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fluffysucker · 5 months

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Than I was at 16

Bucky Barnes x Reader (AU) Boxer/Biker! Bucky Barnes x Chef! Reader Part of the Miss Americana & The heartbreak Prince. AKA Bucky and his princess

ALL ONESHOTS CAN BE READ AS STAND-ALONE

You didn't expect how your day will turn out to be

A/n: Written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female. Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated. Opinions really matter to me.

It's my birthday today so this is very self-indulgent. I'm sorry. I needed this. Hope you like it

Main Masterlist

You tried. You tried so hard. You tried to act like you didn't care. Like, it didn't matter. It didn't mean anything to you. But you couldn't. especially now that you were alone.

Moving the food around the plate with no appetite at all. You signed, as you knew you weren't going to eat a bite more. You wrapped the plate up next to the food you donate weekly. You were proud of how almost wasteless your restaurant was.

You got back inside, hoping maybe work would be the way to take your mind off things.

It was nothing. No big deal. That's what you kept repeating in your mind as you worked.

But it all went off the wall when you saw the text from Bucky telling you he was leaving the gym early and to meet at his place later.

You wanted to cry. It was so stupid, but it felt like a stab to your heart.

You knew Bucky wasn't a sentimental man, but he was thoughtful and considerate. He wasn't one for loud affection, but he cared so much.

So why did he forget about your birthday?

It was six o'clock now, and not a single simple 'Happy Birthday'. For the whole week, he had been acting like there was nothing important. He never mentioned it. It was a completely normal week for him.

You couldn't say that didn't hurt. It hurt much more than you wanted to admit.

You knew that the nature of your relationship wasn't like others. You knew yours, and Bucky's personalities had their big differences. And you were okay with that. You enjoyed it most of the time. It was fine.

However, you hoped that maybe today Bucky would be willing to step more into yours.

Birthdays were a big deal for you. Everyone who knew you knew this about you. You cared about birthdays. You thought of it as a chance to show your friends and family how much you truly loved and appreciated them. You wanted the people you love to have a special day every year when they were reminded of how lucky you were to have them and of how great and wonderful they were.

You had already received a couple of texts and calls from some of your family members and friends. But none of them were the ones you wanted.

You expected at least a small happy birthday kiss when you woke up tangled together in your bed this morning. And that would have been enough for you. You would have been the happiest. But you got nothing. You carried on with your routine like any other day. Until you separated at the doors of your workplaces, it was like every day.

But it wasn't. It was your birthday.

You tried to cheer yourself on, reminding yourself that not everybody cares about birthdays like you do. And that was okay.

But you almost shed tears when the staff working with you in the restaurant brought a leftover cupcake from today's work with a candle in it, singing Happy Birthday before you closed.

It was just you and them as all customers had left, and you were closing up the place. They even chipped in and bought you a present. You tried to turn it down politely, but they insisted that they wanted to give you something nice like you always gave them. You almost cried on the spot. But you weren't sure if it was all happy tears.

As you thanked them for the hundredth time before you parted ways so each of you would go home, you couldn't help but feel sadder. Your staff remembered your birthday, and your boyfriend didn't. The young adults took away part of their money to get you a present, and your boyfriend didn't.

While their simple gesture meant the world to you, leaving you with a full heart, you couldn't help but think about how the staff working with you had shown you more love and care than your own boyfriend.

Maybe it was your time to compromise. It had been Bucky who was putting in the most effort so you could meet in the middle. And it was all for your wishes. While you did wait for him, gave him all the time he needed, and took things at his pace, it was he who had to find a new comfort zone where both of you could exist together.

So maybe now it is your turn to give up and learn to accommodate. And Bucky was worth it. So worth it.

But would a small happy birthday have killed him? How could it have slipped his mind like this?

You breathed in and out, trying to keep your emotions together. It was going to be fine. You would get used to it. It was okay.

You loved Bucky so much that you would let go of this. You prioritized your relationship over failed expectations.

You tried freshening your mind, so you chose to walk to Bucky's apartment. It was a bit of a long way, but you didn't mind. You needed it. And it was quite nice.

While the gym and restaurant were in what could be called good areas of the city, Bucky lived upstate. He had a luxurious, big apartment that he refused to call a penthouse. But it kind of was. And it was immaculately decorated. Morden with hints of vintage It took your breath away the first time Bucky brought you.

You weren't going to lie and say you weren't surprised by how comfortable and financially stable Bucky was. You thought boxers always struggled to make ends meet. It was a misconception on your part. You blamed media representation for that.

You greeted the doorman, who you grew to be friendly with as your visits and stays became more frequent. You got in the elevator and pressed the floor number. You reminded yourself for the last time that it didn't matter. It would be better and easier if you let it go.

You got out of the elevator to walk to the back of the floor, where Bucky's apartment was. You noticed the pattern of always preferring the back of a place where privacy was most granted.

You used the key that Bucky gave you a while ago to open the door. You shared the apartments' keys long ago. You were going so steady. Another reminder to yourself not to make a big deal of this

You frowned at the complete silence as you walked in. Hasn't Bucky come back yet?

"Bucky?" You called out of your boyfriend because it wasn't like him to not hear you coming in. You always teased that he somehow had enhanced hearing.

"In the guys room." His voice rang in the apartment.

You put your stuff on the table as you walked into the apartment. The guys room in Bucky's apartment was the second-largest room in the house. And that was why it was the guys room. Because Steve or Sam, sometimes both, stayed over in this room way more than they stayed in their own homes. The closer you got to Bucky, the more you saw how close the three men were. It was a beautiful friendship that you admired. They teased each other and bickered to no end, yet they would die for each other in a heartbeat. You were happy your boyfriend had this kind of bond in his life. He deserved it.

You assumed both men were here as well, and they all left together. It was fine. You enjoyed their company very much.

It was unusual for the guys to have the door of the room closed. But you didn't pay much mind as you opened the door.

You should have.

You stood there in awe, shock expressions written all over your face. Your feet were rooted in their place. It was taking you a moment to comprehend what was in front of you.

The room was bare of any furniture that once occupied it. From the ceiling to the floor, glistening decorations were all over the room. Balloons, foil metallic fringe curtains, and everything. The word "happy birthday" hangs hugely in the centre of the room.

The room looked better than the pictures you see on the internet. It was like it came out of your dreams. Like someone got in your brain and copied it and made it even more beautiful.

Someone who cared so much

The feeling of two strong arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you towards him broke you out of your trance.

"Happy Birthday, Princess." Bucky's raspy voice whispered in your ear.

You turned around to face him. Still unable to form words, you stood on your tiptoes to hug him and bury yourself in him for a moment.

"C'mon, let's celebrate."

The only furniture left in the room was the sofa and table. The table was covered in presents and gifts. In the middle, there was the most gorgeous, wonderful cake you had ever seen in your life.

"You remembered." These were the only words that could come out as surprise wore off.

"Of course I did." Bucky was confused.

"Doll, did you think I forgot about your birthday?" Bucky asked.

Looking at the room from your seat on the sofa, you were ashamed to answer. But Bucky didn't need a verbal answer.

"Oh, princess. I'm so sorry I made you think, though. I didn't mean to. I just wanted to surprise you."

Of course, Bucky remembered. He had been planning for this for over a month now. He had been counting the days until he finally had a day where he could spoil you endlessly. It's not like he needed a special occasion to spoil you. Bucky found out very early on in your relationship that he loved to do things for you. He was happy spending all his money on you. However, you never let him do that in peace. So he couldn't wait for your birthday so you wouldn't complain.

It wasn't his intention to make you think that he had forgotten about your birthday. It was just that he knew that if he said a word to you, he would spell out all his plans. He had no willpower when it came to you. It was like he was a completely different person from you. a person he very much enjoyed.

He didn't even spend two hours at the gym today. He just went to drag Sam and Steve with him. He had a long day ahead of him, and he needed help so the results would be perfect. And both men couldn't do anything but oblige. Moving furniture around was a pretty easy task for the men. However, hanging up balloons presented a great challenge for the men. But they overcame it, thankfully.

"You didn't have to do all of this." You were so grateful for this.

"Of course I did. I wanted to." What kind of boyfriend was Bucky if he didn't go above and beyond for his girlfriend?

"Now, let's celebrate." Bucky took the lighter off the table and lit up the candles on the cake, then started singing Happy Birthday.

In that moment, you felt a surge of emotions. Overwhelming even. The overflowing feeling of being loved engulfed you. There was someone in this world who wanted to celebrate you like you dreamed. Someone who put all the effort into you. Someone who gave you happiness you thought was only in fairy tales. Someone who chose to love you

Someone who was everything and more.

You knew what your wish was going to be this year. And you made it as you blew off the candles.

"Happy Birthday, princess."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you. You kissed him back and deepened the kiss, hoping to let him know how much you loved him.

"Want to open your presents?" Bucky spoke as you broke apart.

"I don't want to hear it. Just see them." Bucky added quickly before you protested that he shouldn't have brought you so many presents.

"Okay. Which one should I start with?" And you listened to him.

"This one." He brought a small box to your hand.

You took the box from him and opened it, only to be stunned.

"Bucky..."

"You don't have to wear it. I just wanted to give it to you." You could tell Bucky was nervous. Maybe he should have left this one to last.

"Are you kidding? This is so beautiful." You brought it out of the box.

Holding in your hand was a simple gold necklace with Bucky's initials in it. You loved it more than you could describe.

You turned your back to Bucky so he could help you put it on. It looked so delicate on your skin, and it meant so much to you.

"I'm never taking it off." You would never.

Bucky smiled at your words. He loved you so much that he didn't believe it sometimes. He gave your lips a little peck.

"That would have been enough of a present." You couldn't help yourself. You didn't want any presents. Every day with Bucky was a gift.

Bucky glared at you, warning you not to say stuff like this again, and let him spoil you once in silence. And you nodded.

The rest of the presenters were a variety of things. all things that you loved and had big interests in. even things you mentioned before. It was heartwarming to see how thoughtful Bucky was.

You are beaming with excitement and joy. Until the last present.

You grabbed the envelope with a tie wrapped around it. You had your eyes on it, but something told you to leave it for last.

And you were right.

"OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD." You got up screaming and jumping.

"Please tell me this is real." You turned to Bucky, holding the paper so tight in your hand.

"I can't joke about this." Bucky answered. His eyes were shining from seeing you so happy. That's all he ever wanted in life. You are happy because of him.

"I love you so much." You shouted as you threw yourself on him, hugging him so tightly.

"I love you too, doll." Bucky giggled as he hugged you back. Your happiness automatically makes him happy as well.

The envelope had tickets for a concert for your favorite singer. They had been your favorite since forever. You always talked about how long you wanted to see them live. But each time, either you couldn't afford it or tickets got sold out so quickly that you didn't get any.

However, Bucky managed to get the tickets. He knew people who knew people. And it was all worth it.

"I wanted to get the tickets for this weekend, but the team wants to celebrate your birthday." Bucky could vividly remember the look Natasha gave him when he told her they didn't need to do anything for you and that he was already planning something for you. If looks could kill, He would have been dead. How dare he think that they wouldn't celebrate your birthday? Their favorite sunshine. The audacity.

At the moment, right now, Yelena was already ordering the cake for the weekend, while Natasha was impressed by Steve and Sam's skills at hanging up balloons quickly.

Steve and Sam had no idea how they got dragged to decorate for your birthday twice on the same day. However, they weren't complaining at all. It was like having a little sister. So they were very okay with it.

"I got an extra ticket, so you can bring whoever you want with you." Bucky knew you had a couple of friends who were fans as well. He wanted you to have the choice to pick as you liked.

You had already picked.

"I know it's not to your taste so much, but would you join me and go together?" This concert had been your dream for so long, and you couldn't think of anyone other than Bucky to experience it with.

You wanted to be holding his hand as you watched your favorite singer take the stage. You wanted to dance with him as your favorite love songs played. Because all the love songs are about him now.

"I would love nothing more." Bucky replied before you could tell him that he could turn it down. He wanted to go with you. He wanted to see you check something off your Wishlist.

"I get to pick your outfit, though." You added, laughing.

"We will see about that." Bucky joked, but he knew he would wear anything if it meant making you happy.

You looked at Bucky with so much love and adoration. everything he did for you. You were beyond thankful.

"Thank you, Bucky."

"Thank you for being born."

Years ago, you were born to bring so much light and joy to this world. Years later, you become his light and joy.

And he wanted to spend all his life celebrating you.

Today was better than you ever expected.

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strawberrybobamilk · 9 months

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Cut Here (Part 2)

TWs: S/A, abuse, violence, homophobia and implied sexual activity towards the end

1978

Home was hell for Trevor, but school wasn't any better either. The only things Trevor liked at school were maths, the only subject he was good at, and science; he didn't know why, but when the teacher gave the class frogs to dissect, Trevor found himself to be strangely fascinated, almost hypnotized, by the act of cutting it open and the sight of its organs exposed. But aside from that, he hated being at school as much as he hated being at home: other kids would constantly mock him for being the shy quiet weirdo in class and his poor social skills. Not helped by Ryan, aka the most popular kid at school, who'd constantly give new ideas to the rest of the class on how to prank his brother in many creative ways.

After Ryan celebrated his 10th birthday with friends, cake, balloons and lots of presents (everything Trevor never had, he didn't even know when his birthday was), the clown at the party winked at Trevor who was sitting alone at a table and attempted to touch his shoulder, but before he could go any further, Trevor ran away full of uncomfortableness and stayed hidden by that creepy giggling clown's look for the rest of the party. But Ryan noticed this and told all of his friends how "Trevor's a pussy who's scared of clowns". So the next day, when Trevor entered the classroom, all the kids jumped in front of him with red clown noses with a loud "BOO!!", causing Trevor to scream and cry as all the kids laughed and repeated "Pussy!" and "Crybaby!". A few moments later the teacher, Mrs Andersen, came inside just telling the class to sit down and be quiet, barely even paying attention to Trevor still sniffing and just focusing on her lesson.

Little did anyone know, all of this stuff was little by little, day by day, week by week, year by year, feeding something inside Trevor, not even Trevor himself knew what it was. The best way to describe that feeling, is like a volcano, gradually filling with hot lava and preparing for the unknown moment when it will erupt and destroy everything nearby. A burning desire for vengeance. To see all those little giggling assholes in that class suffer. Mrs Andersen who was visibly holding back her laughter at Trevor's humiliation, to wipe that smirk off that snooty bitch's face, perhaps by hitting her mouth so hard all of her teeth will fly away. To watch dad burn alive. And Ryan... that smirking dickface who, for some reason he could never understand, had everything he never had: appreciation from other kids, a cutesy angel face, always good grades, love from mom... mom only ever hugged Ryan, never him. The only time she did something similar was the other night, after a bad argument with dad (the latter which drove away, most likely to get more beer)... and she got into Trevor's room, almost impossibly drunk, and started touching him in ways and places he didn't like at all, all the while ignoring Trevor's crying and shouting things like "How do you like it when I'm the one doing this to you huh you filthy creep". Trevor didn't understand at all the reason mom hated him so much, he surely must have done something bad but just couldn't understand what. He knew he was an awful being, he just wanted to understand how to become better and finally make mom proud. But no, Ryan had to take all of her love. The more he saw mom loving and praising Ryan, the more his brotherly love for him was vanishing and getting replaced by pure green eyed hatred and the desire to live in a world where he was never born, he never existed... or better yet, in a world where he was six feet under, no matter how bad thinking this kind of things about a brother was. But that's the problem, Trevor knew it was bad. And didn't care. What is wrong with hi-

"PHILIPS!" Andersen's voice thundered, accompanied by the loud sound of her wooden ruler smacking on his desk and the other kids faintly giggling at him flinching "Would you please pay attention during my lessons Philips?"

"Uhm yes, sorry Mrs Andersen..."

"Good, and you better mean it young man, because you have been distracted a whole lot lately and that has impacted your grades in a really negative way. Well, not that they were great anyway. Do you understand me?"

"Yes..."

Andersen sighed and shook her head "If only you were a little more like your brother Ryan-"

That's when the volcano erupted. Faster than a bolt, Trevor snatched the ruler from Andersen's hands and slashed it across her confused and surprised face, causing her to fall backwards with a hand on her injured cheek. Trevor stood up and walked to her, her ruler still in his hand. He wasn't even thinking straight right now, all the rage he bottled up in all these years exploding all at once in this moment. He did just as he gleefully imagined earlier: he swung the ruler back again at her face, but this time at her gritting teeth, breaking some of them and causing some blood to fly out of her screaming mouth. Those kids who just a few moments earlier were laughing at Trevor, now screaming in horror at what they were witnessing, and praying that the boy they've been mocking and bullying for all this time would spare them from his unexpected vengeful wrath. Only one of them ran up to him trying to stop him: Ryan.

"Of course the teacher's pet would try to help his precious teacher" thought Trevor.

"TREVOR WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING MOTHERFUCKER?!" Ryan yelled while throwing his hands on Trevor's shoulders, as if that could stop him.

Motherfucker. That last word particularly hit him. It's almost as if Ryan knew what happened that night and was mocking him for it, even though there wasn't an ounce of amusement in his voice, it wouldn't surprise him.

Further angered by that word, Trevor bit Ryan's left hand, not enough to draw blood but enough to make him scream in pain.

"WHAT'S ALL THE RUCKUS IN HE-" Principal Jones rushed in the classroom, alarmed by all that screaming, and stopped in his tracks with a horrified expression at the scene in front of him. Mrs Andersen rolling on the floor holding a hand onto her bleeding mouth, Ryan holding his bitten hand, and Trevor still holding the ruler and glaring at the terrified students.

Later that day, Betty walked into the principal's office with her usual scowl of indifference towards both the figures sitting in that room: Trevor with an expression of guilt who was trying to avoid her gaze, and Principal Jones looking furious.

"Goodmorning Mrs Philips, please take a seat" he said with a forced smile, which looked more angry than welcoming.

"What did Trevor do?" Betty sat down with impatience and disliking in being here.

"Mrs Philips, I called you to discuss about something really serious that happened today: Trevor attacked Mrs Andersen with a ruler and hurted Ryan Philips by biting his hand. Mrs Andersen is now recovered in hospital and luckily she isn't in critical conditions but..."

"Wait... he hurted Ryan?!" Betty gasped, her eyes widening. Trevor remained in silence as he now felt her eyes shooting daggers at him.

"Huh, yes. But don't worry. He just got a bite on his hand, nothing major. The school nurse already put a bandage on his hand and he already feels better" Jones tried to reassure her. Betty let out a sigh, still looking at Trevor as if trying to lit him on fire just with her gaze.

"But, Mrs Philips... as you may know, Trevor has always been, err... problematic. He never pays attention in class, his grades are extremely low... except in maths, surprisingly he's the best student in maths... but what happened today was truly unacceptable, in all my years of career I've never had the displeasure of witnessing something like this. So, I'm afraid we have no choice but to expel your son".

The car ride back home was as silent as a graveyard. Trevor looking down in shame and guilt, and Betty driving with an indecipherable expression on her face.

"I'm sor-"

"Shut up" Betty cut him off.

"I really a-"

"I SAID SHUT UP!" her manicured fingers clenching in fury around the steering wheel, making Trevor flinch "You getting kicked out of school was something I've always expected from you and your miserable insignificant life, but hurting your brother?" her teeth were now grinding and her cheeks almost as red as her hair "HOW DARE YOU?!".

A few moments passed before she broke the silence again "Why did you do it?" Trevor didn't reply, keeping his eyes on the car floor "WHY DID YOU DO IT?! ANSWER ME!!"

"He-he called me a motherfucker" Trevor replied, now almost crying.

"hE cAlLeD mE a MoThErFuCkEr" Betty mimicked in a high pitched voice "Oh for hell's sake, grow some balls and act like a man for once! And stop crying, I didn't raise a girl! Or maybe I did, God only knows..."

Trevor's tears were now roaming free on his cheeks, as the last sentence made him remember that time he found mom's pink flowery dresses she used to wear when she was young and wore them along with her heels, which were obviously too oversized for him, admiring himself in the mirror; Ryan saw him and told the parents laughing, causing Trevor to get yelled at by mom for stealing her clothes and to get beaten up by dad for 'being a faggot'.

"W-why do you always treat me like this..."

"Excuse me?!" Betty exclaimed in disbelief "Treat you like this what?! Playing the victim now? I say this for your own good, to try and raise you into an at least somewhat DECENT human being, and that's how you thank me?! Do you have any idea how that hurts my feelings?"

