Once he was close enough, he raised an eyebrow at Rayla to make sure he had her attention. With her violet eyes fixed eagerly on him, he lifted a soft finger and delicately brushed it along a hummerbird’s back.

The bird didn’t so much as twitch, but Rayla gasped loudly in amazement, startling all the birds into flight. Runaan looked askance at the suddenly empty bush, and Rayla covered her mouth in dismay.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare them away.”

Runaan rose and joined her again. By the time he reached her, the hummerbirds had returned to their flowers. “Don’t worry. They’re still hungry, so they’re very forgiving.”

Tiadrin’s voice filtered through the trees, calling for Rayla. She smartened up and gave Runaan a cute little bow. “Thank you for the lesson, Runaan. I’ll practice it as soon as I can!”

He smiled. “I know you will.”

Rayla darted off, and Runaan returned to his meditation. But something didn’t seem quite right, and he couldn’t relax. After a few minutes, it occurred to him what Rayla meant by “as soon as I can.” His eyes popped open, and he levered himself off the rock with a fondly exasperated sigh.

A few minutes later, he approached his friends’ house and spotted Lain setting a piping hot moonberry surprise in the windowsill to cool. He covered it with a gauzy domed frame to keep the hungry moon moths at bay and retreated into the house’s interior.

Rayla stalked up toward the window just as slowly as Runaan had approached the hummerbirds. With slow, deliberate care, she climbed the outer wall and eased out onto a lacy wooden shutter outside the kitchen window. Her little boots braced on the wooden lip, and her hands clung to the swirly curlicues as she plastered herself against the shutter and inched closer to her target.

Wide-eyed with curiosity, and a little impressed, Runaan slipped behind a tree to observe.

Rayla shifted her feet, hung on with just one hand, and pulled an oven mitt from inside her vest. But just as she reached for the dome that protected the moonberry surprise, she and Runaan both heard Tiadrin calling for Rayla again.

“Rayla! Where is that elfling?”

Runaan was in motion in a heartbeat, darting around the house to the front door. “Tiadrin,” he greeted warmly. “Rayla is out at the moment. Training. Is there something I can do for you in her stead?” Through the kitchen, he could just make out an oven mitt waving in the window.

Tiadrin glanced around him suspiciously. “‘Out’? ‘Training’? She’s four, Runaan. How ‘out training’ can she be?”

He nodded in appreciation for Tiadrin’s incisive observation. “She’s not far. We had a quick lesson just now, and she was eager to practice it. If she’s missed any duties at home because of it, then I’m to blame.”

The gauze dome over the moonberry surprise wobbled and fell out of sight, taking its prize with it. Runaan’s eyes widened momentarily, but he focused on Tiadrin as she replied, “I’m not asking you to put away Rayla’s laundry, Runaan. That’s her task.”

The dome returned to the empty window sill, and Runaan felt his shoulders relax. “Perhaps it’s mine as well, since I’m usually to blame for her getting dirty.”

Lain walked past and clapped a hand on Runaan’s shoulder. “He’s got you there, sweet. Anyone seen my other mitt? It’s got to be around here somewhere…”

Tiadrin and Runaan both glanced after him fondly. Then she told Runaan, “Alright, it’s a fair exchange, then.” She picked up a small stack of folded clothes and handed them to him.

Runaan put Rayla’s clothes away, bade his friends farewell, and went in search of Rayla. She was waiting for him on his meditation rock with a pan of warm moonberry surprise in front of her. The smears on her cheeks told him that she’d already taken several bites. She offered Runaan a second spoon.

He took it and sat on the other side of the pan. “Tell me your plan, Rayla.”

“I sneaked up on the moonberry surprise really quietly, just like you did, so no one inside would hear me!” She took another big bite.

“And when they realize it’s not there?”

“That’ll be a long time from now.”

Her certainty intrigued him. “Why do you say that?”

“I left a big scoop of moonberry surprise on a leaf in the window sill. You said that the secret of stealth is to be invisible to my enemy’s senses. Well, smell is a sense. If my parents can still smell the moonberry surprise, they’ll think it’s all there!”

Runaan blinked and smiled. Rayla had been paying close attention, after all.

“But you had to distract everyone,” Rayla added, looking downcast. “I couldn’t do it on my own. They’d have caught me if you hadn’t helped me. So I guess I failed.” Her shoulders slumped, and she looked at her spoon sadly.

Runaan frowned, perplexed. “Your prize is right here, Rayla. You haven’t failed. I have many more secrets of stealth to teach you, and this is one of them: it’s much easier to be stealthy with a partner than it is to go alone.” He dug his spoon into Rayla’s pilfered prize, and so did she. They clinked their spoons together in a moonberry toast and ate up.

Late that night, after sharing a moonlight ritual together, Runaan, Ethari, Lain, and Tiadrin came to Rayla’s house for a late meal. When Lain lifted the gauze dome to present dessert, everyone looked worriedly at Runaan, whose favorite treat had gone missing. Even Rayla.

The assassin did his best to keep the guilty flush off his cheeks as he said calmly, “Well, that’s definitely a surprise, isn’t it?”

“The hungry are very forgiving,” Rayla quoted wisely.

Ethari started laughing right away. Tiadrin glanced between Rayla and Runaan before joining him. Lain kept staring at the empty window sill and bemoaning his lost baking, which made the others laugh harder. Runaan shook his head with a smile, and he couldn’t help giving Rayla a fond but stealthy wink.

Somewhere nearby, in the light of the full moon, an empty moonberry surprise pan lay upturned on a nice flat rock, bearing a pair of crossed spoons.

#tdp fic #tdp ficlet #tdp fanfic #my writing #runaan #rayla #lain #tiadrin #ethari #moonfam #moonberry surprise #soft runaan

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