#half joking. but i do think he considers himself texan

[commsroom]

you know eiffel is texan because he has zero discomfort handling firearms even though he is the most scared man in the world

#wolf 359 #w359 #doug eiffel #on the other hand he loses points for the way he pronounces pecan. but that's on zach. #half joking. but i do think he considers himself texan #his whole life was there. the only parts of his backstory that are actually in the show. #whenever i call him texan i feel like i have to cover my bases and be like YES i KNOW he was born in boston. but he's not from there. #you guys need to stop cowboyifying kepler when eiffel is there #kepler doesn't even have ties to a yeehaw state he's just from chicago #and anyway eiffel is just like obnoxiously american. it's funny to me.

[vldkeith]

keithtober💢🎃🔪 day 27: texas🤠

a/n: im texan so this is like really personal to me

🔗read on ao3

content included: making fun of texans, team "bonding" (bullying), little a broganes

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

“So,” Pidge says, leaning back on the palms of her hands, glasses doing that mischievous glint, “Texas, huh?”

Keith groans, slapping a palm against his face while Hunk and Lance collapse into laughter in front of him, seemingly driven to tears of mirth just by the mere mention of that specific state in America.

Bad decision, Keith thinks, recalling morosely his response of, “Lance, I’m from Texas, I know what fucking roja means,” when Lance started saying something in Spanish. Really bad decision.

“Keith, Keith, can you say ‘y’all’ for me?” Hunk asks eagerly, recovering briefly from his laughing fit to ask Keith this ridiculous question. He’s gazing at Keith with stars in his eyes, though, the very picture of innocent eagerness, and Keith just cannot find it within himself to say no to that.

He heaves a great sigh. “Y’all.”

There they go again, falling over themselves with giggles. Keith gives them all a scowl—this is all just a joke to them! Texas is his heritage, and they’re making fun of it! The nerve!

“Now you gotta say it in a sentence, Keith,” Lance says breathlessly. “Go on, go on, say it!”

Why am I doing this? Keith thinks as he says, “Uh, y—y’all are really fucking annoying.”

Lance positively howls, and Hunk screeches, “Yes, exactly!”, locking hands with Pidge and bouncing with excitement, even though they’re both still sitting on the floor. Keith doesn’t get paid enough for this. In fact, he doesn’t get paid at all, and he certainly didn’t get paid to be a Texan.

Would he have chosen this life for himself, if he could have? Keith considers for a moment. Well, maybe he would’ve chosen to be born somewhere other than in a random Texas desert, but a Dallas hospital doesn’t sound too bad…

“Wait, Texan Keith,” Hunk begins, snapping Keith back to his torture fest. Keith’s hackles automatically raise at the new nickname—kill him now. “Did you ever ride a horse? Wear a cowboy hat?”

“Oh, he definitely wore a cowboy hat,” Pidge says, nodding wisely. “You like, have to to be Texan, don’t you, Keith?”

Lance scoffs. “A cowboy hat on a mullet? Jesus Christ, could you be any more like Billy Ray Cyrus, Keith?”

“I never even said I actually wore a cowboy hat!” Keith bursts out, annoyed. He quiets down immediately, though, a childhood memory flashing through his mind. “…I, um, did wear one, though. But it was only once!”

Shouts of “Noooo, he did NOT” and “Oh my GOD” greet him at that, and Keith decides then and there that he’s going to pull a Matilda and glue cowboy hats to all of their heads, see how they like it.

Are there cowboy hats in space? Well, there are cows in space, so, their hats shouldn’t be too far off…

Wait, what?

“Okay, okay, Keith, I need to know: have you gone to a rodeo?” Pidge asks, grin lighting up her face.

Thankfully, Keith can answer this one with confidence. “No,” he says firmly, “I haven’t.”

Hunk boos him, and Keith immediately shoots him a sharp glare.

“Texas is just another state, can you guys shut up?” he says, voice thick with offense. There are a lot of conceptions about Texas, sure, but these guys are reacting more to that than they did to Keith being half-alien! What’s the deal?

“It’s noooooot, though,” Lance whines, shaking his head. He gets up close in Keith’s space, making Keith swallow and glance away. “Like, when my parents were still in Cuba, I’m pretty sure Texas was one of the maybe four states they could place on a map. Texas, Florida, California, Hawaii. Oh, and Alaska,” Lance recounts, pulling a finger down with each state he names. Keith recovers from his momentary fluster, and glares.

“Then it’s the same as your state, Florida boy,” he says, tone icy. Lance rolls his eyes.

“I wasn’t born in Florida, though. Not the same.”

“Yes, it is!”

All Lance gives him in response is a doubtful, somewhat pitying look, which Keith turns away from in disgust.

“I hate all of you,” he declares, as Hunk and Pidge continue to snicker behind him. “I’m never telling you anything about my life ever again.”

“Wait, I have one more question, and then you can, you know, do that.” Hunk uses his knees to walk over to Keith and grabs him by the shoulders. Keith swallows, his brain short-circuiting into cuteboytouchingmewhatdoidoahhhh once again.

Hunk looks him dead in the eyes. “Do you guys really sell pickles at movie theaters?”

The room goes completely and utterly quiet, and all eyes are trained on Keith, who is looking studiously away. Tension courses through the air, palpable; Keith feels like he could gather it all in his hands and make it into a whipcrack if he wanted to.

Realizing that he can’t just stay quiet and deny the truth, Keith sags with a sigh. “Yes.”