"BUT YOU NEVER TREAT RYAN LIKE THIS!" Trevor found the courage to yell "WHY AM I THE ONLY WRONG ONE HERE?" his undying respect for mom disappearing for a short moment. And returning a few seconds later, accompanied by fear and regret for what he just said.

"Why..." Betty replied growling "Why why why whywhywhYWHYWHYWHY" her chanting increasing in volume and anger, Trevor looking at her cowering in fear. The car stopping suddendly as they just reached Trevor's most dreaded destination, home. Which he didn't even notice as he got too lost in that unpleasant conversation "BECAUSE!!!... because... you know what? Screw it. You're too much of a dumb shit to even deserve an answer" she opened the car door and dragged Trevor inside the house "Just come, your father hopefully will be inside so he can give you a good lesson".

To Trevor's luck, Simon wasn't at home. He was more and more absent at home, and spent more and more time at the bar drinking instead. And Betty never beat up Trevor, that was Simon's job only. "Fuck... that Simon bastard..." Betty sighed and sat at the table filled with empty and new Deludamol packs she'd use to alleviate the pain anytime Simon hit her, lighting up a cigarette "Just... go to your room, do anything... just... leave me alone Trevor... I got a man coming up tonight"

Trevor knew he was going to get yelled at some more, but curiosity got the best of him "A man? Is he... a new dad...?"

Surprisingly, she didn't yell. "Yeah... guess you can call him that..." she said calmly as she puffed out a cloud of smoke.

Trevor was very happy at the idea of getting a new dad. Maybe this one was gonna be nicer to him. But at night, when the new unknown man came, he didn't seem to mind him really much.

"Hello! Are you my new dad?" Trevor asked with a smile.

"Uhm... yeah? Hello little one..." the man smiled confused at him, and returned his attention to Betty, handing her some banknotes and frowning a little at her: he clearly wasn't very happy with the idea of a child seeing him.

"Why don't you go to bed Trevor? Me and your... new dad... have some stuff to do" Betty said as she picked up the money, walked to the bedroom alongside the mysterious man and shut the door behind her, followed by moans.

Trevor just sighed in disappointment and did as mom said, not wanting to anger her any further. But before opening his room's door, he looked at mom's lighter she forgot on the living room table. He looked around and carefully walked to the table and picked the lighter up, examining the dangerously mesmerizing red flame it emitted. But his wonder didn't last long; he knew mom could be out at any second, he'd get caught and end up in an even bigger trouble he already was. He quickly and silently got in his room, bringing the lighter along. As he was laying on his side, he kept turning on and off that lighter and observe in wonder that beautiful flame, with a smile on his face. That flame, so small, yet so dangerous. Just like him.

#grand theft auto #gta v #trevor philips #gta fanfiction

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schrijverr · 5 months

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I Dig You 5

Chapter 5 out of 8

Robin is tentatively excited for her first internship: an archaeological dig in the Netherlands, where she has been studying. However, when she gets there, Steve is there too. The dick of their uni that she now has to work with. Great. But being stuck digging for six weeks makes people bond and maybe he isn’t too bad. Maybe he can be her friend.

AKA an archaeology interns, modern, enemies-to-friends stobin au

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none

~~~~

Chapter 5: Party

They don’t really talk much about their encounter with Dustin on Thursday, except for mentioning him in their daily reports. Steve luckily remembered to snap a picture of the sherd they showed him, so they can reference the find number.

However, the kid becomes a topic of conversation when he shows up again the next day. This time sans d’Art, but with a gaggle of friends.

At that point they’re digging on the other side of put seven, which is further from the road and next to the forest. It’s a nice area and she is very jealous of people who can afford to live there (and she’s heard colleagues complain about how the government isn’t investing in starter homes, which further cements that she won’t ever afford it).

The lunch break is nearing when the group of teens comes stumbling out of the forest, since they’re no longer right up along the road. Dustin’s voice is the first thing that gets their attention, exclaiming what is likely the Dutch equivalent of ‘Found it!’

They all look up to see him with four other kids, two brunet boys, a black boy and a girl with bright orange hair. Everyone with varying levels of excitement and interest.

Robin immediately looks over to Steve to see his reaction. He looks pleasantly surprised, though also a little unsure, glancing between the group and their fellow archaeologists. Robin gets it, she also doesn’t know how okay it was for Steve to have given a lecture yesterday.

It looks like Astrid is about to call out to the kids, but before she can, Dustin yells again: “Steve!” and waves excitedly.

“You know them?” Astrid asks him, confused.

“Uhm, I kinda told Dustin – the kid there – about archaeology yesterday, because he was interested and told him he could come back if he had more questions,” Steve confesses, looking a little embarrassed.

Robin decides to be a good friends and backs him up by piping up: “He leashed his dog. And didn’t touch anything.”

“That’s great,” Astrid smiles. “We always try to do outreach projects. There would have been an open weekend on this dig if we could’ve organize it with the construction. You can go talk to them some more, if you’d like. It’s nearly lunch anyway.”

“You’re sure?” Steve checks, less tense than before but still anxious.

“Yeah, we’re not finding anything until the afternoon. It’s always right before going home,” Astrid jokes, shooing him away.

Robin can see Steve wants to, but she knows the feeling of being told it’s okay, only for someone to get mad about not helping. So she goes for the best friend award as she grabs his hand and starts to drag him away, saying: “Come on, dingus. I promised them bone facts,” her own anxiety being overridden to help Steve.

As they come closer, Steve fully relaxes, since they’re not being whistled back. He grins and waves as he greets: “Dustin! How are you, man?”

“Steve, tell Mike about the pots. He doesn’t believe they’re cool,” Dustin demands immediately, motioning to one of the brunet boys – the one that is looking sour – to indicate, which one is Mike.

“They’re not cool, they’re boring,” Mike rolls his eyes. “We kunnen ook naar El gaan.”

“He wants to go visit our friend, but she has had a brainshaking and can’t have many visitors,” the red haired girl explains, the last part pointedly directed to Mike, who pouts and crosses his arms.

“Brainshaking?” Robin repeats the word, able to figure out they likely mean concussion, but still thrown off by the word choice and interested.

“Yeah, she hit her head pretty hard and had to have like surgery. They shaved her hair off and everything,” Dustin says.

“Oh, she has a concussion?” Steve asks.

Robin adds in a mutter: “Sounds more like head trauma to me.”

“Concussion?” Now it’s Dustin turns to repeat the word with a cocked head.

“Ik denk dat ‘concussion’ hersenschudding is,” the black boy tells his friend, connecting the dots between the new word and their conversation.

“Oh, yeah, I knew that,” Dustin says, likely not having known that.

“I hope she’s feels better soon,” Steve says, then swiftly moves on from the topic, by saying: “But I can only talk to you about archaeology or our boss will yell at us.” That last part is a lie, but Robin isn’t going to call him out on it. She is too awkward to talk to people about injured friends, she only sees injured people when they’ve been dead for centuries at least.

“Thank you,” the quieter brunet says softly and the others swiftly follow.

“Tell them about why pots are cool,” Dustin demands again, apparently not pleased that his friends aren’t excited about a topic he also wasn’t excited about until yesterday.

Steve happily obliges, catching the others up about why pots are cool in an abridged version of what he told Dustin yesterday. Dustin proudly throws his new knowledge around too, sometimes even interrupting Steve, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s good with all of the kids. It’s weird, Robin thinks.

They learn that the black boy is named Lucas, the redhead girl is Max and the other brunet is named Will. All of them warming up to the topic

“Wow, you’re like some sort of pots wizard,” Will says when Steve finishes up.

“I’m not really,” Steve chuckles a bit bashfully. “I like pots, but I’m actually quite bad with materials, though pots are the easiest for me. I am actually specialized in European prehistory.”

“You can do that?” Lucas asks.

“Yeah, most archaeologists specialize in either an area and period or a material,” Steve says. “It is too broad a field to know everything about everywhere at any time.”

“Another reason why Indiana Jones sucks as a movie,” Robin decides to also be part of the conversation, because these kids are quite fun. “I specialize in archaeosteology, or bones. I’m useless nearly everywhere else, but if you want fun bone facts, I’m here.”

“Can you give me a fun bone fact?” Max asks immediately, eyes lighting up.

Robin concludes that Max is one of the coolest people here and excitedly replies: “When sexing Dutch skeletons the mandible is disregarded, because they’re squarer than usual, so often indecisive or misleading. Though, I must say that sexing a skeleton is always a general indication and can be inconclusive and inaccurate, since people are so diverse. And on top of that, even if you have someone’s chromosomes, the complete data can have degraded over time and cultural factors also play a role when saying who the person was, who the skeleton belonged to.”

Most of the kids are now looking confused and Robin realizes that most people already have a hard time following her, these kids are doing it with an added language barrier.

“Uhm, sexing a body is when you say a person is female, male or intersex,” she attempts to explain it better without lingo, looking to Steve for guidance, who gives her an encouraging nod. “It’s not always easy and you can be wrong, because people are diverse- uhm not all the same,” she goes on. “Dutch jaws are often squarer, so they’re not used in the process, since they can be misleading.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Max says and it’s one of the first times someone has understood Robin and seemed interested. “What sort of places are used?”

“Of course there is like height, you also look at the hips, since you can see if a baby fits through it, and the sacrum – bone between the hips – as well as the jaw, like I said – and the skull. The skull has multiple things, but one you can actually feel is the external occipital protuberance, which is fancy speak for a bump on the back of your head. They tend to be more pronounced in male skeletons,” Robin says.

Hands shoot to the back of their heads as they try to feel it, Mike’s eyes growing wide as he exclaims: “I can feel it,” in an excited voice, despite his earlier sour attitude.

“Ik ook!” Lucas says, which Robin mentally translates to ‘me too’. Her Dutch is getting better she thinks.

“Laat me voelen!” Max demands, the tone of voice giving that part away, along with how she pulls Lucas’s hand out of the way to touch the back of his head, prodding around until she calls out with a grin, likely having found the spot.

“Do you have more bones facts?” Max asks Robin excitedly.

Robin can kind of get why Steve likes this. It’s fun to have willing listeners when talking about a subject you love and Robin sure does love the topic.

“Well, I especially like bones that are malformed, because of illnesses and injuries,” Robin answers, gauging if there is interest in that, smiling when Max lights up and nods, the others also crowding around to listen.

“Well, one that is always really crazy to find is people with a collapsed spine, which is a compression fracture occurs in the thoracic spine- uhm, the middle part just falls. It looks wild, it just folds in on itself. Google a picture one day,” Robin says. “Must be crazy painful.”

Some of the kids wince at the picture she paints, but Max is suitably fascinated.

However, Steve is making a tone it down gesture, so Robin goes on in a slightly different path: “But it can also be smaller, like when people have arthrosis- uhm, I don’t know the Dutch word.”

“Reuma, I think,” Steve pipes up, surprising Robin.

“Like when people get old and their bones hurt?” Dustin asks.

“Yeah,” Robin nods.

“Yeah, then reuma,” Dustin says.

“Okay, reuma then, you can see that, because the cartilage – the parts that isn’t bone, but bone-like, it’s also in your ears and stuff – it cushions the bones, but it can wear away and the pain is the raw bones rubbing together,” Robin says. “You can see when that happens. And it can say something about the person. Which is the whole point of looking at a skeleton. Though you do have to be careful with it.”

“Careful? Why would you be careful?” Mike asks. “If they have the weird bones, they have the weird bones.”

“Well, the chieftain of Oss was famously wrongly aged, due to it,” Robin answers, getting distracted as Steve flails. “You okay, dingus?”

“Oh, yeah, I just love the chieftain of Oss. It’s a beautiful grave,” Steve says. “But ignore me, tell us more about it.”

Robin shoots him a look, mentally noting to let Steve talk about the chieftain, before saying: “He had this vertebrae AKA a part of his spine that was fused weirdly. It has a fancy name that escapes me now, but it made researchers think that he was old, about 60 and obese. In reality, he’s in his 30s or 40s and very muscled, he would have had nothing more than a stiff back sometimes. The reason it’s associated with those people is because they just get more MRIs than the average person.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Max says, eyes shining.

“It is,” Robin agrees excitedly.

“Isn’t the chieftain of Oss that one guy that’s buried next to the highway? My grandparents once took me, something about local pride,” Lucas says.

“He is buried next to a highway, but he was there before the highway,” Steve says, sounding a little amused. “And it’s the most famous Dutch prehistoric burial. Very rich. It’s early Iron Age and a local adaptation of the Hallstatt culture from Austria.”

“Is it really that famous?” Lucas asks. “Didn’t seem that important. I mean, they built a highway over it, right?”

“That was an accident and it’s not over it-over it,” Steve says. “It was found in the 1930s, but they kind of lost the exact location until the late 90s and then the monument was made. But it’s pretty famous, even many non-Dutch archaeologist know about it.”

“And it was found nearby here?” Will asks.

“Yeah,” Steve answers with a smile. “You should read up on it and ask you history teacher about it, because it’s an interesting time. The Iron Age is often a little forgotten between the Bronze Age and the Romans, but it’s fascinating how metal influenced people. We actually are finding Iron Age stuff right here too.”

“You are?” Dustin asks, probably only now realizing that he never actually asked what they’re digging up right here next to his house.

“Yeah, so far it looks like we’re finding stuff from the Iron Age ‘till the Medieval Period, which is pretty common for sites in this area,” Steve says. “They might have been occupied in the Bronze Age too. There was a lot of site continuity, despite the amount of time that passed, people still knew the landscape. For example, the chieftain of Oss was laid to rest with a Bronze Age burial even though he dates from the early Iron Age.”

“They could just have forgotten and accidentally put it there,” Mike protests.

“Sure, they could, good observation,” Steve says and Robin sees Mike fight not to look pleased about that. “But the grave for the chieftain was slightly to the side as to not hit the Bronze Age grave and we see more of certain areas being used for burials for long times, so it’s more likely that people knew about places in the landscape that held cultural meaning. The same as how we are still respectful of churches, even though the religious population has declined.”

“I guess,” Mike mopes.

At that point they’re interrupted by Astrid again, who says: “Hey, not to interrupt the fun, but you two have to go eat, so we can go back to digging soon. We need all the hands, Bas found a well, so we might be fucked and stuck here if Jeroen decides to dig it out today. You always find something Friday afternoon.”

“Of course,” Robin immediately replies, intrigued by the well and not wanting to do something bad.

“We’ll be there soon,” Steve promises.

The kids are disappointed, but allow them to leave, excitedly claiming how they’re going to tell El all about it. Robin pities the girl, if she has a bad head injury and they’re still as excited when they get to her house, but she doesn’t comment on it.

They eat their lunch, lather themselves in sunscreen, then go back to digging.

Jeroen fortunately decides against attempting to coup the well that Friday, something that would have never worked out and would have forced them all to stay late. So, they tape a tarp over it instead and hope no one tries to play Indiana Jones over the weekend or decide to use the putten as biking course – two things, Robin is horrified to learn, that happen more often than they should.

They do try and get as much done in put seven as they can. It’s a pretty crowded put with a lot of sporen, so they likely won’t get to put eight before their internship is over. That makes Robin a little sad, if she’s honest. She liked this excavation more than she thought she would. And more surprising is that a large part of that is due to Steve. Who would have thunk? Not her.

It also makes her realize that this will be their last weekend together, before they split up for the rest of the break.

Steve probably has an expensive holiday lined up to go on after this and Robin will stay here, try to work as much as she can now that she has used up most of her holiday days to do this internship and try to survive the summer until classes start again. By then, they’re both doing their minors, maybe even at entirely different faculties and she won’t see Steve again until the second semester. At that point it is likely that Steve has forgotten all about this summer and their interactions will be like far off acquaintances.

The one person she’s had a click with, will slip through her fingers in about one week. Robin feels a little faint.

So, she’s a bit subdued as they finish up for the week and bike home. Steve gives her a look, but lets her have her quiet time, which she appreciates. She doesn’t know if she is up for talking, there is just so much spinning through her head.

At home they dump their shit and rock-paper-scissor the shower. Steve has a tell (he always does his in a rotating pattern, Robin doesn’t know how purposeful it is or if he even noticed), so she gets first dibs.

It also means that she is already writing her daily report when Steve comes to join her on the terrace, a routine the two have built where they peacefully write together. Robin usually enjoys this time, but today all she can think of is how she’ll miss this, making her sigh morosely.

Steve looks up again and he makes a soft noise, questioning and prompting. Robin sighs again and shakes her head. She doesn’t feel up to answering yet.

At her shake, Steve nods and finishes up his own report. He’s done before her, because she keeps being distracted by her own running brain, but Steve waits in the quiet without making her feel like he’s waiting on her and being annoyed. Companionable silence is a novel, but nice feeling that she hasn’t often had with friends. She’ll miss that.

When she finally clicks her laptop close with a decisive noise, glad to be done with it, Steve breaks the quiet, asking: “Do you feel up to an adventure?”

“An adventure?” Robin asks, uncertain. “What would this grant adventure entail?”

“I don’t feel like eating the food we have and I wanna go explore around town, eat cheap food at some diner and just wander around. My treat,” Steve says. “Just to get out of this place for a bit and be people. Playing tourist.”

“We technically are tourists,” Robin points out, but she’s smiling anyway.

“Maybe you are, I’m here on a student visa. I live here now,” Steve grins widely as if what he has just said is highly amusing. Robin is less loathe to admit than at the start that it is.

“Alright, dingus,” Robin rolls her eyes fondly. “Lets pretend to be people out there. I mean, if it’s your treat… Let’s go wild and have a party.”

“Oehh, already getting out of hand there, Buckley?” Steve jokes, eyes still crinkled.

“You haven’t seen me go crazy, Harrington,” Robin says, like she isn’t way too awkward to have ever gone crazy anywhere. Though she can’t help but feel joyful. It’ll be nice to get out and have some good memories before it all falls apart. Besides, this might help get her mind off it.

A/N:

You can’t tell me Max is not a bones girl, like she’s a weird girl in my heart already and she thinks bones are the coolest and I will not change my mind

I am having a lot of fun telling you all about archaeology, promise I’ll go back to the regularly scheduled plot soon xp

Also, here is my PSA: DO NOT touch the trenches/putten and DO NOT attempt archaeology! I know it does seem like it might be difficult, but there is so much knowledge in the context that so called ‘amateur archaeologists’ (I hate that term btw) ruin, so it’s lost forever. Please, please, do not touch a dig site or something you find on your own, but let professionals dig it up. I promise we’ll love you if you just notify local authorities about it <3

#rr writing #stranger things #steve harrington #robin buckley #platonic stobin #stobin #stobin au #archaeologists stobin au #the party #the party stranger things #dustin henderson #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #will byers #OCs

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sovvannight · 4 months

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NaNoWriWeek Writing Challenge, January 2024

Just in case anyone wants to join me, I'm going to do "NaNoWriWeek" the first week in January, AKA next week.

You know those first few days of NaNoWriMo, where you're like, "This is actually easy! I'm excited to write! I should just do this all the time!" versus week three's, "Please, I'm so tired, *sobs* but I need 389 more words..." No? Just me?

Anyway, I'm just going to avoid the latter feeling by NaNo-ing for the first week of the month only, so 1,667 words/day for 7 days, and then taking it easy the rest of the month (aiming for 600 words/day, but we'll see).

If anyone else would like to wake up on January 8th with 11,669 words already in the can, feel free to join in!

I made a new project for it on NaNo's website:

PS - if this works for me, I'm going to repeat it for February, March, June, September, and October. Doing all six would get me, and you, if you choose to participate, 70,014 words for the year in just those six weeks. So, a novel, basically, depending on your genre. (Skipping April, July, and November for Camp/NaNo, and May, August, and December as recovery months from Camp/NaNo.)

#my writing #nanowrimo #writing events

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x5red · 7 months

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Superheroine detective work: Super Klenk broadcast details uncovered

Ah yes, Super Klenk! The Filipino tv series that is possibly the most well hidden show in the history of superhero television..!

Despite running in primetime on a major network, Super Klenk has left behind precious little evidence of its existence: scant details lifted from a press release, a tiny handful of low-resolution photos, and a few seconds of video footage in a promo. We're not even entirely certain how many episodes of the show were broadcast.

Until, perhaps, now...

Many many years ago Google Books began to collect scans of thousands of old newspapers. The site is somewhat neglected these days (the design has an early 2010s vibe), but the archive is still accessible and -- importantly! -- has indexes of a handful of Filipino papers.

Would there be any details of Super Klenk hiding amidst these column inches, perhaps..?

Time to turn detective...

The Philippine National Enquirer published weekly tv listings in its Saturday editions. Sure enough there's an entry for Super Klenk in its Saturday 1st January 2000 edition, showing that the show was scheduled for broadcast on Sunday 2nd at 8:00pm on Channel 7 (aka GMA-7.) Subsequent Saturday editions also have listings scheduling Super Klenk for January 9th, 16th, 23rd; February 6th, 13th; March 5th, 12th, 19th, 26th; and April 2nd, 9th, 16th. (No listings were available for February 20th and 27th, nor April 23rd -- those editions are absent from the archive.)

A short article about Super Klenk's star Ara Mina, published on April 15th, claims the series had folded, suggesting that April 16th was likely the show's last broadcast. Presumably the next Enquirer Saturday edition (23rd April, missing from the archive) would have shown a replacement series. All archived editions after this date have Super Klenk absent from tv listings.

Common internet wisdom is that 13 episodes were broadcast before the show was cancelled. But (assuming broadcasts on 20th and 27th February) the tv listings show 4 episodes each in January, February, and March, plus 3 in April, making a grand total of 15 episodes.

Unfortunately the Google archive for the Philippine National Enquirer only goes back as far as 1st January 2000. However, the one brief video clip we have of Super Klenk is from a promo that suggests its debut was set for December 12th. This might indicate 3 episodes in 1999: December 12th, 19th, and 26th. That ups the potential episode count from 15 to 18 episodes!

But we should be careful...

Tv listings can be unreliable. Guide magazines are often prepared six weeks ahead of broadcast, so don't reflect sudden cancellations or late reschedulings. Daily newspapers have a shorter lead time, but they typically only print the show title, making it impossible to know whether a repeat or original episode is being shown.

Indeed the Enquirer exhibits some contradictions within its own pages: the listings consistently show Super Klenk being broadcast at 8:00pm, yet there's a couple of brief mentions in articles that suggest the show was switched to 7:30pm during January.

The tv listings may be unreliable, but at least they give us something to work from, rather than a vacuum.

But aside from these air dates, are there any other snippets of information lurking amidst the newspaper archive?

Sadly, not many. (Although it is possible they've yet to be surfaced by the right search query.) The 11th March edition gives a brief synopsis of the next episode, mentioning a plot that sees the heroine putting up with a house guest and fighting a villain known as Bingo Man. There's some profile pieces on actors who appeared in the series, but they only mention Super Klenk as a line item on a list of credits.

It is entirely possible that there are other archives, with magazines and newspapers that give further details on this series, but for now we'll have to make do with a list of potential broadcast dates and a brief plot synopsis of one episode.

The detective work continues...

#super klenk #ara mina #superhero #superheroine #pinoy #gma-7 #gma network #lost media

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phanfictioncatalogue · 7 months

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Fics With Titles That Start With M (2) Masterlist

part one

Made For Love - cringe-attack

Summary: A lonely, guarded boy, Dan Howell is Uni dropout with two big secrets. Without any deep passions, he spends his days finding new jobs to get fired from. But everything changes when he lands a job at a gardening center- and when he meets Phil Lester, who’s about to pull Dan’s secrets out of him like weeds from a flowerbed.

made for you (ao3) - BLUEGREYKIM

Summary: Phil, in all the years he's known Dan, can tell what he's thinking with a glance, a lock of eyes. Dan, in all the years he's known Phil, is the same.

aka the fic where they have a super psychic connection and insane communicative skills (real life)

Magi (ao3) - yikesola

Summary: Dan doesn’t know how he hadn't thought about a gift for Phil yet. Phil is still feeling a little weird about how much he spent on Dan’s gift.

A fic about coincidence and sacrifice.

March Twentieth - placingglaciers

Summary: It’s the beginning of spring, they are juvenile delinquents, and some community service is in order. But that doesn’t mean they’ll actually do it, of course.

Mark Me Up (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: The fan in the broadcasting room does little more than circulate the hot air around and makes the sweat stick to their shirts, making a whirring noise as it oscillates. Phil takes a breath, willing the skittish feeling in his fingers to stop because Dan's shirt keeps riding up and his trousers keep sliding down, exposing slivers of pale gold skin and freckles and everything that Phil is itching to take.

Master Painter, Aspiring Model (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: Phil Lester is a master painter looking for a muse. He finds the ultimate muse in Dan, a young university student who becomes his nude model. Over a period of six weeks, the two men fall for each other and have to make a decision when Dan's contract expires.

May I Kiss You? (ao3) - Azure (Fancy_Ravenclaw)

Summary: After finishing university Phil Lester goes on holiday to Greece to celebrate with some friends. There they meet a group of Italian tourists, one of whom catches Phil's eye. Phil has ten days to win Daniel Howell's attention.

Maybe you don’t really want me here - icequeenjules26

Summary: Dan and Phil have been broken up for months, and Dan is over it, he really is! It's just that maybe he possibly isn't over Phil after all...

me time (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: Phil enjoys his mandated time alone.

Mean the Most (ao3) - yikesola

Summary: Dan figures goodbyes are inevitable, and he’s learned how to leave very effective ones for better or worse depending on how he feels about the person he’s saying goodbye to. That morning he’d given a good one to Phil.

A au fic about friends with benefits and necessary conversions.

Messy Handwriting Club (ao3) - vendettafrank

Summary: Dan is an artist. His main goal in life is to create a masterpiece. No matter how cliche that sounds.

Every day is a struggle when you have art block. One day, on a Halloween night something changes and Dan draws something he never expected to draw. But the next day the drawing is no longer in the canvas...

What happens next will changed Dan's life forever...

Metanoia - sin-n-city

Summary: The plan is to avoid getting too drunk; drink just enough to chat Phil up a bit. Make him blush so much that there is no denying that Dan’s the one causing the prominent tinge of redness on Phil’s cheeks. That way, Dan can get away with it. That way, he can act like the previous night’s events never happened. And that way, Dan can repeat the process, until maybe, it doesn’t have to just be a process anymore.

Midnight Whisperings - manchestereyes

Summary: Snapshots of Dan and Phil’s history, from 2009-2016, told through Dan’s moments of 3 AM introspection.

Middle of Somewhere (ao3) - throughtheirsnoses (det395)

Summary: Phil's an apprentice at a library who is drawn to a regular visitor with fluffy hair and a questionable attitude

Mind Reader (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan's head was always filled with noise. He'd been blessed/cursed with the power to read minds, but not the power to control it. He heard the thoughts of everyone near him, and the constant voices in his head were close to driving him mad.

That is, of course, until he met Phil Lester, the only one who could make his mind go silent.

Miserably Delicious - elliesfics

Summary: Phil’s a demon who feeds off of human arousal. The catch, he’s not allowed to touch. Luckily for Phil, he’s got a firm grip on the art of mental seduction.

(TW) Missing (ao3) - Misha_with_wings

Summary: "So we have a new update on the serial killer running loose around London-" Dan turns the tv off, he didn't want to hear anymore. He just wanted Phil back home, safe and sound.

Missing Pieces (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: When an accident occurs in the middle of filming a new video for the gaming channel, Dan finds himself becoming more reliant on Phil than he was comfortable with. Unfortunately, Dan needs the help and can't push Phil away, but he can feel the situation beginning to dredge up feelings that Dan had pushed away years ago and buried deep within himself.

Missing you (ao3) - roman

Summary: Phil watched as the Skype call went through and Dan's beautiful, pixelated face showed up on his laptop. His smile was wide and he looked really happy, Phil missed seeing this side of Dan; he just missed Dan in general.

Phil is in Florida, Dan is not. Phil misses him

Mistletoe Miracles - jilliancares

Summary: Dan just wants to kiss Phil Lester under the mistletoe. And, okay, maybe he wants to do more than just kiss, but so what?

More at Eleven (ao3) - TwistedRocketPower

Summary: Phil Lester, the most beloved meteorologist at Southeast News, isn't sure of many things in his life. One thing he is sure of, however, is that he absolutely hates the new entertainment news anchor, Dan Howell.

More than 2 and a half weeks (ao3) - natigail

Summary: The night before Dan leaves for the American leg of his tour, Phil pulled him into shooting a video and then he pulled him into his arms.

More Than One Thousand Words (ao3) - ctrling

Summary: Dan’s a writer, always staying up late writing stories that won’t ever be read by anybody but him and Phil, so when he can’t think of anything to get Phil from Christmas, he decides to write him a story about their life together so far.

Music Man (ao3) - lilyxxxooo

Summary: Phil attends a concert with one of his best friends. He's really not that interested. Well, that's until he sees the tall, beautiful piano player with the dimple.

My Immortal - yuurisnice

Summary: Two years. Two long years Phil had been alone. Sure Dan was still his best friend; they still lived together and hung out and talked, but there was just something missing. That missing link is what made Phil feel alone.

#phanfictioncatalogue #phan #phanfiction #phanfic #masterlists #ficsm #ficsm masterlist

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livesincerely · 2 years

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dress you up, dress you down ch. 7 - throwing down the gauntlet (END)

Aka the tie fic. Also on Ao3

Thanks to @weeeeeeezamboni for beta reading this chapter for me!

Chapter six here

00000

“Okay, slow down,” Katherine orders, holding up a hand. “What happened?”

“Jack knows how to tie his own tie!” Davey says again, only a little less loudly than he had the first time. “We went to Medda’s last night to see her new show and we ended up staying out late. When we woke up the next morning, Jack was running late for his shift at The World so he was rushing around to get ready, and it turns out that Jack knows how to tie his own tie!”

“That’s... good?” Katherine offers, tilting her head. “Sorry, I’m not understanding what the issue is. Haven’t you been trying to teach him?”

“Yes,” Davey says, trying very hard to not sound as manic as he feels, “I’ve been trying to teach him for weeks now to no avail, worrying that I’ve been, I don’t know, subconsciously sabotaging him or something because a four-in-hand just isn’t that hard, but apparently he’s known how all along and has been lying about it this whole time!”

“Maybe he’d only just figured it out?” Katherine suggests. “And hadn’t thought to tell you yet?”

“He had me tie it for him before we left for Medda’s,” Davey explains, shaking his head. “If he’d wanted to say something, that would’ve been the perfect time⁠.”

“Wait, why did he need a tie if you were just going to Medda’s?” Katherine asks, brow furrowed.

“That’s what I said!” Davey exclaims. “But when I asked he just said something about wanting to do things properly, and then he started getting all flustered so I didn’t really press⁠—”

“Jack said that he wanted to do a night at Medda’s properly?” Katherine repeats back to him.

“I guess it was a special occasion?” Davey offers. “He never said what it was, exactly, but just looking at him you could tell that he was all worked up about something.”

“Worked up about… the two of you going to the theater to see a show,” Katherine says slowly.

“Yes?” Davey confirms, a little unsure.

“When he asked you about going to Medda’s, what did he say?” Katherine asks, expression inscrutable. “Tell me exactly, word for word.”

“Uh…” Davey tries to think back. “He just asked me? He said he’d been wanting to see her latest show and asked if I would go with?”

“And how did he seem, when he asked you?”

“Fine, I guess?” Davey says, not sure where she’s going with this. “Excited about seeing the show? It’s funny, actually, he honestly seemed sort of relieved when I said I would come⁠—like he thought I wouldn’t be able to or something. Or, like he was embarrassed to be asking? It didn’t make a lot of sense, but he’d been acting kinda weird all day. I mean, if anyone had a right to be embarrassed it was me since⁠—” Davey cuts himself off, flushing.

“There!” Katherine exclaims, wagging her index finger right in front of his nose. “Right there, that face! What happened that’s making you make that face?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Davey says, biting his lip. “I just remembered… But that wasn’t anything to do with Jack, that bit of stupidity was one hundred percent me⁠—”

“And what stupidity is that?” Katherine prompts.

“Oh, well…” Davey can feel his ears turning red, but it’s not like Katherine doesn’t already know how god damn ridiculous he can be when it comes to Jack Kelly. “Well, when he asked me, I sort of… accidentally… called it a date.”

Katherine takes a breath. “And what did Jack say after that?”

“He didn’t make a big deal out of it, thank god, or else I would’ve actually died,” Davey laments, shaking his head. “He just went along with the joke⁠—I think he thought I was making a joke⁠—and, you know, agreed with me.”

Katherine looks at him.

“Did he actually say the words, ‘It’s a date’?” she asks, incredulous.

Davey flushes.

“It wasn’t like that,” he says. “I said it first⁠—not like, meaning anything by it, I’m just an idiot⁠—and he just said it back. Like, echoing me, because I said it, not like… saying it, saying it.”

Katherine just keeps staring at him, and her gaze is full of judgment.

“It wasn’t like that, Kathy,” Davey blusters, face heating up. “Like I said, he’d been in a strange mood all day, he kept saying all these little things, and it honestly didn’t seem like anything except more of the same—”

“Saying things like what?” Katherine asks, eyebrow arched.

“Well…” Davey works the edge of his vest between his fingers. “He, uh, said I was cute.”

“Cute,” she flatly repeats.

“And, um… pretty,” Davey says. “That my eyes were pretty. But that was only because I accidentally showed up at The Square wearing one of his shirts⁠—”

Katherine’s eyebrows climb further up her forehead.

“—and he probably just didn’t want me to feel bad about it,” Davey quickly continues. “Because it was an honest mistake and I would’ve changed if he’d wanted me to, but he kept insisting that it was fine and I should wear it, so I did! But, regardless of all of that,” he says, focusing back on the matter at hand, “Why would Jack lie about the tie? I’ve been thinking about it all day and I honestly can’t make heads or tails of it—Why keep it a secret? Why pretend? It just doesn’t make any sense.”

Katherine takes a long drink of her coffee, then sets the cup down with a heavy thud, the contents threatening to slosh over the side.

“David,” she says with an incredibly heavy sigh. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, Jack likes you too?”

Davey stares at her. His vision shifts—like the entire world has upended in response to this heart-stopping question, memories and moments sliding around his brain as it tilts off its axis—and suddenly several pieces slide into place with a neat little click.

“You know what, Kath,” Davey croaks out a few seconds or maybe a few minutes later. Frankly, it’s hard to tell. “I can honestly say that possibility has never occurred to me.”

His thoughts swirl and churn, round and round and round again.

“So the whole thing with the tie was really just⁠ an—”

“Yep.”

“And all those times, all the flirting⁠—”

“Uh huh.”

“And last night was⁠—”

“Almost definitely a date, yes.”

“He didn’t tell me it was a date!” Davey protests.

“He probably didn’t think he had to,” Katherine snorts, “Given that you’re the one who said it first.”

Davey buries his face in his hands. “I’m a fucking idiot,” he groans.

“Just a little bit,” Katherine agrees, taking another delicate sip of her coffee. “Would it make you feel better if I told you that Jack’s even worse?”

“Yes, actually,” Davey sighs. “Wait, worse how?”

“Seriously?” Katherine questions, giving him a pointed look. “After everything you just told me, you still have to ask?”

“It’s not like it was obvious,” Davey mutters weakly. “Anyone could’ve made the same mistake.”

“They really couldn’t’ve,” Katherine disagrees, shaking her head. “God, you’re each as bad as the other. But nevermind that⁠—the real question is, what are you going to do now?”

“Do?” he echoes blankly, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He still hasn’t really gotten past the whole Jack-might-like-me-too revelation. “What is there to do? I guess I just… talk to him? Try to figure out where we stand?”

“You’re just gonna let him off the hook?” Kathy asks, looking surprised. “I would’ve thought that you’d make him work for it a little more.”

Davey leans forward, intrigued. “What did you have in mind?”

Her answering smile is downright devious. “I’m sure you’ve heard the phrase, ‘’Turnabout is fair play?’”

00000

A few days later, Davey finally gets the chance to make his move.

“I’ll bring you home some salt water taffy from the corner store if you go and sit in the kitchen until I come get you,” Davey says to Les, a little too quickly. “I need to talk to Jack about something before we leave for work. Privately.”

Les squints at him. “Are you finally gonna do something about the massive crush you have on him?”

Davey chokes on his next inhale.

“You know about that?” he demands.

“Uh, yeah, David,” Les says, rolling his eyes. “It’s kinda really obvious. The two of you are always all…”

Les’ face scrunches up.

“Don’t tell Sarah,” Davey says weakly.

“Like I’d need to,” Les scoffs. “It’s not like she can’t see it too.”

“Just⁠— Just stay in the kitchen!” Davey splutters, quickly retreating back to his room.

He collapses against the closed door, staring up at the ceiling as his stomach churns with nerves. As usual, it’s the waiting, the anticipation, that gets to him⁠—through he tries not to think about it, as the minutes trickle past he can’t help but worry: what if Katherine’s wrong? What if Jack isn’t the least bit interested in him as anything other than a friend? What if he’s finally fallen into the trap that he’s been working so hard to avoid and is reading into something that isn’t even there? What if he’s about to make an absolute fool of himself?

Because, wouldn’t Jack have said something by now, if he really⁠—he still struggles to put into words, even just to himself—if he really felt the same way that Davey does?

In his mind’s eye he can see it, feel it: Jack’s hands ghosting over his waist, up over his shoulders, encircling his wrist. The intensity of his gaze, the sparks that seem to fly when their eyes meet for a second too long.

Thinks of ‘It looks better on you,’ and ‘Do you think I’d let anything happen to you?’ and ‘Let’s stay a while.’

Thinks of Davey, and Dave, and sweetheart.

A jaunty knock at the window interrupts his musings. He can see Jack out on the fire escape, his silhouette shadowed against the curtains, and when Davey marches forward it’s with newfound determination.

If nothing else, at least by the end of this he’ll have an answer.

He draws back the curtain, unhooks the latch, lifts the pane. Jack’s smile starts the second he turns to him, easy and open and bright, and Davey can’t help but smile back at him, the knot that his stomach has twisted itself into easing somewhat.

“Mornin’, Davey,” Jack says, his eyes crinkling up at the corners.

And Davey can just picture it: leaning out over the window sill for a greeting that’s sweeter than just words, foreheads touching, lips brushing…

He wants it.

Wants this, wants them.

Wants Jack.

“Dave?” Jack asks, tilting his head.

It’s bubbling in his chest, a little wild and a little reckless, but warm and wonderful too. Jack is still looking at him, his brow starting to furrow the slightest bit, and it’s the simplest thing in the world to just open his mouth and say, “Good morning, darling.”

“Um… mornin’,” Jack says again, his cheeks dusted faintly with pink.

“Off to The World again?” Davey asks, as if he didn’t already know, stepping back from the window to let him climb through. “Or are you just gracing me with your company this morning?”

“Heading to the office,” Jack confirms. “Sorry I always gotta barge in on ya whenever I gotta shift—“

“Shut up,” Davey says, rolling his eyes. “You know it’s no trouble.”

“Still,” Jack insists, with one of those charming little smiles of his. “I’m jus’ sayin’ I ‘preciate it, is all.” He glances around the room, already working his undershirt over his head. “Where’s Les?”

“Oh, you know,” Davey murmurs, vague. “Your stuff’s hanging up in the usual spot—freshly pressed, too.”

“Your Ma’s the best, Dave,” Jack says, appreciative, pulling a pair of dress pants from the wardrobe. “Remind me to thank her, won’t’cha?”

“Of course,” Davey says, carefully unbuttoning his nightshirt. He turns towards the wall, fiddling with the worn edge of fabric as he gathers his nerve. “But you know she adores you.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want her to think—“

Davey takes a steadying breath, then lets his shirt fall from his shoulders.

Behind him there’s a sharp inhale and the thwump of something soft hitting the ground, then a whispered, but heartfelt, “Fuck.”

Davey can’t resist. He glances over his shoulder, expression smoothed out into one of innocent concern. “Did you say something?”

Jack bends down to pick up his clothes from where they’re now laying in a heap on the floor.

“Nothin’,” he says, ducking his head. “Sorry, ‘m jus’… clumsy.”

“Hmm,” Davey hums in acknowledgement, doing his best to hide a smile.

He slips into a pair of pants, then takes out the shirt he’d already set aside and slowly pulls it on, leaving the collar open. He can feel Jack’s eyes on his back almost immediately, but it takes him several minutes to comment on the obvious.

“Is that my shirt you’re wearing?” Jack finally asks, his voice thick and raspy.

“You said you didn’t care if I wore it, right?” Davey asks lightly, smoothing a hand down his front, watching Jack out of the corner of his eye. “Did you change your mind?”

“No, it’s jus’….” Jack pauses, then swallows, visibly struggling for words. It’s a genuine delight to see him so flustered. “I jus’ didn’t realize you liked it so much.”

“I guess it reminds me of you,” Davey explains, with as casual a shrug as he can manage.

Jack’s hands twitch at his sides, and he staggers forward half a step. Davey’s heart jolts in his chest, his pulse racing as anticipation floods through him, but Jack doesn’t come any closer. He simply takes a breath—long, shaky, haggard—and continues getting dressed, not that the distance does either of them much good. Davey can still feel his eyes on his back, the weight of his gaze sliding over him, and that’s somehow even worse.

They finish getting ready in relative silence, stealing glances at each other as they go, until the pivotal moment arrives: Jack turns towards him and offers, as he always does, the red silk tie.

“One of these days you're going to have to do this yourself,” Davey teases.

“But not today,” Jack says, with a cheeky grin.

“Not today,” Davey agrees, stepping closer, reaching around to turn Jack’s collar up. “You’ve got a small scratch, here,” he notices, rubbing his thumb gently over a freshly-healed cut on the underside of his jaw.

“Yeah, I, uh, got myself with the razor this morning,” Jack replies, sounding distinctly out of breath. “The blade’s startin’ to go and no one’s had a chance ta…”

He trails off, his throat fluttering beneath Davey’s touch.

“You should be more careful,” Davey tuts. “We can’t have you messing up that pretty face of yours.”

“Sure,” Jack agrees, though the word comes out a bit strangled. “Can’t have that.”

“So, what is this, your third day at The World this week?” Davey says, taking pity on him and changing the subject as he loops the tie around Jack’s neck and ties it into place. “You’ve been spending a lot of time there, recently, it seems.”

“Been pickin’ up some extra shifts here,” Jack explains. “I hate bein’ away from the fellas so much but I like the work an’ the money’s good so I can’t really complain. An’, actually,” he adds, scrubbing a hand across the nape of his neck, his expression turning a little bashful. “My supervisor⁠—Steinmetz, I told you ‘bout him, right?”

At Davey’s nod he continues, “He says there’s talk about maybe, possibly, bringing me on full time.”

“Are you serious?” Davey demands. “Jack, that’s incredible!”

“Hold your horses, it’s still just talk for now,” Jack says, eyes bright. “It might not even happen.”

“But the fact that it could,” Davey insists, pulling him in for a hug. “I’m so proud of you, Jackie.”

Jack hooks his chin over Davey’s shoulder, wraps his arms around his back. “Thanks, Dave.”

When it comes time to part, Davey’s the one who steps away—or at least, means to. Instead, Jack’s hands land low on his hips, keeping him close, and when their eyes meet again the space between them seems to set alight, a fresh blaze sparking to life somewhere deep in his inside him.

“Jack,” Davey breathes.

“Davey,” Jack murmurs.

Davey wets his lips, voice caught in his throat. “We… You’re going to be late again,” he says, weakly.

“Am I?” Jack asks, and he’s dangerously, delectably close, the heat of his hands sinking into Davey’s skin through his shirt. “And who’s fault do ya think that is, huh?”

“Maybe if someone wasn’t so easily distracted,” Davey says, his hands sliding down to rest against the strong planes of Jack’s chest of their own accord.

“Maybe if someone wasn’t so goddamn distractin’,” Jack retorts, his eyes drifting down to the open collar of Davey’s—Jack’s—shirt. When he speaks again, his voice has settled somewhere low and ravenous. “Jesus, Dave.”

“You’re going to be late,” Davey says again—because someone should—swaying closer despite himself.

“And?” Jack asks, staring up at him with hooded eyes. “Who gives a shit?”

“You give a shit,” Davey points out, common sense returning to him in minuscule increments. “You just told me—“

“Forget what I told ya,” Jack says. “It ain’t important—“

“Jack,” Davey insists. He bites his lip, then leans down—Jack’s eyes flutter shut, his lips parting ever so slightly—and he presses a gentle kiss to Jack’s cheek.

“Go to work, Jackie,” Davey says softly, lingering for a long moment before finally pulling back.

Jack lets out a shaky breath.

“Alright,” he eventually rasps out, “I’m goin’. But this is far from over, Dave.”

“We’ll see, darling,” Davey says, a tease and a promise all in one.

00000

Phase two of Davey’s plan has him heading over to The World at midday, making his way up to the art department with a fresh bounce in his step.

“Dave!” Jack calls when he sees him approaching—he hasn’t left for lunch yet because of course he hasn’t—sitting up straighter in his seat. “What are you doin’ here? Did I forget we had plans?”

“Just thought I’d surprise you,” Davey explains with a smile. “I even brought sandwiches, if you still need to be convinced to put the pens and paper away.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Jacobs,” Jack says, already starting to clear his desk. “But I s’ppose you’ve convinced me.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, Kelly,” Davey quips back, handing over the sack lunches like he’s closing a deal.

“Don’t be shy,” Jack says, waving a hand. “You can pull up a chair, no one’ll mind if ya borrow one.”

“No need,” Davey says, lifting himself up to sit on the edge of Jack’s desk. “I’m fine like this.”

If Davey hadn’t been looking for it, he might not have noticed how Jack’s eyes widen, his lips parting just the slightest bit as he stares up at him.

“Uh,” he starts, before pausing to clear his throat. “I mean, if you’re sure…”

Davey leans back on his hands, perfectly pleased. “I’m sure.”

“So, uh,” Jack fumbles for the paper bag, almost knocking it to the floor by accident. “What’s on the menu for today?”

“It’s not much, just turkey and tomato,” Davey explains. “With a little of that spicy mustard you like on yours.”

“You’re a goddamn treasure,” Jack says, eagerly unwrapping his sandwich. “Don’t let no one tell you any different.”

“Duly noted,” Davey laughs, digging in as well. He takes a moment to chew and swallow, then asks, “So, what have you been up to today?”

“Oh, the usual,” Jack says in between bites. “Sketches, sketches, and more sketches. I swear, Dave, as much as I like the governor, if I hafta scribble out his mustache one more time today, I’m gonna scream.”

“Pulitzer on the warpath?” Davey asks, knowingly.

“When ain’t he?” Jack snarks, rolling his eyes. “But yeah, somethin’ ‘bout a new regulation or whatever—I’m not even really s’pposed ta be working on it since—“

“—Your cartoon runs Sundays,” Davey chimes in, nodding along.

Jack flashes him a lopsided little grin.

“Exactly,” he says. “But Rosenthal’s been out sick the last coupl’a days, so now his assignment’s become my assignment.”

“Good chance to prove yourself,” Davey points out. “Show that you can handle more hours.”

“Or, it’s a great way to make a complete ass of myself,” Jack grumbles, polishing off his sandwich with one last bite, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Prove that the schmuck off the street can’t hang it with the big boys.”

Davey kicks at the arm of his chair, frowning.

“Don’t say that,” he orders. “You’re fucking fantastic, Jackie, and the sooner they all realize it the better off they’ll be.”

Jack ducks his head, drumming his fingers against the desk top. “Aw, hell, Dave, you don’t gotta—“

“I do, and I will,” Davey corrects. “Because you’re amazing, Jack, and I’m going to keep telling you until you believe it.”

“That might take a while,” Jack says lightly.

“Good thing I’m not planning on going anywhere,” Davey declares, meeting his gaze squarely.

Jack wheels his chair closer and suddenly he’s sitting right between the vee of Davey’s legs, his elbows brushing against the insides of Davey’s knees.

Davey inhales sharply, every single inch of him jumping to attention, hot and electrified. Jack’s eyes turn dark, that plush mouth curving up into a smirk, and one of his hands lands high on Davey’s thigh, thumb grazing over the fabric of his pants in lazy circles.

“You really think that, don’t’cha?” Jack asks, with an open admiration that turns Davey’s insides to mush.

“Of course I do,” Davey manages, his mouth desperately dry. “But, you… What are you doing?”

“I guess that depends,” Jack murmurs. “What’d’ya want me to be doing?”

Davey bites his lip; Jack’s eyes track the motion, the heat of his gaze hot enough to sizzle and sear.

“Nothing that’s appropriate for the workplace,” he admits, leaning closer.

Jack’s throat works, and when he speaks again there’s a rough edge to his voice. “Well, now you’re jus’ teasin’ me, sweetheart.”

“You’re one to talk, darling,” Davey retorts, feeling warm all over.

Jack presses his hands flat against the desk on either side of Davey’s hips, then surges up into his space, his face—his lips—mere inches from Davey’s own. Davey can only watch him as he approaches, eyes wide, frozen in place.

“Christ, you’re perfect,” Jack says, those dark eyes sweeping over every inch of him. “Do you know that?”

“Jack,” Davey warns, even as flames lick at the base of his spine.

Somewhere in the distance a bell chimes, signaling the end of the lunch period.

Neither of them move.

They stare at each other for another long moment, the space between them impossibly charged, before Jack finally sits back in his chair, allowing the tension to ease back to its usual simmer.

“I should…” Davey clears his throat, picking at a loose thread on his pants to hide his burning cheeks. “I should, uh, get going. Let you get back to it.”

He jumps down from Jack’s desk, but Jack catches his wrist before he can make it more than a step, pulling him back.

“Hey, hey.”

Jack’s expression has softened into something warm, tender—he takes Davey’s hand and lifts it to his mouth, brushing his lips over his knuckles.

“I’ll come find ya after work, cielito,” he says, turning Davey’s hand and pressing a second kiss to the pads of his fingertips. “Yeah?”

“O-oh,” Davey says, flushing deeper despite himself. He gives Jack’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Sure. I’ll see you later, darling.”

00000

Davey stops by the corner store just before they close, the sun sitting low in the sky. He grabs the taffy he promised Les, his mind a wash of thoughts and sensations.

He’d thought for sure that Jack would be waiting for him when he finished up at Newsies Square this evening—that maybe they’d walk back to Davey’s apartment together, their shoulders touching, hands brushing—but he hasn’t seen hide or hair of him since lunch.

No dark, ruffled hair, no charming grin…

It’s circling round and round in his head, growing stronger with every creaking step up the fire escape, and he almost doesn’t notice Jack waiting outside his bedroom window until he nearly runs into him.

“Runnin’ a bit late there, are we, sweetheart?” Jack asks, leaning back against the railing, comfortable as can be, and he’s so stupidly handsome that Davey’s breath catches in his throat.

“Didn’t realize we’d set an appointment,” Davey replies, slowing to a stop, butterflies flitting around his chest.

“Ya know, I’m startin’ to think ya just like makin’ me wait,” Jack proposes, the slightest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Even if I did, you wouldn’t mind,” Davey murmurs, confident, as he steps closer. “Would you, darling?”

Jack straightens up then, his expression shadowed as he considers him. Davey can barely resist a shiver at the look in his eyes.

“No,” he confirms, in a voice that’s so low it’s almost a feeling instead of a sound. “I don’ mind. I’d do a lot worse than jus’ wait around for ya, David Jacobs.”

“Oh?” Davey asks, watching him from under his lashes. “Like what?”

“Are you gonna let me finish this time?” Jack wonders, taking his own step towards him. “Or are we gonna keep playin’ this game of ours?”

“As if you don’t like it,” Davey answers, warmth pooling low in his stomach.

“Oh, I like a lotta things about’cha,” Jack volleys back. “But I think I’d like gettin’ ta show ya even more.”

“Would you, now?” Davey asks, tilting his head. “And what, exactly, do you have in mind?”

“Now that would be tellin’,” Jack says, that smirk of his growing even wider. “And I think we’ve been doin’ a little too much talkin’ lately, don’t’cha think?”

“I was thinking we weren’t doing enough,” Davey offers. “Pretty sure there’s a few things we haven’t quite put into words yet, Jackie, love.” He considers Jack for a moment, then adds, “But I suppose I’m open to other methods of communication.”

Jack takes another step closer. “God, you drive me fuckin’ insane,” he swears, the sandpaper rasp of his voice scraping deliciously over Davey’s skin.

“Join the fucking club,” Davey retorts, heady and heated, working a hand around the knot of Jack’s tie and tugging him forward until they’re standing practically chest to chest. “Because I’ve had just about enough of you, Jack Kelly.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jack says, softly but with a hint of challenge, the fabric of his shirt flexing around his biceps as his hands move to rest on Davey’s hips. His voice is nothing but a rumble. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

And Davey leans down and kisses him.

Jack's mouth is soft, his lips parting immediately to welcome his own. Strong arms wrap around him, like Jack’s determined to eliminate any and all space between them. He presses up into him, changing the angle of the kiss, and Davey can’t stop the noise he makes at the sensation, the way he melts into it.

Davey whines as their tongues meet, hot and slick, desperate to taste each other. The kiss turns bruising, hungry, their lips moving together until they’re gasping into each other’s mouths, trapped in each other’s orbit.

They break apart, both breathing raggedly. Jack is staring at him and the look on his face is like nothing he’s ever seen—wild and wonderous and wanting. His lips are swollen, the deep dark of his iris eclipsed by his pupils, and his hands are like brands on Davey’s hips, holding him tight, holding him like he never plans on letting go.

“How’s that for you?” Davey pants.

“I dunno, querido,“ Jack says, pretending to think about it. “Pull me in a little harder next time, not sure I’m convinced yet.”

“You and this god forsaken tie,” Davey grumbles, the silk of it wrapped between his fingers. “Why are you even still wearing it? I know you hate the damned thing.”

“It ain’t so bad,” Jack says, his lips just barely brushing against the line of Davey’s jaw. “There’s a coupl’a upsides to it.”

“Like what?” Davey demands.

“Well, there’s the way ya look at me when I’m wearin’ it, for starters.”

Davey goes bright red in an instant, spluttering out a feeble protest. Jack just laughs⁠, the warmth of his breath tickling at Davey’s skin.

“Watch it, Kelly,” Davey threatens. “Don’t make me rip that thing off of you.”

“Go right ahead, be my guest,” Jack murmurs, far too pleased with himself, using his grip on Davey’s hips to ease him closer. “But you’re the one that’s gonna hafta fix it up for me later, if ya do.”

“Oh, am I?” Davey retorts, arching an eyebrow. “You sure about that, Jackie, love?”

Something in his expression or tone must give him away because Jack pauses, his gaze turning assessing, then sheepish.

“Nah,” Jack softly admits. “I don’ really need ya to.”

“But I will,” Davey says, the molten heat inside him softening into a gentle flame. “If you want me to.”

Jack cups his hand against Davey’s cheek, his forehead pressed against Davey’s own.

“I’ll hold ya to that,” he says, before sealing their lips together once more.

00000

Tag List:

@yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside

@dr-charlie-eppes

@stroopwafeldetective

@amillionandonefandoms

@dreams-and-bones

@mainstreamelectricalparade

@wineandhargreeves

@thenoteworthyhelen

@rag-tag-ragamuffin

@ill-purple-your-nurple

#newsies #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #*editor's note #*the writing desk #*final cut #the tie fic #this has been a long time coming #but I hope you enjoy #marking as complete but I might still do an e-rated epilogue at some point #😉#I promise that this is almost entirely a new chapter #I added like 4K to the word count

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zaffrenotes · 3 years

Text

Six Sentence Sunday - 01.08.21

Choices math has made me grumpy, but I think I've sorted it out enough to work...so it took me a little longer to get to any actual writing this weekend. @ao719 tagged me to share - I'll be focusing on RODAW content in preparation for the end of the week 😅 but there's a lil bit of TRR on my list as well!

ROD Prologue, Part 3 aka about f**king time you finished this D:

Nora practically sprinted to the apartment, hot tears slicing their way down frozen cheeks. She paused long enough to lock, bolt, and chain the door shut and rip the slush-covered boots off her feet, leaving them on the hallway doormat. Bypassing the bedroom for the bathroom, she ran a hot shower, leaving her clothes in an uncharacteristically messy pile on the floor. The water scalded her skin when she pulled the shower curtain closed, and she braced the cold tile for support, continuing to cry as she crouched down into the tub.

How could you? How could you? How could you? She repeated, chastising herself.

Untitled ROD piece:

His resolve only lasted six weeks, give or take a day, before he dialed her number. He knows she’ll probably let it roll to voicemail as a result of blocking the number on his burner phone, but he’s not quite ready to speak to her. He just misses her voice. All her old messages are gone, lost in the Pacific when he wiped his phone clean and tossed it into the ocean before leaving town. He didn’t think he’d miss her this much, and definitely not so soon.

He’s not prepared when the call engages after two rings and he hears her voice on the other end.

next (final?) chapter of Kairos:

Liam was relieved when Elia asked him to wait ten minutes before walking back to her home. She wanted to ensure his introductions to Billy and Emmy weren’t interrupted by eavesdropping ears. He remained seated on the bench, other than when he stood up as Elia left, smiling softly and waving to her as she went ahead to send Will and Mrs. George on an errand. Sitting there alone and counting down the minutes before he was supposed to follow, questions rolled in, one after the other.

Would there be any way to convince Elia to come to Cordonia? Would his children like him?

I think everyone's already been tagged, so I'm using my updated taglists to give sneak peeks (but if you've got writing to share, consider yourself tagged too!): @burnsoslow @ofpixelsandscribbles @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @rainbowsinthestorm @superharriet @choiceskatie @jaqren @choicesarehard @client-327 @troublemakerinspace @saivilo @its-all-about-rod

#six sentence sunday #sunday six #sneak peek sunday #writing sneak peek #writing gods let's goooooo i need help

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benedictsvestcollection · 3 years

Text

Toepick!

Bucky Barnes x female reader AU

Summary: Bucky’s a hockey player turned pairs figure skater partner for reader who’s kind of a pain in the ass. (aka this is a Cutting Edge AU if anyone’s seen the movie)

Chapter warnings: Cursing, mentions of hockey violence, reader is a brat, Bucky is a sarcastic asshole (just like in the show!)

Author note: Unbetaed chapter, I don’t have a taglist for Bucky fics but send me a DM or ask if you want to be added to it I’ll make a taglist for my Bucky fics! Please reblog this and tell me what you think in my askbox!

Also thanks to @pisss-offf-ghostt for her hockey insight b/c I don’t know shit about hockey.

Chapter One

Bucky Barnes sat in a doctor’s office, two weeks after taking a puck to the face in a Winter Olympic game. It had hit him way too close to his eye and Coach Pierce had benched him the rest of the Games.

What’s worse is that it was his own fucking teammate who’d given him the injury. Brock Rumlow, their Enforcer, had always had it out for Bucky. God knows why, but maybe Rumlow had never forgiven his NHL team for beating theirs in the playoffs the year before. Or that Bucky had scored the winning goal of that same game.

Steve and Sam had always said Rumlow was a bad apple in the NHL and his Olympic spirit sucked too it seemed. So now, he was waiting on news from the doctor, telling him when he could start training for the next NHL season.

The doctor entered the room with Bucky’s file. “Well, doc? When can I get back on the ice?” He asked.

The doctor frowned at him and put his x-ray up on the lighted board to show him. “Son, I’m afraid you won’t be able to play hockey anymore.” He told him frankly. “You took quite a hit to your occipital bone and it hindered 80% of your peripheral vision in your right eye.”

“What?” He asked, unsure if he heard him right.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to go into retirement from hockey.” He told him, looking at the man with sympathetic eyes. He was a great player, had a lot of years left in him. He had watched that game, this wasn’t his fault.

Bucky sat there, shell shocked for several moments before slowly rising and putting his coat on. “Thanks doc.” He muttered before finally leaving the office and building. Fucking Brock Rumlow. He had seen the smirk on his lips after he’d opened his eyes from taking the hit to his face.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Steve’s number. “Hey, meet me at the usual place?”

“Everything okay Buck?” He’d asked his childhood best friend and now teammate.

“Just… I’ll tell you at the bar.” He growled out and then made his way to their favorite haunt. “Call Sam. I have news.”

Thirty minutes later, Bucky was nursing a beer at their favorite New York bar. Sam and Steve stared at him, shocked. “So what, now you have to retire? That’s bullshit man.” Sam shook his head.

“You think I don’t know that?” Bucky growled at his teammate. “My publicist wants to make an announcement soon.” He told them. “But I told her to hold off. I want some time to just… Absorb this.” He ran his hand through his hair frustratingly.

Bucky loved skating, how could he give it up? And Brock Rumlow gets to just keep playing? What a load of bullshit.

“Rumlow should be fined for that shit he pulled on you at the Games.” Steve shook his head.

“You really think being fined is what he deserves? Everyone knows it was a dirty move but Pierce is his coach in the NHL, he’s not gonna do shit about it.” Sam reminded Steve.

It was true, even the announcers had called it a dirty shot, and everyone who followed the NHL knew that Brock Rumlow had it out for Bucky Barnes. But Rumlow was Pierce’s guy and he wasn’t going to do anything to his player to jeopardize the next season of the NHL.

“Speak of the devil.” Sam whistled out and Bucky looked over his shoulder to see Rumlow entering the bar with his flavor of the month on his arm. Some up and coming model or something. Not that any of them kept track anymore of them.

“Hey boys! How’s the post-Olympics life treating you? As good as me?” He winked at his newest companion. “She’s a model.”

“Shocking.” Sam snorted from behind his beer. Smirking when Rumlow shot him a dirty look.

“So Barnes, how’s the eye?” Rumlow asked him casually, as if he hadn’t given him the very injury that now forced Bucky into early retirement.

Bucky’s grip tightened on his bottle. “It’s fine.” He ground out and gave him a hardened stare. It was true, physically he felt fine. But, he was about two seconds away from beating Rumlow to a pulp though. Hell, Steve and Sam would probably help him if he asked. But he also didn’t want any added press than the impending ‘early retirement’ announcement in the coming days.

“Look man, sorry about that. Guess the puck just got away from my stick, you know?” He said easily.

Holy shit, he was really just going to pretend it wasn’t his fault? Guess he shouldn’t be surprised.

“Yeah, you seemed real torn up about it.” Steve snapped at him. “The whole hockey world knows you have it out for Buck.” All four men, stood. All imposing figures as hockey players. “And everyone knows that was a dirty shot you took. The Olympics are supposed to be about coming together but you just used it for your own personal gain. You’re a disgrace.” Steve told him.

“You letting your pals stand up for you Barnes? What’s the matter? Too chicken shit to say anything yourself?” Rumlow taunted him.

Bucky stepped closer to him, almost chest to chest with the Enforcer. “Nope, I just know you’re not worth my time. You never have been, not even on the ice.” After several tense moments, Bucky finally stepped back. “I gotta go. I have a call to make. I’ll talk to you two later.” He looked at Sam and Steve before leaving some bills on the table for his beers and he purposely bumped into Rumlow before leaving the bar.

Once he was safely in his Brooklyn apartment, he called his publicist. “Mel? Hey, let’s just…. Make an announcement. Tomorrow. Just get it over with.” He told her. “There’s no point in delaying it.”

“Sure thing, we’ll just say you’re mulling over your post-hockey playing options. Maybe take a year off and figure out what you want. Book deals, coaching job, hell even a sports commentator.”

“Yeah. I’ll think about it, Mel. Thanks.” He hung up and tossed his phone on the counter and sighed.

Fucking Brock Rumlow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What part of locked arms don’t you fucking get?” You snapped at your latest partner ‘audition’ as you got up off your ass from being dropped again. “Where in the hell are you finding these idiots Maria?” You snapped at your coach as you skated away from the latest guy. “You’d think none of them knew a simple lift.”

Maria Hill, your coach for several years now was at the end of her rope. You’d rejected partner after partner for the past month and a half after you’d parted ways with your Olympic partner, from a disastrous showing at the Winter Olympics.

“Probably doesn’t help that you berate them before they even get their skates on.” She called from the side of the rink as Tony Stark, your guardian since you were fifteen years old (although you were in your twenties now and didn’t need a guardian anymore) and practically your big brother, entered with his five year old daughter Morgan in his arms.

“How’s it going?” He asked.

“You’re insane.” Your latest pairs auditioner told you as he hastily removed his skates and shoved his feet in his sneakers and grabbed his bag. “Good luck finding someone willing to put up with the ice princess.” He snorted and left.

“That good huh?” Tony asked with a sigh and watched you skate around the private ice rink on their property.

“I can’t help that they’re all idiots.” You told him and Maria sighed, rubbing her temples as Morgan giggled at your comment.

“You know, unless you work with any of these guys and Maria. You’re going to have to go to singles skating.” Tony warned you, knowing you hated singles skating. It always felt too lonely for you out on the ice alone. You had trust issues since you were a kid. Which was a double edged sword because you also had trouble trusting partners to not let you down.

“Alright, let’s just call it for the day. I have some calls to make for some more options.” Maria told you as you continued to skate. She turned to Tony. “Talk some sense into her. I don’t have many options left.” She muttered and then left.

Morgan sat at the edge of the rink putting her skates on to get ready for her private lesson. “Ice Princess, come on… Work with me.” Tony called to you.

You shot him a glare at the nickname but skated over to him, stopping promptly and showering his legs with ice. “Yes?” You asked him innocently.

“Don’t give me that shit. What’s your deal? You’ve rejected nearly eight perfectly good skaters in the past almost two months. And always over stupid shit.” He told you. “They’re either not strong enough, not fast enough, not graceful enough. None of which have been true.”

You wanted to curse back at him but knew Morgan was beginning to repeat everything and Tony was being hushed and you really didn’t want to hear Pepper ask why Morgan learned a new curse word from you. “I’m just particular, that’s all.” You defended yourself.

“Is that the word we’re using?” He snorted at you. “I know you have trust issues because of what happened. But you can’t keep using that excuse for skating. Not all those men are going to let you down. But they will if they pick up on your attitude and tension. You need to start giving some of them an actual chance.” He glanced over at Morgan who was starting to warm up on the ice before her lesson. “Just… Think about it, okay? And you’ll bring Morgan to the house after her lesson?”

You sighed and nodded at him. “Yeah okay, fine. I’ll think about it. And yes, I’ll stay here during her lesson.” You promised as you got off the ice and changed shoes while Morgan started her lesson.

“Thank you. Dinner’s at six.” He reminded you and kissed Morgan goodbye before leaving for a meeting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maria Hill was looking over all the options she had on her desk. None of them would be able to take any of the shit that you were dishing out. She needed someone who could dish it right back to you and who could skate. “Jesus this is a nightmare.” She muttered to herself.

“Might have a suggestion for you if you’re interested in hearing it and going to meet with him.” Nick Fury’s voice came from her office door. Nick was the trainer for you. Responsible for keeping you in shape and healthy.

“Yeah?” She asked him curiously and leaned back in her chair.

Nick walked over to the television and turned it on, turning it to the sports network talking about Bucky Barnes’ retirement and what his options were now. The news had been out for a week now and everyone was speculating what he was going to do now.

“Barnes? You expect me to get a hockey player to be her new partner and not have her throw another fit?” She asked incredulously.

“Hear me out Hill.” Fury told her and sat across from her. “He’s strong, a phenomenal skater. Actually graceful even in hockey. And, he won’t take any of her shit lying down. Everything else, you can teach him.” He mused with a shrug. “Besides, rumor has it that he wants to keep skating. Sure, this ain’t hockey but it’s better than nothing.”

Nick had made several good points. He was a great skater. And he was disciplined. It meant that he would stick to any regime of training and skating they threw at him.

“She won’t like this.” She told him bluntly.

“Does she like anything anyway?” He countered with a snort.

He had a point. You hadn’t liked any of the partners they’d brought you till now. So throwing Barnes into the mix wasn’t going to make it much worse.

“Fine. Let’s go talk to him.” She relented.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You want me to what?” Bucky asked Maria and Nick. The two of them sat across from him in his Brooklyn apartment. Staring at them incredulously.

“We heard you wanted to keep skating. And while this isn’t hockey, we’re training someone who wants Olympic gold just as much as you do.” Maria told him. “I’ve seen you skate. You’re talented as hell and strong.”

Bucky looked back and forth between the two of them, expecting this to be some kind of joke. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. You’ll be paid, there’s a guest house at the Stark estate for you if the audition goes well. So you can live and train and not have to commute. You’ll be well paid.” Nick told him as he casually leaned back in his seat.

Bucky snorted. “I’ve been doing this long enough to know that there’s always a catch.”

Maria and Nick exchanged looks before looking back at him. “She can be… Difficult to get along with.” She told him carefully.

“So she’s a pain in the ass.” He clarified flatly and snorted again. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a pain in the ass on my team.” He muttered to himself.

“So you’ll come try out?” Maria asked him curiously. “Look, I know you don’t take any shit from anyone. So you and her might work because you can dish it out. You won’t put up with her attitude.” She explained.

Bucky considered his options. He didn’t want to stop skating. And it’s not like there were any open coaching positions currently. And he sure as shit didn’t want to write a memoir or work for ESPN while all his buddies were still skating. This was something for him. Plus he’d get to work with some hot girl instead of staring at Rumlow’s ugly face everywhere he went.

“When’s the tryout?” He finally asked.

Bucky Barnes’ fic taglist: @pisss-offf-ghostt

#Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #My writing #Marvel fic #MCU #I'm not tagging all the characters in this fic b/c that's so annoying #anyway #Please reblog this and tell me if you like it #xoxo

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bright-molina · 3 years

Text

Cross My Heart: A History

Intermission: In which you can’t help but recall your history with Bobby and everything you went through. Always side by side.

aka “We interrupt this program”

word count: 2144

warnings: brief and kinda vague implications of parents dying/leaving

a/n: So here’s today’s episode of Cross My Heart. Really this a look into the relationship with Bobby and why it means as much as it does. It’s a little different but I thought it would be nice insight. Enjoy!

*flashbacks are in italics

The silence in the car was deafening.

It never was.

Especially not with Bobby, Carrie, and Kayla. Especially after a show. This was different though.

It was a small car but Bobby had made sure to put as much distance between the two of you as possible. Your thoughts drifted as you stared out the window, driving the very familiar routes with ease.

“Again?”

“Again.”

It was dark and your head was buried in your knees but you knew who it was immediately. You could feel the opposite end of the couch sink a little and peeked up for just a moment.

The last few months in that big, old home had been difficult but nearly every night without fail Bobby found you sitting in the living room in the spot closest to the window. He knew of the nightmares you had well enough.

“I can’t -” Your voice shook and he shifted to look at you. “I can’t remember what he sounded like.”

The two of you had been kids at the time. Six year old kids who had gone through way too much. More than anyone should have to.

The silence was loud and tense and finally Bobby sighed and admitted something to you. “I-I don’t remember what mine sounded like either.”

Months had passed and the two of you had developed your own little routine. Bobby hated talking about his reasons for being there but you needed to talk about yours. He let you talk as much or as little as you wanted to and listened every single time without fail.

This time, though, he moved closer and the shaky exhale he let out was much like your own. “That’s okay though. You have me. And I promise I will talk so much that you’ll forget what everybody else sounds like.”

It had worked. You laughed through the tears streaming down your cheeks and for the first time in months you actually felt okay.

“Hey,” Kayla’s voice broke you out of your thoughts as you pulled into her driveway. She’d noticed you going through the motions and had tried her hardest to avoid saying anything until now. “It’ll be okay, I promise.”

“Will it?” Your voice was quiet, barely audible to her over the music playing through the radio. One glance in the rearview mirror revealed Carrie and Bobby having their own hushed conversation.

“Of course it will,” Kayla sounded positive and you were tempted to believe her. “You’ve gotten through harder things.”

She gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before getting out of the car, making you promise to text her later. You only nodded, her words ringing loud in your head.

“I heard you.”

“Heard me what?”

Even at just over seven years old you knew what was happening well enough. It was only a matter of time. For both of you.

“You sounded good.”

Bobby knew what you meant then. You watched the grin on his face fall and you quickly shook your head, sitting up a little taller in your usual place by the window.

“I’m serious,” You moved over a bit, a silent invitation for him to join you. “I didn’t know you could sing. And - and the guy said you could have one of those guitars he always brings with him.”

“I didn’t know either,” Bobby sat down in the spot beside you and stared at the empty space in front of him. “He said it's red. Said it’s waiting at -” You watched the smile grow on his face again. “At home.”

The two of you talked until the sun went down. Like you always did. It wasn’t until you were walking to the kitchen side by side that it really hit you. Bobby was leaving.

“I’ll come see you,” He promised after asking you what was wrong. Of course he noticed. He always did.

“No,” You shook your head and gave a sigh then. “My da -” The word caught in your throat but you powered through. “My dad's sister, my aunt, came to see me the other day when you were gone. She said nobody ever told her but she’s moving here now and next week I’m moving in with her.”

Bobby frowned, dropping the fork on his plate and leaning forward against the table. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t know how,” You shrugged easily. Too easily.

“You can always tell me anything.”

And though the chatter all around you was loud, all you could hear was him and the single thought swimming in your head.

You copied his movements and leaned forward just as he had. “Can I tell you a secret then?”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“I’m gonna miss you,” For a second you debated stopping there. But then his serious look turned into a gentle smile and you sighed before admitting, “You’re my best friend and I’m gonna miss you.”

Bobby nodded and finally picked up his fork, continuing with his dinner as you did the same. Just moments later when you were distracted enough he returned the gesture. “I’m gonna miss you too.”

“Move over.”

You jumped at the sound of Carrie’s voice in your ear and turned to look at where she was leaning forward on the center console. “What?”

“Move over, I’m driving.” She repeated, staring at you until you opened the drivers side door. While you walked around the front of the car, Carrie climbed across the center console until she was settled in the seat.

The moment you closed the passenger door she started driving. For a little while she said nothing, simply glancing back and forth between you and Bobby, both of you staring out opposite windows.

“I’m positive it’s gonna be okay, you know,” Carrie looked at you as she stopped at a red light, putting the music up to hide the conversation you were having.

“Kayla said the same thing,” You shook your head, cracking a smile for just a second before it faded. “How do you know?”

“Because you’re Y/N and Bobby,” Carrie said it so easily that you couldn’t help but look at her and believe her. “Things have always worked out in your favor.”

You stood on the sidewalk in front of a house that was apparently brand new. At least it was to you. Your Aunt Sofie talked loudly on a phone held to her ear as she lifted your few bags out of the trunk of her car.

She spoke big, angry words you didn’t understand the meaning of and constantly adjusted the tight ponytail her hair was in. But when she looked at you it was with a kind smile. One that made you believe you’d be okay there.

“Don’t worry about that,” She told you when you asked her about the phone call. “Just some work stuff. Now come on, let’s go get you settled.”

She had offered you her hand but before you could take another step somebody called your name. You looked at her and she looked at you and it took a moment to realize your name hadn’t come from either of you.

Your eyes narrowed in the direction of the voice and you really couldn’t believe your eyes.

“What are you doing here?” You and Bobby shouted at the same time, you confused and him excited. There were three people with him: the man from the other day, a woman frowning at her phone as she typed away angrily, and a girl around your age.

They all stopped on the sidewalk while he ran and practically tackled you onto the floor.

“I live that way,” He waved behind him down the street and you were sure the shock on your face was obvious.

You pointed at the house behind you just as he had, “I live here.”

The two of you laughed together and barely paid any attention as your Aunt Sofie walked over and introduced herself to Bobby’s family.

“Oh!” He left you for only a few seconds before coming back, dragging the girl along with him. “This is Carrie.”

“I can introduce myself,” She huffed at Bobby, who only smiled and rolled his eyes, before turning to you with a grin. “I’m Carrie.”

“Y/N.” You returned the smile and you were positive then. Everything had worked out okay. It was perfect and despite everything else, it would all be okay.

It would always be as long as Bobby was there beside you.

Bobby couldn’t get out of the car fast enough.

Carrie had only just shut it off before he was all but sprinting inside without so much as a look back. Your phone vibrated in your pocket again but you paid it no mind. You knew exactly who it was and you had no intention of answering him now. There were other problems to think of at the moment.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” You sighed, letting your head fall back against the seat as your thoughts finally went quiet.

“No tomorrow. You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving you alone right now,” Before you could ask her what she meant she got out of the car and ran for your side, opening your door and dragging you out.

“Care no, I can’t be here right now,” You insisted, not budging from where you stood.

“Of course you can,” Carrie held your hands in hers, forcing you to look at her. There was a serious look on her face as she stared at you. “This is home. We’re home and I’m not letting you leave.”

“I’m not letting you leave.”

“You can’t make me stay.”

“Maybe,” Your admission made Bobby turn around to look at you. The anger on his face was obvious but it didn’t stop you from moving towards him. It never did.

Carrie watched the interaction closely as you left her side, wondering briefly if you would be able to get through to him where she couldn’t.

“But I’m not gonna let you be alone right now, either of you. So if you leave, we leave.”

“Why do you care?” He didn’t mean the words but he couldn’t stop them. “You don’t have to care. Nobody does. No one ever has to care.”

Knowing why he felt that way didn’t make it easier to hear.

Their mom - Lori - had left when they least expected it. And their dad, as hard as he tried, was still unable to leave tour to come back to them. There they were, two thirteen year old's suddenly on their own one morning. It was enough to make them feel as terrible as they had years ago.

“This is your home, Bobby,” You motioned all around your own living room, the space the three of you had been staying in for the past few days.

Pictures of you, him, Carrie, and Kayla were scattered around in mismatched picture frames. A jar filled with spare guitar picks sat on the counter. Recordings of old home performances were collected on dvd’s under the tv.

But you weren’t talking about any of those things.

“We are your home,” You caught him when he practically collapsed into you upon hearing your words and how serious you were. His body shook and soft cries escaped him for the first time since the week before. “We’re your home and I’m not letting you leave.”

“I should’ve never answered those stupid messages,” Your head dropped and you shut your eyes tightly, trying your hardest to keep your composure. It wasn’t working. “It was a mistake.”

“It wasn’t,” Carrie thought of the moment they’d interrupted back at the venue. Of how intimate it seemed. Of how completely and utterly happy you looked. That was a look she’d never seen before. “Mistakes were made but messaging him wasn’t one of them.”

Carrie could tell you didn’t believe her and she didn’t blame you. It was hard right now and she could understand the doubt you felt. She knew those feelings well enough.

“Come on,” She locked her arm with yours and pulled you close as she led you inside the house. “You guys will be okay. It might take a while but you’ll get there.”

You weren’t sure who she was referring to but you didn’t ask.

The walk you made to her room was silent and familiar and comfortable. It wasn’t until you passed Bobby’s room that your thoughts started running wild again and the twisting nerves returned.

“Hey,” Carrie noticed you tense right away and she was quick to shut the door behind her. Your phone started vibrating again and this time she took it. You watched as she frowned at the screen, silenced the ringer, and stuffed it under a pillow. “I’m right here for you. Okay?”

“Yeah,” You nodded and took a deep breath, giving her the best smile you could manage at the moment. “Okay.”

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#a little different but important i think #luke patterson #julie and the phantoms #luke patterson x reader #julie and the phantoms fanfiction #jatp fanfic #julie and the phantoms fanfic #julie and the phantoms x reader #julie and the phantoms imagine #jatp fanfiction #jatp x reader #jatp imagine #luke patterson imagine #luke patterson fanfiction #luke patterson fanfic

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jgvfhl · 3 years

Text

The Number Lads

Part 1/???? 3K words, no warnings :)

So I’ve created an audience on Tumblr for the Number Lads, and I’ve happened to got 3K words here for them. So! Here are the origins of the Number Lads! More to follow.... eventually....

For future reference:

Sevenset = ARC-7777 = ARCBoiiiii

Do-si-do = CT-2222 = Double Trouble

Trees = CT-3333 = Green Bean

Loops = CT-8888 = Loopy

Sixes = CC-6666

Double Trouble: i meant it as a joke sevens

ARCBoiiiiii: i didn’t

ARCBoiiiii: what you think you can drop that information on me and i wont use it??? how long have you known me

Double Trouble: okay okay but if you die i’m not mourning you

Loopy: ouch

Green Bean: how do you have this much time to comm us when you’re at ARC training, sevenset

Green Bean: who changed my name

Double Trouble: :3c

ARCBoiiiii: what you don’t like it? thought it suited you, trees

Green Bean: why did i let you guys talk me into this club…

ARCBoiiiii: we’re awfully convincing that way

Double Trouble: you felt compelled

Double Trouble: it’s the numbers gang bond

Green Bean: it was not that

ARCBoiiiii: was it loops space buns

ARCBoiiiii: i bet it was loops space buns

Loopy: what

Double Trouble: they are adorable

Loopy: oh kriff you, don’t you have arc stuff to do, sevenset?

ARCBoiiiii: ehhhhh my next training block doesnt start for another 4min, so....

Double Trouble: well i gotta run, we’re going hyperspace in a min or so--remember the meeting next week!!! be there or be square!

ARCBoiiiii: we dont have any perfect squares yet ;-;

Green Bean: Yeah, yeah, i’ll see you weirdos eventually

Loopy: stay alive out there

Double Trouble: especially the guy who wants to recruit Commander Death over there

ARCBoiiiii: I’ll be fiiinnnne whats the worst that can happen

Green Bean: i mean. his name. is DEATH?

ARCBoiiiii: ..... a fair point.... i guess you’ll just have to wait until the next numbers gang meeting huh :)

Loopy: maker help you

----

Sevenset was uncharacteristically quiet that day during second meal, but only because his mouth was continually occupied with food, not talking. He was on the clock today.

“Hey, Sevenset, are you inhaling those rations, or…?”

He looked over at Buster next to him, quickly swallowing his food. “I just got something I wanna do,” he said, taking a glug of water.

“Something so important you’re taking one of the few unscheduled breaks we have to do it? Okay then.”

Sevenset cleaned the rest of his tray, flashing a grin at Buster as he stood up. “Don’t wanna be late. Got a meeting with death.” He really couldn’t resist the pun. Honestly.

Buster’s eyebrow raised skeptically. His friend next to him, Sketch, asked, “Is this about some new way you’ve managed to piss off the trainers? Because yeah, I’m sure Alpha could arrange a meeting with death for you if you… I dunno, painted pink hearts on his armor.”

“Amazing idea,” Sevenset admitted, his brain automatically figuring out where the pink paint was (he’d have to make it), where Alpha-17’s armor lived (not sure on that one), and how possible it would be to sneak in and out to accomplish the task (a challenge). “However, no, not this time. See you guys later!” He deposited his tray and utensils in the proper area to be cleaned, then jogged out of the mess hall.

Kamino’s winding halls and levels really weren’t efficient--but compared to Coruscant… he couldn’t really argue. A healthy stretch of time in the Guard had given him plenty of tools to make his way around inefficient, crowded, twisty places like this. It didn’t take long before he reached where he was going. Aside from the resident Rancor Battalion, there were often troopers on Kamino from various groups throughout the GAR. They stayed out of the way of those training in separate wings of Tipoca City, and right now, Sevenset was very keen to speak to a visiting commander.

He slipped into a lift with two other troopers--visiting, by the looks of their battered armor. Luckily, they were too engrossed in their own conversation to really notice him, despite his rather colorful tattoos that usually made him stick out. But it was for the best this time. He got off at the level above and started down the hall, reading door labels as he went, searching….

Ah. Here. He pushed a button to open the door, but it was locked. Not entirely surprising, but… now what? If his internal clock was still fairly accurate, he had about ten minutes before he needed to be back for the next training block.

“It’s locked for a reason.”

He whirled, his body almost automatically snapping to attention at the low voice behind him.

Commander Sixes (AKA Commander Death, remember) surveyed him with a disturbing lack of expression. He was tall, for a clone. Probably closer in height to some of the Alphas than to Sevenset. His black armor stuck out like green plants on Coruscant in the brightly lit halls of Tipoca City, making him somehow look even bigger. Even more unnerving, he still had his helmet on, the visor lit with a dull green light, and fixed pointedly on him. Sevenset hated not being able to read people...

Sevenset hadn’t planned for this. Come to think of it, a lot of the “plan” he’d concocted relied on a few assumptions, and all of them seemed to be fading. One of them had been that he would have no problem talking to a CO--he never had before. “Sir, hi--hello--I was uhm…” He managed to clamp down on the first coherent thought to float through his head, so instead of blurting, “You’re a lot taller than I thought you’d be,” he stumbled upon, “It’s a nice room you’ve got. From the outside,” and immediately wanted to bash his head in on the wall.

The commander’s helmet never moved, just kept staring him down. “Get out of my way,” he finally growled, taking a step forward.

Against all better judgement, Sevenset stood his ground, although he squished himself a bit closer against the door. “Yessir, of course, just--one thing, really quick thing, I promise.” When the commander didn’t kill him or rip his arms off or something, he went on, finally finding his words were cooperating with him. “So, you’re CC-6666, naturally. I happen to be CT-7777--Sevenset, I’m Sevenset. There’s a group of us, see, sir--with the repeating numbers, and we have little meetings--”

“No.”

“--is what I thought you’d say, but just--” he paused, fumbling a bit to pull a piece of flimsi out of his pocket. “There’s the frequency, there’s the date of the next meeting,” he said, holding out the flimsi scrap. “I’m sure the other boys would love it if you dropped by.” The end of his final sentence shriveled into an undignified squawk when Commander Sixes reached out, grabbed his collar, and shoved him bodily out of the way of the door.

“Get back to training before I have some of my boys drag you there,” he said, entering the door’s access code.

“I’ve got six minutes--”

The door slid shut in his face. Well. He was still alive. So… that counted as a success. Perhaps not a resounding success, but a success. He stood in stunned silence for a moment, still clutching the scrap of flimsi in his hand, wondering if he should stick it in the door so the commander would find it later. However, he had no trouble believing the commander’s threat that his men literally would drag him back to the ARCs if he told them to, so it was probably best not to linger.

Sevenset jumped to attention for the second time that day when the door slid open again. He just stood there, dumb, as Commander Sixes stepped out, plucked the scrap of flimsi from his fingers, then returned to his room with about as much ceremony as befitted dumping pebbles out of a boot.

Oh, yeah. Definitely a success.

---

The first thing Sixes did once back in the privacy of his albeit temporary rooms was remove the top half of his armor, only leaving the gauntlet with his wrist comm. Turning his attention to said wrist comm, he entered Colt’s number. There was a short wait before the other commander answered it.

“Everything alright over there, Sixes, sir?”

“It’s about one of the ARC candidates.”

There was a pause. Understandable. The ARCs weren’t supposed to be in this wing of Tipoca City. “Which one?” His tone suggested he already had his suspicions.

“Calls himself Sevenset.”

He heard inaudible muttering on the other end. “What’d he do this time?” Sixes had suspected as much.

“Quite a pair he’s got on him, hasn’t he?”

Colt laughed dryly. “Yeah, sure. Hopefully, he’s worth the trouble.”

Sixes looked over the scrap of flimsi in his other hand. “Yeah… I think he might be.”

~+~

Leaning back in his pilot’s chair, Do-si-do watched the little light on the ship’s holoprojector, waiting for the others to join the meeting. He always took the calls in his ship. It was more private than his bunk most of the time, and frankly, the audio quality was so much better than on the hand-held devices.

Trees was the first to join, punctual as usual.

“Hey, Trees,” he smiled.

“Have you heard from Sevenset yet?” he asked.

Do-si-do shook his head, combing strands of his bleached curls out of his face. “Nah. Figure he’s been too busy. Graduation was supposed to be a couple days ago, right?”

“Three, yes.”

Loops’ holographic miniature appeared beside Trees’. He looked exhausted, but awake. His long hair was down from his signature twin buns, and he leaned his chin on his hand, fingers resting just over the infinity symbol tattoo on his cheek.

“Loops,” Trees greeted him.

“Mph.”

“What happened to you?” Do-si-do asked.

“Supply shipment,” Loops sighed. “General Koon’s having skeleton crews tonight so we can get some sleep.” After a stifled yawn, he asked, “Is Sevenset dead yet?”

Do-si-do smiled. “Trees asked the same thing, and I have no idea.”

As if on cue, a third hologram popped up on the ship’s control panel. Sevenset beamed at them, his new ARC pauldrons proudly on display. “Guess who’s not dead, fellas!”

“Hey hey! Look at you, ARC-7777,” Do-si-do grinned, leaning forward in his seat. “How’s it feel?”

“I really love the kama, gotta be honest.” He was only visible from the waist up, but they could see him sway his hips back and forth, clearly enjoying his new gear.

“Show us the paint,” Loops demanded, as firmly has he could demand it in his half-asleep state.

Sevenset obliged, setting down his holoprojector--his personal one, now he had graduated--and stepping back so more of his body was visible. The paint job was fairly similar to his previous armor--the sharp edges, the circle on his right shoulder bell holding four stylized sevens--but the new armor on his chest and arms had forced some alterations. They could see just about all of the kama now, the bright red sevens standing out against the dark grey fabric. Predictable, maybe, but still eye-catching. That was Sevenset’s main goal, if it weren’t already clear from the tapestry of tattoos on his bald head that ran down his neck under his blacks, and the several glinting piercings in his ears and nose.

“It’s definitely you.” Trees, bluntly.

“They let you keep the red paint, huh?” Do-si-do said. Sevenset had previously been assigned to the Coruscant Guard. After proving a bit more trouble than the Guard could take, and catching some CO’s eye, he’d been shipped back to Kamino a couple months ago to join Rancor.

“Hey, if Commander Colt can have it, I guess I can too. No one stopped me.”

Without warning, a fourth hologram appeared beside the others in front of Do-si-do’s eyes. A trooper--a big trooper, even in miniature--and in dark armor, helmet included. His brows scrunched together as he studied the person, failing to recognize them.

Sevenset did. “Commander!”

“I see Colt decided against tossing you overboard.”

Oh, no karking way. “Commander Sixes?” Do-si-do blurted.

At the same time, Loops made some unintelligible noise and suddenly disconnected, and Trees froze like a lizard when a hawk flies overhead, his eyes gone wide, one arm half-way to a salute. Frankly, Do-si-do could understand their reactions. Commander Sixes--like many of the CCs--was legendary. His wing of Star Fighters had fought through some of the toughest space battles so far, and always came out of it. As a pilot himself, Do-si-do had heard story after story about their skills. The fighter wing and the commander now wore the nickname Death, thanks to their brutal but effective tactics.

There was a brief and painfully quiet pause before the commander said, “Pride of the GAR, this lot.”

“Eh, they’ll get over it,” Sevenset shrugged, his hologram appearing to zoom in as he came closer again. “Right, Trees?” he added with a grin. Their friend was still in shock, it looked like. “Might have to tell him to relax, sir.”

The commander’s helmet turned towards Trees. “At ease. Take a breath before you pass out.”

Trees blinked, lowering his arm. “Yessir,” he said quietly, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

“I’ll try to get Loops back,” Sevenset said, a datapad appearing in his hands. Damn, ARCs really did get all the good stuff. Do-si-do still had to share a datapad with his squad of pilots.

“Shouldn’t there be more?” Commander Sixes asked.

“Of us? Yeah,” Do-si-do answered. “I guess there should be nine of us, in theory.”

“Nine or ten,” Trees said, his tone still a bit clipped.

“Ten or eleven, actually,” Sevenset corrected, still looking at his datapad. “We don’t know if a CT designation can be all zeroes. Might have been taken out of the system, who knows.”

“It’s hard when we don’t have access to the full GAR database,” Do-si-do went on. “We have to rely on hearsay and brothers from other battalions. Sevenset and I met by chance on Coruscant.” Loops’ hologram reappeared. He looked a bit more awake now, still visibly on edge from the commander’s arrival, and with a glower on his face. “Loopy! Welcome back.”

“I hate you.”

“Whoa, hey, I didn’t know he was coming either,” he defended himself. “Blame Sevenset.”

“I’m blaming both of you,” Loops said. “You told Sevenset about him, and Sevenset was stupid enough to go through with it.”

Sevenset, his attention off his datapad and back on the meeting, put a hand over his heart. “Stupid enough?” he repeated, doing his best to sound utterly wounded. “I think you mean ballsy enough.”

“He meant stupid enough,” the commander replied immediately and without emotion. “And I agree.”

Do-si-do snorted a laugh at the look of utter indignation on Sevenset’s face. Even Trees relaxed a bit more. “Okay, I can get used to having a CC around,” he grinned.

“Finally, someone with the authority to tell him off,” Loops said, expressing Do-si-do’s feelings exactly.

The recipient of their mocking pouted at them, folding his arms as best he could with his new armor. “Now I just feel unloved.”

“Why do I get the feeling Commander Fox was only too happy to get you qualified for ARC training?” the commander asked, his tone remaining impassive.

“For your information,” Sevenset said, then stopped, realizing, as they all had, that the commander had known where Sevenset had previously served. No one had told him this information. “How did you know I was in the Guard?”

They all turned to the commander. “I’m a commander. I can look anyone up. I looked you all up.”

Do-si-do leaned even farther forward in his seat, a huge smile on his face. “You have access to the full database?”

“You can find the others!” Sevenset completed, a similar smile on his face as well.

There was a pause. Do-si-do was starting to think Commander Sixes just liked the drama they created. In fact, judging by how he had yet to show his face and was wearing all black armor, it seemed Commander Death was fond of the dramatic in a few ways. “In theory, sure.”

“Yes! Oh, fantastic,” Sevenset went on, rubbing his hands together. “You can tell us where they’re stationed--”

“If they’re still alive,” Trees added in. He had a point.

“--and then we can find them!”

The commander’s helmet tilted, his expression hidden. “I’m guessing Fox declined membership,” he said.

Do-si-do snorted a gain, and Trees and Loops both smiled. They all remembered Sevenset’s story of trying to recruit Commander Fox to be number ten for their little group.

“If by ‘declined membership’ you mean, ‘shipped me out to Kamino for someone else to deal with,’ then yes,” Sevenset answered. “He declined.”

“Maybe you can ask him,” Loops said.

“Hey, yeah--”

“No.” The commander’s tone didn’t leave much room for argument, but that had never stopped Sevenset a day in his life, and Do-si-do was more than content to sit back and enjoy the show.

“But you’re his big brother, right? You can drag him into things--”

“I’m not a damn recruiter, ARC, now stand down.”

The effect was instantaneous. They all recognized a CO’s “talk back and you’ll be cleaning ‘freshers for the next month” voice. Combined with Commander Sixes’ already awe-inspiring reputation, his order shut them all up. Trees once again straightened to attention, and this time they all joined him, even Sevenset.

“Understood, sir,” he replied. Do-si-do could see the new training in him now. Sevenset wouldn’t be an ARC if he didn’t know when to drop the comic act, but the speed and discipline with which he’d done so just now was different.

The commander waited a second or two, then he nodded once. “At ease.”

They relaxed, mostly. It was hard to ignore the mood shift that had taken place. As cool as it was having a commander in the club… there were some obvious issues that needed addressing if this was going to remain a “just for fun” place.

Do-si-do found himself as the one breaking the uneasy silence. “But… you can help us find where the others are stationed, right, sir?”

The commander’s helmet dipped. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Can you do that… now?” Sevenset ventured.

The commander’s helmet tilted to one side, and it looked like he sighed. “Fine.” The others perked up. “But, I can only find their assignments, not their current locations.”

“We can work with that,” Do-si-do agreed, and the others nodded along. “Who’s writing this down?”

“I can!” Sevenset volunteered.

Trees reminded him, “Your handwriting is entirely illegible. Even to you.”

“Yes, but now I have a datapad. I can type all my notes.”

“I’m just going to start talking if you boys don’t figure it out,” the commander warned.

“Okay, okay, fine, Trees can copy it.”

Trees’ organization skills would always beat out Sevenset’s anyway. Maybe ARC training had fixed that, though. Trees shifted around, grabbing what he needed, then looked up and nodded when he was ready.

The commander’s helmet tipped down to look at something--presumably a datapad--as he spoke. “CT-4444 is with the Marines under Bacara. Probably has limited contact availability depending on the mission. Infrequent leave.” Do-si-do’s eyebrows raised, and he glanced at Sevenset and Loops. They hadn’t been expecting a tactical rundown of each person. But… they wouldn’t complain. “CT-27-5555 is the only ‘fives’ trooper in the GAR. He’s one of Rex’s freaks, so good luck getting your hands on him.”

“That’s the five-oh-first, right?” Loops asked. “Torrent, or something?”

“Yeah. Rex’s freaks. I’m sure he’ll fit right in.” Do-si-do smirked. He probably would. “And CT-9999 is with Ghost Company in the two-twelfth. Pretty decent chance he and number five have run missions together. Or will in the future, anyway.”

“Is there a CT-0000?” Loops wanted to know.

“What about eleven-eleven?” Sevenset added.

The commander glanced up at them, then back to his materials. “Yeah, the one-eighteenth has a CT-0000. Didn’t find an eleven-eleven, though.”

Do-si-do frowned. “Not even a casualty report?”

“No.”

“But… he could still be on Kamino, right?” Trees said. “Cadets don’t show up in the main database until they graduate and deploy.”

The commander nodded. “He could be a cadet.”

“I could look,” Sevenset offered. “I mean. I live here now, so I should be able to find out if a CT-1111 exists. It’ll just take a bit longer.”

“Yeah, we’ll figure it out,” Do-si-do nodded. “In the meantime,” he continued, leaning forward, “who’re we going after first?”

Ta-daaa!! @blsmjoon @nintendolover13-ts4 (I couldn’t tag your side blog sorry) @alamogirl80 (idk why I can’t tag you either ;-;) @23-bears @theultimatesandwich

#my writing #my fanfic #clone ocs #number lads #numbers gang #tcw fanfic #sixes my beloved #I love how min started that tag #and like #three other people have started using it #sixes bein all mysterious oooo #not taking off his helmet ooooo #I finished this #then realized #I've put sevenset and fives #right in the battle of kamino #WHOOPS #lol

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gravelyhumerus · 3 years

Text

Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter Thirteen

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Title: “I may just take your breath away” Relationship: Jemily

Rating: Explicit Summary: Foxes, lattes, churches and resolutions.

Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months.

Read it on AO3

Tumblr: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Epilogue

The first thing she noticed was the snow. It was falling down on her, hitting her skin with pinpricks of ice cold. She wandered through the bookshelves, searching for something. She wasn’t sure what for.

It didn’t normally snow inside the library, but that didn’t seem to matter to her.

The snow crunched beneath her feet as she turned down another row of books, past the history section and stepping over a stack of books on the floor that was left there by some other student. To her left was a row of empty desks. It was just Emily and the books.

But, Emily didn’t feel peaceful. Something inside of her told her that she couldn’t wait around, she needed to do something, find something.

Emily trudged through the snow. Was she searching for a spot to sit and study? Was she searching for a book? When she found it, she would know.

She turned down a corridor, looking up and down the tall bookcases, her eyes skimming along the spines. They were old leather bound tomes, in rich oranges, blues and reds. They looked as if they hadn’t been read in decades. She searched for something she recognized, but nothing made sense to her as she couldn’t make out the titles or authors.

Out of frustration, she turned away to stomp back down the row, but something stopped her in her tracks.

Emily blinked at the image in front of her. It was a fox standing in the middle of the fiction section, looking at her expectantly. It was as if he had climbed out of one of the books and materialized before her eyes.

“Bonjour,” Emily said, kneeling down before the animal.

“Bonjour,” said the fox.

Emily looked around, confused at the appearance of the animal. What was a fox doing in a library? When she looked back, he was gone.

She looked around.

“Je suis là,” came the voice, from between two books, announcing his presence on the adjacent shelf.

“Qui es-tu?” Emily asked, wondering who he was—or what he was—and what on earth he was doing here in her college’s library.

“Je suis un renard,” said the fox. He was a fox. No shit.

She blinked at him, trying to figure out what she was remembering. The fox was familiar. She had seen him before… or read about him before.

It was just like out of Le Petit Prince—the book that JJ had given her for her birthday. The book was a classic children’s novel, one that Emily had read many times. It was as if the character had simply stepped out of the book.

The book was about a little boy who lived on an asteroid and was in love with a rose. He went on an adventure through space before landing on Earth. There, he befriended a fox. Emily could picture the simple watercolour illustration of the small boy prince speaking to the fox. She could almost feel the pages of the book between her fingers. She smiled as she thought of JJ’s excited face as Emily unwrapped the present a few weeks back.

This fox, like in the book, was speaking to her. She racked her brain for what she was supposed to say.

“What am I doing here?” Emily asked, this time in English.

“Je ne puis pas jouer avec toi,” said the fox, which was not the answer to her question, since he had told her that he couldn’t play with her. “Je ne suis pas apprivoisé."

I am not tamed, he said. He has not yet been tamed. Emily remembered now what she must say.

“What does tamed mean?” she asked, in French.

The fox jumped down from the bookshelf and walked through the library, his small paws leaving prints in the white snow. He was bright red against the ground and easy to follow through the familiar stacks. Emily noticed that she wasn’t cold, despite the weather, even as her breath came out in puffs that lingered in the air.

“It’s something that’s been too often neglected. It means ‘to create ties’... but you know this.”

Emily remembered this part, he was right. In the book, the boy doesn’t know what taming means, how to create ties with the wild animal. He does not yet know the meaning of friendship.

The novel was filled with layers of metaphor. It spoke to childhood, love, loss and the power of the imagination. Emily’s copy sat next to her bed, and she had been looking through it before she fell asleep that night.

The fox crept through the seemingly endless bookshelves, his tail swishing back and forth as he walked. Emily tried to keep up, but he seemed to weave through the library with a practised ease.

The fox stopped. He hopped onto a desk and curled his tail in front of him. He cocked his head and looked at her expectantly.

“Your person has run from you, correct?”

Emily stared at him. This part was not in the book. She nodded after a moment.

“I ran from my boy at first, too.”

She remembered this part: in the novel, the young boy wanted to befriend the fox. But he was impatient. The fox explained that it would take time, that the boy would have to return over multiple days to build his trust. The boy would begin sitting far from the fox, not even making eye contact. Over time, he could move closer and closer until they finally could play together. Their friendship could only be forged over time.

“Were you scared?” Emily asked.

“At first,” he replied. “But he was patient. And persistent.”

The fox swished his tail, then continued: “At times, my heart was not yet ready to greet him.”

“How did the little prince finally tame you?”

He did not answer the question, as she already knew the answer, instead he said: “Words are the source of misunderstandings.”

“Was it all worth it? Even though he left you in the end?” Emily asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, then looked off into the distance, almost wistfully.

“Here is my secret,” he said. “It’s a very simple secret: it is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."

“On ne voit qu'avec le cœur," Emily repeated. She knew this line by heart. It was better in French.

The fox disappeared into the books and Emily was left alone in the empty library. His words filled her mind.

Words are the source of misunderstandings. It is only with the heart that one can see rightly.

Emily woke up to the sound of her alarm blaring in her ear. She was curled up on her bed, on her side. Her blankets had fallen onto the floor, and she was close to shivering in the chill air. She slammed her hand onto her phone and fumbled until she turned off her alarm.

It was a dream. A vivid dream. She didn’t normally get those.

She stretched, her neck sore after sleeping at a weird angle. She shook her head, trying to get rid of the convoluted dream that was still clear in her mind. Somehow, even after all she had done to distract herself, JJ still was a key figure in her unconscious brain.

Emily needed to move on from that, focus on school. She couldn’t dwell on what she couldn’t control. She was an expert at pretending everything was okay; she had held herself together through worse.

She stared out the window. Instead of the white snow that had been so crisp and bright in her dream, outside was grey and dreary. She couldn’t see any hint of precipitation, frozen or otherwise, just dead grass and wet asphalt. The trees were bare as the leaves had fallen and been raked up last month, and there was salt on the roads in anticipation of the freezing temperatures.

Emily methodically dressed, donning a pair of jeans and a dark green button up shirt, pulling a sweater on top to combat the chill. She then played some music on her laptop. She focused on the lyrics, allowing her mind to go blank.

She sat in front of the mirror on her desk, carefully applying her makeup. There was something about a swoop of liquid eyeliner that made everything feel okay. At least, more okay than they used to be. If she looked put together, maybe she would feel like it, too.

Emily rarely remembered her dreams and she really wasn’t used to having to think too hard about her subconscious. All that was very Freudian, anyways. She wrote the dream off as her sleep-deprived brain mixed with reading before bed.

She donned her warmest leather jacket, the one with sherpa lining on the collar and tugged a mustard yellow beanie onto her head. Then, she lifted her tote bag onto her shoulders, and put her headphones into her ears, turning the volume up high, hoping that she could drown it all out.

During her lecture, Emily didn’t retain a single word her professor said. She mindlessly typed her notes, completely zoned out the entire time. She wondered if the words on her screen made any sense, but decided that it must be an issue for a future version of herself. This was probably a bad idea, as it was just about finals season and her exams were fast approaching.

Her mind was elsewhere: thinking about the blonde who lived across the hall. At times, Emily thought about their kiss, or imagined holding her hand, or holding her body. Then, as her daydreaming gave way to reality, she remembered the anxiety as JJ ignored her texts. She remembered JJ ending it one day, then coming back from a hookup mere days later.

Every day that week, as Emily walked down the hall, a part of her wanted to knock on JJ’s door, like she used to, just to say hi. Beyond everything else, Emily missed JJ. She missed laughing over dinner, studying French, or even lounging in one of their dorm rooms, doing nothing and talking for hours. She missed the way she smelled and her soft touch and her big blue eyes. She missed JJ’s kindness, how she would remember little details about Emily, and how she would knock her shoulder against Emily’s to get her attention. Emily missed her friend.

But the hurt was still there, and it overpowered her longing. The hallway reminded her of JJ’s words, her breaking it off, the tears in her eyes.

Emily hadn’t seen her since, with JJ doing an amazing job at avoiding her.

As soon as her class was over, she walked off of campus, heading straight to her favourite cafe downtown. It was usually busy this time of day, but she hoped the crowd would keep her from wallowing and make her focus on her work. Campus was inextricably tied to JJ. The field reminded her of JJ’s soccer games, the library of their study dates, the cafeteria of their group dinners and even the quad made her think of the time she almost ran JJ over with her skateboard when she was distracted.

Emily sat at the long sandy wood table and sipped her latte as she opened her laptop.

Members of the Prentiss family were extremely talented at pretending things were normal, that everything was fine, and Emily was no exception. She had tucked all the hurt, all the confusion, into a neat little box in the back of her mind. Storing it away until she could deal with it.

She typed away at one of her essays, only taking pauses to sip her coffee. She was busy finding sources and working on integrating quotes to develop her argument. She enjoyed the sound of her keyboard clacking, adding to the din of the cafe.

Her phone was tucked neatly away in her pocket. While there was a noticeable silence in their group chat—the one with both Emily and JJ in it—Emily’s phone seemed to be constantly pinging with messages. Derek was checking in on her, Penelope seemed to be trying to distract her, even Hotch had sent her a message to make sure she was ok. If Reid had a cellphone, she knew he’d be doing the same. Sometimes she got messages from Penelope’s number that was signed by the younger boy. Somehow, the whole world seemed to have known exactly what had happened between her and JJ.

The sun was setting faster and faster these days, and by five, it was creeping below the horizon. At this point, she had most of her essay drafted, so it felt like a good enough time to call it quits. Anyways, her back was starting to get sore from the minimalist chair and all she really wanted to do was curl up in her bed again.

Emily packed up her bag, depositing her empty mug on the counter, nodding at the barista before leaving.

She took the long way home, walking along the river and listening to her music, trying to clear her mind. She pulled her hood up against the cool air.

She walked for five minutes before slowing as she came upon a church that she had passed before. Instead of continuing along her way back to her dorm, something made her pause.

Lights lit up the facade: a red brick building that stretched up into the sky with a pointed bell tower in the centre. Columns graced the front, standing strong on either side of the large, wooden doorway.

Emily stared at it. It was simultaneously familiar and foriegn. Emily had spent almost every Sunday in church, be it Sunday school or mass with her mother. No matter where they were in the world, there was always at least one church in the city that they could attend.

In Rome, their visits had only gotten more frequent, as after school, she and Matthew would wander the Renaissance churches around the city, admiring the architecture and discussing theology and morality and free will.

Something came over her in that moment, and she found herself wandering up the steps, trying the door to see if it was unlocked. The door swung open easily, and for a moment Emily thought about walking in. She thought about kneeling before the cross and going through the familiar motions of prayer.

She thought about asking God about JJ, about what was going on, praying for guidance on what to do. She could picture the way the light would dance through the stained glass window, she could feel wooden pew under her knees, she could almost mouth the words of her prayer.

She thought of St. Georgia, her confirmation saint. She thought of her life of solitude, and how that almost sounded nice. Young Emily had thought the same thing.

She thought about the mass that she sat in her pew, with tears in her eyes, as the priest talked about how being gay was a sin. She thought about how her mother repeated those words when she came out at sixteen.

She let the door close without entering, before walking away, longing for the feeling of the wind on her face instead of the dusty smell of incense.

It had been years since she had set foot in church. The last time had been in Rome, the day she walked in with Matthew, before… well there was no before. It just was. Her pregnancy had triggered something in both of them, questions about the church that could not be prayed away.

Emily clenched her fists, her short nails digging into her palms. She remembered the way Matthew had held her hand at the doctor’s, and held her as she fought back tears, and walked arm in arm into the church in defiance of the priest.

After, their questions hadn’t subsided. Matthew read and read and read and the more he learned, the more the church transformed the place of safety and solace to something neither teen could stand behind.

Still, she missed her childhood certainty. She missed the feeling of a power greater than herself watching over her. She missed the singing—though she would never admit it—she had really enjoyed being in the choir. She missed how her mother would sit next to her, how it was often the longest time she got to spend with her busy mom.

Emily shook her head, fighting back the memories, and turned up her music and continued her walk home. She dug around in her backpack for a lighter and her pack of cigarettes. Fumbling for a moment, she lit one and breathed in the dark smoke.

The wind was biting and her leather jacket did little to keep the cold from creeping into her bones. As the sun was setting, Emily began to shiver.

After dragging her walk out as long as she could, she finally went back to her dorm. Her hands were iced cold and she was shivering. She dropped her backpack on the floor before collapsing onto her bed. She checked her phone to find a missed call from Derek.

She called him back, knowing that he was likely to pick up from only down the hall.

“Hey,” she said. She felt suddenly tired, and wondered whether he would pick up on that.

“Hey Prentiss,” Derek said. “How’s it going?”

“I’m fine,” Emily lied.

“No you’re not,” his voice came through the phone, and from the hallway, and he knocked once before opening her door.

Emily sat up, looking over to him in surprise. As if he owned the place, Derek walked over and sat down on her desk chair, letting it spin with the motion of his body.

“We’re ordering take out,” Derek said, “You can’t survive on coffee.”

“I can try,” Emily muttered.

“Pizza?” Derek proposed.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Bullshit,” he said. “You’ve been avoiding the cafeteria.”

Emily crossed her arms. Derek was good at making her feel better, pushing her to take care of herself without forcing her to talk about her feelings. He was a private person, and so he never went too far, knowing that there were lines that neither of them crossed.

“Thai?” he said with a sly look in his eye, he knew she couldn’t refuse.

“Ok fine,” she gave up, “You know what I like.”

“That I do,” he said, dialling his phone and calling the local family-run Thai restaurant for delivery.

Forty minutes later the two of them were eating curry and watching The X-Files on Emily’s laptop. They were sprawled out on the floor, both scooping rice into their mouths as they discussed the plot of the episode—aliens—and whether or not they actually believed in them.

Emily didn’t realize how hungry she had been and struggled to remember the last full meal she had eaten.

After she had finished, she felt slightly more human, slightly less out of it. Still sad, but being sad on a full stomach, sitting next to her best friend and watching her favourite tv show was a bit more bearable.

“I just don't get it,” Emily blurted, surprising herself as the words fell out of her mouth.

“Yeah,” Derek replied, “What’s the point of probing? Don’t they have good enough technology that they could just scan someone and know what’s up?”

“I mean, yeah,” Emily said with a laugh, “But I was talking about JJ.”

She paused.

“Did I push too hard?” Emily mused, “Was it my fault?”

Emily didn’t plan to vent to Derek. She hadn’t really told him the details yet, as she was still embarrassed after Thanksgiving weekend. Telling Derek’s entire family about how she had a girlfriend and then immediately getting dumped was not great for the ego.

She learned early that it was safer keeping things to herself.

Emily had done just about anything to fit in when she was younger. She was desperate to be normal. To be someone that wasn’t the weird queer girl that moved around a lot. She learned languages, learned cultures. She learned how to wear the right clothes, say the right thing. She tried so, so hard to be normal, and yet she never seemed to do it right.

In her senior year, Emily finally gave up. She dyed her hair, did her make up in a way she knew enraged her mother, and dressed the exact opposite of what the other kids did.

Since then, Emily was trying to focus on being herself. Derek was her first friend to really accept her for her, and over the past year and a half, she felt herself beginning to relax around him. In her second year at college, she was no longer the new kid.

She had started to feel comfortable with him, and all of their new friends, so she was kicking herself for letting things with JJ blow up in her face. She should have known this was all too good to be true.

“Em,” Derek said, “You can’t blame yourself. There’s definitely more going on with her that we don’t know.”

“Did Pen say something?” Emily said hopefully.

“I don’t know,” Derek said, rubbing the back of his neck, “She hasn’t said anything outright, ‘cause, y’know it’s all so complicated. We’re friends with both of you. But she made it seem like it wasn’t just you.”

Emily gulped at the guilt she felt when she thought of how all of this with JJ must be hurting her friends. They had all gotten so close this semester, and she hated the thought of ruining it for everyone.

“It’s not you, it’s me,” Emily said with a sardonic laugh.

“Essentially,” he said.

“Look Prentiss,” Derek said, “I think this is just a hiccup. You’ll figure it out. You two just need to talk and stop running from each other.”

“How do I get her to stop running from me?” Emily asked, her dream vivid in her mind once again.

“Wait it out,” he said, “She’ll come back to you eventually. For now, eat some mango.”

He offered her the dessert, some mango and sticky rice that they had gotten to share. Emily took some with a grin.

She could wait. JJ was worth waiting for.

———

Emily was almost ready for bed when she heard a knock at her door. Derek had stayed for most of the evening, watching tv and talking for hours to keep her mind off of things. He had wandered out around nine, as he had an early practise the next morning.

She was just about to get undressed after brushing her teeth and washing her face. She stood in the centre of her room with her fly half undone as she heard the sound. She zipped her pants back up and walked to her door, unlocking it, expecting to see Derek returning for something that he had forgotten. Instead, she was face to face with Jennifer Jareau.

“Hi,” JJ said. “Can we talk?”

In JJ’s hands was a large tin filled with homemade chocolate chip cookies. They were piled high in the tin, perfectly baked with picturesque chocolate chips still warm from the oven. On JJ’s face was a nervous expression as she held out the gift for Emily to take.

Emily stood and stared at JJ, wondering if she was real or if she had finally snapped and was hallucinating.

A moment passed. JJ smiled nervously at her, big blue eyes boring into Emily’s own.

Emily took the cookies.

#criminal minds #cm #criminal minds tv #jemily #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #jemily cm #jj x emily #emily prentiss x jennifer jareau #fanfiction #fanfic #jemily fanfiction #gravelyhumerus cm college au #my post #my writing #sweater weather au #sorry for the delay!!!!#life got in the way

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newmusickarl · 3 years

Video

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Album & EP Recommendations

My word, the music world has well and truly spoiled us this week!

The past seven days has seen a colossal avalanche of new releases, so much so I’ve barely had chance to keep up with it all. Although this is not the full list of everything from the past seven days, here are the 16 (yes, 16!) new releases I’ve enjoyed the most this week.

As there is so much to get through the rundowns are (mostly) a bit shorter than normal and there is no single Album of the Week, instead I simply recommend checking out whichever album or track sounds most appealing depending on your preferred taste.

So without further ado then, here’s what’s good:

Californian Soil by London Grammar

It’s been four years since the release of London Grammar’s last record Truth Is A Beautiful Thing - an album that I enjoyed, but I’ll admit also left me feeling somewhat underwhelmed coming off the back of their incredible breakout debut, If You Wait. As it turns out, the band themselves were also having a tough time around that period, with front woman Hannah Reid in particular battling relentless industry sexism, as well as the persistent physical pain caused by her fibromyalgia condition. With this being the case, it is amazing that the young indie-pop trio have made it to their third album at all, let alone delivering what is their best work to date.

Opening on a grand, string-drenched Intro, the record soon morphs into the sun-soaked guitars and soaring orchestration of the album’s glorious title track. It marks an early highlight as Reid catches the audience up with the tribulations of the last few years – “I left my soul on Californian soil.” From there the album doesn’t really let up as the band move through a series of career-defining tracks – the gorgeous contemporary groove of Missing, the dance-influenced How Does It Feel, the chilled-out ambience of the dreamy Baby, It’s You and the sublime, stripped-back closer America.

However, the album’s strongest moment comes when Reid confronts music industry sexism head on with defiant anthem Lord It’s A Feeling. Beginning with some twinkly xylophone, before evolving into an atmospheric synth-laced backdrop where Reid pulls no punches:

“I saw the way you made her feel, like she should be somebody else,

I know you think the stars align for you and not for her as well,

I undеrstand, I can admit that I have felt those things mysеlf”

The cutting lyrics against some blinding quiet rave instrumentation leaves quite the impression, as does this sterling record in general. After a slight misstep, London Grammar have well and truly rediscovered themselves and they have honestly never sounded better – a truly incredible album.

If You Could Have It All Again by Low Island

Oxford electo-pop outfit Low Island are another band that have defied expectations to get to this point. This, their debut album, was not recorded in a professional music studio – in fact, the vocals were recorded in a bedroom cupboard of all places. The band themselves don’t even have a manager or a record label. In every sense of the word, they are a truly independent band. For a self-financed, self-produced effort, If You Could Have It All Again is a quite remarkable first outing.

From melodic, uplifting opener Hey Man, the record quickly jumps into spoken word electro punk banger What Do You Stand For, featuring acid-drenched synths and a dancefloor-ready groove. Fans of FIFA 21 will recall Don’t Let the Light In, with the glitchy pulse of recent single Who’s Having the Greatest Time also standing out. That said, it’s the smooth, infectious sway of I Do It For You that still pulls me in the most.

Having followed the band since their early EPs, I’ve been rooting for Low Island for a while now and this is one debut album I was highly anticipating this year. Safe to say, my expectations have been met – this is a fantastic, accomplished record, which leaves me eager to see where they go next.

The Greatest Mistake Of My Life by Holding Absence

There was a time when the difficult second album used to be a thing, but listening to the sophomore effort from Welsh rock band Holding Absence this week, I’m really not sure that exists anymore. After a dramatic and impressive self-titled debut two years ago, the band have wasted little time taking things up a notch, with this new album cinematic and masterfully produced from beginning to end.

From standout singalong anthems like Afterlife and In Circles, to the album’s epic seven-minute penultimate track Mourning Song, The Greatest Mistake of My Life shows a band pushing themselves and driving forward with ambition at every opportunity. In a year packed with outstanding rock and metal albums already, this is most definitely another one you can add onto that list. Soaring, impressive and demanding of repeat listens.

We Forgot We Were Dreaming by Saint Raymond

It’s been six long years since Nottingham-born singer-songwriter Callum Burrows, AKA Saint Raymond, released his debut album. However it seems the time away has been well spent as this long-awaited follow-up finds Burrows in fine form, with this album packed to the brim with catchy, glossily produced indie-pop anthems.

From the brilliant title track that opens the record, to the bouncy riffs of Right Way Round, Talk and Solid Gold, to more subdued and heartfelt moments like Only You, this album will have you smiling, singing your heart out and dancing your troubles away.

Flu Game by AJ Tracey

AJ Tracey may have only been three years old when Michael Jordan was winning NBA championships with the Chicago Bulls, but that hasn’t stopped him making a record influenced by the legendary icon and his famous 1997 Flu Game. Like many others including myself, grime superstar AJ Tracey spent lockdown watching the brilliant The Last Dance documentary, and this record weirdly works as a fantastic unofficial companion, but also just a great summer rap record.

McCartney III Imagined by Paul McCartney

Even if like me you completely missed Sir Paul McCartney’s 2020 album McCartney III, it’s well worth checking out this reimagining, where he has called on the help of some of his famous musician pals. This is a real who’s who line up of guest features including Beck, Khurangbin, St. Vincent, Blood Orange, Phoebe Bridgers, Damon Albarn, Josh Homme, Anderson .Paak and more, making for quite a fascinating mix of sounds and styles.

Moratorium (Broadcasts from The Interruption) by Enter Shikari

And finally on the albums front this week, genre-benders Enter Shikari have released a brilliant compilation of all their lockdown live performances, headlined by an incredible string-tinged acoustic version of The Dreamer’s Hotel and a beautifully stripped-back “At Home” rendition of Live Outside.

Tracks of the Week

Introvert by Little Simz

Wow, wow and wow again. Still fairly fresh off the back of her masterful, Mercury Prize nominated third album Grey Area, this week British rapper Little Simz released the first taste of her next record in the form of this epic and triumphant opening track. At six minutes in length, this majestic and operatic political anthem aims to grab the listener by the collar and shake them awake. Without a doubt, one of the best songs of the year so far, the powerful video for which you can view above.

Smile by Wolf Alice

The second taste of their forthcoming album Blue Weekend, Smile continues Wolf Alice’s pattern for alternating Loud/Soft releases, with this one featuring buzzy guitars, punky vocals and a hypnotic chorus melody.

Beautiful Beaches by James

Although written off the back of the California wildfires that impacted front man Tim Booth’s local community, the lyrics on the band’s latest anthem purposefully offer a dual meaning, giving hope to those dreaming of a post-lockdown getaway and fresh start.

He Said She Said by CHVRCHES

The Scottish trio made their much-anticipated return this week, with Lauren Mayberry also sharing her experiences of sexism on this arena-ready synth-pop banger.

Matty Healy by Georgia Twinn

Georgia Twinn delivers an infectiously catchy break-up anthem, inspired by an ex-boyfriend, who’s most interesting feature was supposedly looking like the 1975 frontman.

Kill It by Vukovi

Underground Scottish rock outfit Vukovi’s new single is so good, they even managed to get KILL IT trending over the weekend of its release. Masterfully produced with big bold riffs and trancey synths, this one just sounds huge.

Can’t Carry On by Gruff Rhys

The latest solo single from the former Super Furry Animals frontman is a stunning, super-melodic tune with an instant chorus you’ll be singing before the track has even finished its first play.

Ceremony by Deftones

One of the highlights off their last album Ohms, the nu-metal rockers have now delivered a cinematic new video directed by horror legend Leigh Whannell. Check it out!

Chasing Birds by Foo Fighters

And finally this week, Dave Grohl and company released a trippy new animated video for this Medicine At Midnight cut to help celebrate 420 in their own unique way. Again, well worth a watch!

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archetypal-archivist · 3 years

Text

My Beloved, Penis

Fuck it. I was infected by Penis SMP by @demonboyhalo reblogging a bunch of it and the lack of consistent lore bugged me, so I somehow banged out 2000+ words of fanfic about the Penis SMP and how it got started. Lots of internet humor and classic MInecraft shenanigans in this one folks. *slaps roof* This baby can fit so much crack treated seriously, lol. This is also up on my AO3, Zazibine, if you would prefer to read it there.

_-_-_-_

It was never supposed to get so big. It was just an SMP with a couple friends of his he had met from the Hypixel discord server, where he had logged on simply to trash talk the absolute asshole who had dared to kill him last minute in bedwars, only to stumble upon said asshole- going under the name shittyfartbaby69 of all things- complaining to his girlfriend(?) Milfboss in the voice chat. Thirty minutes later of awkward hellos and the manliest of bitching at each other (with Milf chiming in every once in a while to roast them both), and PenisUnavailable had perhaps his first Minecraft friend in, like, forever.

Then Admiral_Anus had entered chat, bitching about his competitor in ABBA Mining and his bullshit bad luck and the whole process repeated. By the end of the day, Penis had three new friends, a private discord server for the four of them, and a promise to meet up with them in Hypixel next Sunday for the ultimate round of bedwars.

The game went spectacularly. Somehow, Admiral had some of the best bridging skills any of them had ever seen, and between Milfboss' terrifying Scottish screaming and pvp and Shitty with his clutch TNT skills, the three of them almost made up for Penis' awful depth perception. They still lost around forty percent of their games, but that was certainly better than Penis' own abysmal record, not helped with his habit of walking off the edge at inconvenient times.

And it was... fun. Usually bedwars was just him playing in his bedroom alone for an hour before he rage-quit and went back to survival for a bit before he died to fall damage and rage quit that too. But shittyfartbaby69 would crack dirty jokes that he'd never even heard of before, and Milfboss would roast him for looking it up on reddit and Shitty would cuss her out as he tried to prove that no, he was being original- all while Admiral would comment of them as if they were a sideshow display. Then Admiral_Anus would turn around and knock an enemy player off their island with some clever pvp and they would all hoot and holler and swear for a while before going back to their conversation, joking about forgetting the topic and starting up a running gag about something new.

And their accents, mmm. PenisUnavailable would never say it, but he really was as American as white Wonder bread and Milfboss' Scottish brogue, Admiral's smooth British snark, and Shitty's shrieking in Australian, well. Ear candy, you know? Even if he teased them mercilessly for pronouncing shit wrong, like "buhguhr". Ppffttt, it still cracked him up how Milfboss had threatened to murder him after the dictionary app on his phone had proved him right that it was actually "Bur-gur", even if Admiral kept insisting it was pronounced "bruh-girl".

Four hours and twenty-eight wins later, they had agreed to meet up the next day to play again, preferably at an hour that wasn't two am for Shitty again. (It was two am for Shitty again, although that was because they played for six that time.) Eventually, it just became a regular thing, them playing bedwars and competing at ABBA Caving- the one game Penis was unnaturally good at, much to Admiral's annoyance- to the point where they ran out of funny jokes about their competitors and the game itself and started talking personal anecdotes.

Milfboss owned a motorcycle. Admiral, entirely independently, also owned a motorcycle, as that was the only vehicle of reasonable speed and style that could actually handle the London traffic. Shitty couldn't drive at all, something about never passing his driving test. Admiral ate cheese at breakfast. Shitty liked to burn his garbage in a metal oil drum in his backyard. Milfboss posted herself singing covers of shit over on Youtube. And it wasn't just real life stuff either- their minecraft skills were also on the table for them all to collectively roast.

Admiral had never seen a single Minecraft Championship. Milfboss thought a flat cobblestone roof was entirely acceptable. Shitty's favorite block was the flint and steel. (That's not a block, sixty-niner. Shut up, is too. OoOh, real clever, 'shut up'! Uh, how about no? How about I fuckin' make you, ever think 'a that? No nono nonono, I'm on two hearts! I'm on two hearts, stop!) It made him curious, honestly. He wanted to see Milf's builds for himself, get revenge on Shitty, see if Admiral really could beat the Ender Dragon with a knockback stick like he said he could.

So he made a minecraft server. And they all joined it. (And stuck PenisUnavailable with the bill, suckaaahhh~!)

Predictably, it all went to Hell in a hand basket pretty quick.

See, it's one thing to play with nutters like his friends in a structured set up like Hypixel games, it's quite another to try and keep a semblance of order in an open world survival server like the Penis SMP. The first five minutes had been him trying to explain the rules and teleporting everyone back to spawn over and over as they tried to "escape the cops," ie, him. The next five minutes was Shitty scream-laughing "scatter!" and other John Mulany references down the mic as everyone ran off to start their houses. Penis, as he was still "god" at that moment, used admin commands to find the closest flower field biome to settle into, hoping for some- ha- peace and quiet.

Shitty, inevitably, ended up trying to settle in the fucking Nether. Like a mad lad, you know, as you do when you are apparently obsessed with all things lava. Milfboss ended up making an oak plank box of a "tree house" in a dark oak forest, while Admiral_Anus picked a nearby swamp for his starter base. Outside of that, they just kinda vibed in discord as they tried to fend off the mobs and get enough resources to try and build up houses that were a bit more than cobblestone towers and wood boxes- er, mostly. Milf kinda just fucked off to go mining, found a skeleton spawner by chance, and made a set of iron gear to stand in the dungeon room with to just chill and kill mobs for a while. She ended up with something like 45 levels and burned her only diamond on an enchanting table so she could buff the Hell out of her iron weapons and armor.

Penis, rather typically, he though to himself, put together a basic sheep farm and started work on a cute little cobblestone cave base. He managed to get a whole twenty by twenty block room done and fully furnished before he noticed the chat full of Shitty's death messages and went to go investigate. After nearly dying in lava twice, he managed to find Shitty's pile of items floating on a basalt pillar about a hundred blocks out from his... base?

It was a soccer ball. Shitty's base was a perfect fucking spherical soccer ball made up of quartz blocks and basalt. Just. What. The Fuck??? Then out popped shittyfartbaby69 and it was PenisUnavailable's turn to misjudge a jump and plummet right into lava. Fifteen minutes and much shrieking later about losing his diamond pick, and it turns out that Shitty didn't really care about his lost items, as he really only had four gold picks, a stack of dark oak, two furnaces, a bucket, and thirteen cooked mutton to his name. Not even a bed, the fucker. He just ran back to his portal from spawn every time he just burned to death, taking the chance to gather resources on the way back each time.

And no, he wasn't following a tutorial for his "football" base. Jerk. (Although Penis did have to admire his determination...)

The day ended on Milfboss, Shitty, and Penis reconvening back at spawn to try and hunt down Admiral_Anus, who they found later having built a thirty block tall castle of all things. Out of cobble stone and the windows weren't quite even, but still, it was pretty impressive. And of course, when presented with a castle, what can what do but siege it? So they lay siege to the castle and Milfboss curb-stomped Admiral in pvp and laid claim to the throne, crowning herself queen before summarily throwing the rest of them out. It was a good day.

And the day after was a good day. They played dodge ball crossed with hide and seek in forest around Penis' house with arrows supplied by Milfboss. And the day after that, too, where they had a building competition using nothing but cobble stone, specifically to spite Milfboss, who had kicked all of their asses the day before. In fact, three wonderful weeks passed of doing normal Minecraft shit and being friends passed by, and every bit of it was great fun.

And then came the fucking role play.

PenisUnavailable would have liked to preface that with he only participated under duress, but really, Milfboss had been queen for too long and nobody wanted to risk TNT cannoning any of Shitty's nice builds, so. Well, the castle was better than his drafty cave, alright? It was cold and wet and didn't have a proper door because aesthetic (and because it usually took him several tries to work an iron pressure plate door), so there were far too many mobs wandering in at night and spawn camping him. He and Shitty had almost the same number of deaths and Shitty lived in the fucking Nether.

So yeah. Castle time, baby! Daddy needs a new home! And Admiral obviously wasn't happy living out of Milf's awful tree house hot box where they all did drugs together on day fifteen and it still smelled of burnt wheat seeds, aka "weed." It was only obvious that they teamed up to try and take back the castle.

The battle itself didn't exactly go great, but it wasn't exactly horrible either. A lot of shouting shit at each other for fifteen minutes, the majority of which he wouldn't remember until it was too late- something about server unity?- only to find out that it wasn't two on one girl boss, it was two on a girl boss and her "baked out of his mind" henchman, also known as Shitty in a squirrel furry skin.

The ears man. Those stupid (cute) ears.

And then they were running for their lives because Milf had somehow gotten her hands on a flame bow with infinity enchants.

It all culminated in a dramatic stand-off in front of Shitty's Nether Soccer ball, Milf on one side, diamond axe in hand, not a bit of armor on because of an unfortunate run in with lava, Penis and Admiral on the other, picks in hand, threatening to tear down shittyfartbaby69's base. Shitty wasn't online just then to comment, but they could all hear him click-clacking away on his keyboard so he obviously hadn't gone to sleep just yet like he said he had. At an impasse, and unable to justify letting her teammate's home be used as collateral, Milfboss stood down and gave up her "crown," an enchanted golden Prot IV helmet she had gotten off a skeleton from her spawner.

Then the great betrayal, the beginning of the end. Shitty came back online. 96-Cam joined the game, not that they noticed in the chaos. Admiral-Anus cackled wildly and PMed Milfboss the message that Shitty had sent him, giving Team Gay Sex permission to tear down his base in the name of winning the war if it came down to it- making Milf's sacrifice worthless in the end. Penis gave another dramatic speech, circling around Shitty, who was acting weirdly apologetic to Milf about betraying her and still wearing that fucking squirrel furry skin.

"You see Milf, there's one thing more powerful than a girl boss, and when it comes down to wars between kingdoms, there's something you need to remember!" Penis got out his golden ax, helpfully labeled 'Piss Off'. "And that's a dilf with something to lose!" An enderpearl in his off hand and he teleported behind Milf, catching on fire from the lava but still landing the last hit needed to finish her off. She puffed into a cloud of EXP, swearing up a storm, and then Admiral and Penis turned their gaze to the cheering Shitty.

"AAAAAYYY, LET'S GO DADDY!" the squirrel man screeched, wild laughter shorting out the discord voice chat, making him go quiet in patches when the volume overloaded the client. Behind him, Admiral quietly started building a chair out of birch fence posts and slabs.

"Not so fast, shit-ty-fart-baaaaa-byyyyy~, this isn't quite over yet!" Penis fucking chirped, barely holding back his laughter. "You're still a fucking traitor and we can't have you backstabbing us too. Get in the chair for Daddy, okay baby?"

Admiral finished the chair just in time for Shitty to turn around and see the completed monstrosity, shrieking dying off immediately. "Oh screw you, that's just mean. The Hell man? That's not a chair, that's illegal. If you want an electric chair or some shit, just ask. That's just sad." Mentally shrugging, Admiral lit up his work with a flint and steel while Penis pillared up above where Shitty was building an electric chair out of iron bars and trap doors. Admiral nudged Shitty into the chair, Penis dumped a bucket of lava over the edge of the pillar so it flowed over him, and Shitty started giving a soliloquy about how betrayal and how his love for his "Daddy" still "burned strong".

Like his dick. Apparently.

By the time the lava finally hit the floor and burned Shitty to death, Penis was crying with laughter, shrieking down the mike and banging on the desk hard enough to make him forget that his was still on the mouse, making him mine the block under him with the bucket and sending him hurtling to his fiery death too.

It was a good day... almost.

Because, as it turned out, shittyfartbaby69 was actually a tiktokker of some renown and his cam account had record everything. And he had uploaded the bit to tiktok, as you do, where it went viral, where it wasn't supposed to. And Milfboss, who had recently been uploading covers of herself singing old classic Minecraft songs, had attracted the Minecraft fandom kids to her twitter, where she had gone to post her rage about the events of her dethroning and Shitty's execution.

Penis SMP had gotten on. Fucking. Trending. And now everyone was demanding the full clip, their names, their Twitch streamer handles, their characters' backstories.

The masses wanted lore.

Penis watched in disbelief, head in his hands and mouth agape as sugar crash played over a clip of him killing Milf on loop.

They were making memes.

...Oh god. They were screwed.

#penismp #penis smp #fanfiction #minecraft #my writing #crack #crack treated seriously #also on ao3 #penisunavailable #milfboss #shittyfartbaby69 #admiral_anus

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memorymistress · 3 years

Text

{jeon yeo-bin, 28, cis woman, she/her} || min-ji nam is a mutant with the ability of memory manipulation they’ve been in new york for two years where they spend most of their time as mortician. when i think of them, i think of the name of a childhood friend you can’t quite remember, ink bleeding through a page, hands that don’t warm up, a long black coat with two buttons missing.

nam min-ji was the first child and only daughter to two loving parents. she’s born in a small fishing town in korea. she’d remain an only child for four years, until her brother was born. her first seven years were unremarkable, then her parents pack everything and move to america for a work opportunity for her dad. she has an eidetic memory, which helped a lot during her schooling. she speaks two languages: korean and english, along with a small bit of french thanks to a required high school class. her life is normal, and she pursues a degree in chemistry with a minor in photography, and the former would lead to her pursuing an associate’s degree in mortuary science. after seven years of college, she’d shadow a local funeral director for a full year before going off on her own. her work has taken her all sorts of cities, even back to korea for a short stint. now, she’s back home in new york, running her own funeral parlor for the past two years.

those are the facts. that’s her life story.

it’s all wrong.

nam min-ji was the first and only daughter to two loving parents. she’s born in a small fishing town in korea. she’d remain an only child for four years, until her brother was born. when she was five, she started a game that would entertain her friends and other neighborhood kids. if she touched their hand, she could tell them what they had for breakfast, what their mother had told them earlier in the day word for word, or what they’d gotten for their last birthday. the kids were amazed at min-ji’s ability, and begged for her to teach them. she’d just smile. by six, kids would come up to her in school for help remembering where their house was, what the teacher had said an hour beforehand, or other things their little minds couldn’t quite recall. but min-ji always could.

the fun and games ended when her teacher noticed how children flitted to and from her desk. she wanted to know what was going on, as the disruptions were becoming a nuisance. min-ji, a little kid and proud of what she could do, wanted to show off to the adult. she grabbed her hand. images filled her head of a man yelling, and she could hear her teacher yelling back, something about money and cheating. min-ji frowned at her teacher, and repeated the exact words the man had used at her. the adult flinched and looked at her in horror.

it was the beginning of the end.

she’s sent to the headmaster’s office. neither them or the teacher could decide what was there to do about her. was she spying on the teacher? had her parent’s heard and told her? any rational conclusion couldn’t fit as how had the girl been able to say exactly what the teacher’s husband had? at the mention of touch causing it, they came to one solution: min-ji could no longer have skin to skin contact at school. she was to come everyday in gloves.

little min-ji became a pariah in a matter of days. there were whispers of what caused her new daily accessory, why the teacher wouldn’t even look in her direction anymore, if her ability to look in the past was actually a curse. her parents took her to different doctors, all of which had no clue what caused min-ji’s abilities.

a year after her incident at school, a group of kids a grade older than her cornered min-ji in alley. they grabbed her hand and yanked a glove off.

“show us your magic trick, freak.”

min-ji, in tears and scared as the other kids pushed and smacked her head, discovered a new skill she had. as her hand was placed in one of bully’s, she saw a blur of memories and shut her eyes tight. she wanted it all to stop. stop. stop. STOP. and then it did. she was back in her own mind, and a sense of calmness washed over her. the other kid wasn’t so lucky. he dropped her hand and looked around.

“where am i?” their group’s eyes widened. “who are you?” he questioned. unable to understand what was going on, the children screeched, one pulling on their now confused friend away from her.

“get away from her! get away!” they yelled to each other.

word was spread around. the boys’ parents are furious, claimed min-ji cursed their son. the entire town was aware of min-ji’s...quirk now, and they were furious. nothing her parents said could soothe the angry mob. a sympathetic doctor had contacted them, and let them know of a school that taught children like her in new york. her parents had no other choice, as they were just as worried about their daughter as much as their neighbors were scared of her.

within the next few months, her family were moved to a two bedroom apartment in new york. in another week, min-ji was enrolled in the xavier institute. the harassment from their town, move, and overall culture shock of a new place had shaken min-ji. she didn’t understand what made her so different, made her so hated.

slowly, she became to understand it. as she met the other kids, she could see their various talents and how hers weren’t just an everyday oddity. for awhile, things improved. she still wore her gloves, but with one on one teacher instructions, she learned to control and sharpen her abilities. there were still bumps and dives in the road, but nothing too bad.

then, she took off her gloves one day. she’d met someone she’d wanted to hold hands with, to touch without fabric as a barrier. it was a mistake. she wasn’t ready.

her excitement caused her to push her own memories onto her current crush, so much so they felt like they were experiencing it. for the first time in more than half a decade, she saw the emotion she saw in those kids’ eyes in the alley. fear.

the other students started to avoid her. they’d flinch if she even brushed past. they were all different, but now people realized fully what min-ji could, the extent of it. how do you know if your memories are your own? is she messing with us right now? i feel like i’m forgetting everytime i’m in a room with her. min-ji realized even mutants couldn’t resist acting on their panic.

still, there were a couple of people who stayed by her side, were friends with her. it didn’t ease the sting of people being scared of her entirely, but it helped her cope. as soon as she graduated, she was out of there. professor xavier had been kind enough to pay for her schooling to a university. she flourished there as no one knew she was any different. her parents were proud, happy that she’d grown up to be the woman she was. they found her choice of career a bit funny, but were glad she knew what she wanted to do.

it’s during her year shadowing a funeral director things are thrown awry. the president confirms the existence of mutants. people will find out. they always want to know why she wore the gloves.

with mutants coming out of the shadows, she panicked even moreso. she left the city, wanting as much distance between her and the school as possible. then, she couldn’t run anymore. she was in charge of someone who turned out to be a mutant, as well as their friends who attended the service. one had the ability to see other people’s mutation. he pulled her aside, began peppering her with questions. her repeated denial was met with an invitation. they had a group of mutants, people to test their powers with. if you don’t let it out once in awhile, you’ll explode. that conversation kept her up for weeks, until she finally gave in. it was uncomfortable at first, as she was resistant to revealing her abilities. when she did, it wasn’t fright that met her. it was amazement.

she’s thriving again, but this time as herself. her true self. everything was going well, she was happier than ever. her powers weren’t a curse. they could make people happy, make her happy, like they had as a child.

but she started to use it too much. she overexerted herself. she began having ideas, ways to speed up mutant acceptance. as she discovered she didn’t even need to touch people to look into their memories, to change it. why couldn’t i just meet the president, rewrite his history so he comes up with stronger mandates for mutant protection? some were for it, most were wary. you’re going off the deep end. take a step back. she didn’t care, she had a gift and wanted to use it. the amount of bodies coming into the parlor that were mutants had skyrocketed over the years. something had to be done.

the group agreed, just not with her. a plan was made with the other telepath among them as the main player. with their abilities, as min-ji slept one night, they put a stop to min-ji’s fantastical plans by erasing her knowledge she was a mutant at all. it took some time, to fill such a large part of her life enough that she wouldn’t be suspicious.

it worked. min-ji started over without knowing it, and has been living that way for the past eight months. she wore gloves because her hands were always cold. i was born to be a mortician, huh? she’d joke to people once she told them her line of work. it’s normal. she’s normal. nothing could change that. right?

okay so hi! i would love to plot with everyone and write with everyone! i’m izzy aka bells (i answer to either!) my discord is gaytendo#6961 or you can im me on here!! i can’t wait to write and talk with all of you!!

#do you recognize the face in the mirror? —「 appearance 」#i've got a suitcase of memories that i almost left behind. —「 musings 」#everybody cut footloose! —「 walkman 」#oh. you just reminded me of someone. —「 answered 」#say you’ll remember me. —「 interactions 」#you thought this was an intro? it was a tag dump all along #death tw #bullying tw

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