Everyone goes absolutely ballistic. Lance starts screaming, Pidge bangs her hand on the floor, Hunk keels over and dies—okay, maybe not that last one, but Hunk does fall backward onto the floor from laughing too hard.

“It’s not real,” Pidge keeps saying over and over, shaking their head and banging their fist, “It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real—”

“Keith,” Lance gasps, having just emerged from a truly insulting amount of laughter, “that’s insane. Pickles in the—what the fuck?”

“They’re too loud!” Hunk cries, throwing his hands up. “And—And the smell? Of a pickle? In the movie theater?! Do you people not have noses?”

Keith has his head in his hands. Yeah. There’s just no excuse for this one, but it was a fact of life when he lived in Texas—go to the movie theater, idly browse the snacks, stare at a pickle for a while, etc., etc. Nothing remarkable.

Or, well, so Keith thought, until he moved to Arizona and Shiro tried to take him to the movies and Keith discovered that there were no pickles there. He’d then made the mistake of curiously asking Shiro if they were out or something—just as friendly conversation—after which Shiro took it upon himself to implant firmly in Keith’s mind that there are never pickles at the movie theater and Keith should not want there to be pickles at the movie theater and also Texas is really fucking abnormal for having pickles in movie theaters.

Keith learned to shut up about the damn movie theater pickles after that.

“I’m killing you all, I’m leaving Voltron, I don’t care, you all suck,” Keith says, finally standing and turning his back on the rest of them. They pay him so mind, though, too busy having therapy sessions about pickles in cinemas or weeping their sorrow at the reality of it or whatever other theatrics Lance specifically is getting up to. Keith is done with all of them.

He marches out quickly, only to run into Shiro, who was walking with a rather confused air down the hall.

Keith meets him with a glare. “I hate this team.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “What happened?”

Ah, well. Is mentioning it the best idea? Keith decides to skirt around the issue, just a little. “Well, I told them I was Texan—”

“Ohhh.” Realization dawns on Shiro’s face, and a smile unravels quick after. “They learned about the pickles, didn’t they? Freak.”

Keith throws his hands up and stomps away, leaving Shiro chortling behind him.

That’s it. Fuck the universe, Keith’s moving back to Texas.

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

☕️ko-fi - so i can. so i can b. so i can buy movie theater pickles--*gunshots*

#keith kogane #keithtober2021 #klance #voltron #vld keith #renfic

[bbrandy2002]

Fool’s Rush In

Chapter 17

This is my @wackydrabbles​ post for week 87. The prompt is bolded. "No offense, but I'm not interested."

Book: TRR

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Warnings: Drake and some language.

*I was in a silly mood and this turned into a dumpster fire lol and it feels very rushed but I was trying to meet the word count. There may be a little bit of plot in this.

Word count: 1999

------------------------

Liam sat on the floor with his back pressed against the mattress; one leg bent upright with the other extended crookedly out in front of him. Half of a bottle of Don Julio dangled loosely from a hand settled on his knee while two shiny gold rings encircled the pinky tip of his other.

In a fit of anger late last night, he searched for and consumed the first bottle of alcohol he came across in the liquor cabinet. He had no intentions of getting hammered or even a little drunk; Liam just needed something to take the edge off the hurt. Not that he for one second believed a word Riley told him before she walked out and boarded a red-eye commercial flight back to the States. 

As Liam pondered her abrupt departure in the early hours of the morning, one thing was for sure: He'd never been in love before, but what he felt for Riley was real -- and reciprocated -- that, "no," she spewed from her mouth when asked if she loved him was a lie.  

But why? That was the question he just couldn't figure out.

Having racked his brain for hours and with the sun finally coloring in the darkness of his chambers, Liam set aside his drink and lifted himself off the ground. Every thought that consumed him for the last several hours was riddled with putting the pieces together of why she actually left and why she felt she couldn't tell him the truth. Nothing made sense, yet ruminating alone in his room until he figured it out wasn't going to solve anything; the only way to get to the bottom of this was to retrace Riley's steps from the time she left the ball to when he made his way up to join her a little later. 

Stumbling to the bathroom -- mostly from exhaustion and perhaps a little drunker than he realized -- Liam stripped off the tuxedo he wore the prior evening and took a quick shower before heading down to the security office.

-----------

Riley's heavily drooping eyelids popped wide open when the plane shook from another vigorous tremor of turbulence. Gripping the armrests on both sides of her seat, she hesitated to peek out the window but was relieved when she saw the billowy waters of the Pacific had transformed into small, mosaic blocks of land covered by a shadow of the nearly setting sun. 

When the aircraft settled again, Riley reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone to check the time, grateful to be landing soon. She planned to go straight home, sink into her bed, and sleep the rest of her life away. Maybe wake up every once in a while to sob again before going back to sleep. Whatever Riley decided to do, she hated Madeleine, she hated Tyler, and she hated telling Liam she didn't love him; the more Riley thought about the stunned look on his face when she said it, the more nauseous her stomach felt.

And the nausea was getting worse.

Riley caught the eye of a nearby stewardess and waved her over; she needed ginger ale, and she needed it fast. 

"Can I help you, Miss?"

"I … I need, ginger ale, please." She asked through ragged breaths.

"Let me check and see if we have more." Riley nodded appreciatively.

"Hey. Don't I know you from somewhere?" A relatively large guy in the center seat, whose sweaty arm flab had been lodged in Riley's shoulder since takeoff, asked. Oh shit! Riley cupped a tight hand over her mouth and shook her head vigorously; the last thing she wanted was to be recognized. 

Or vomit.

While the stewardess searched the service cart for the requested drink, the gentleman's eyes enlarged. "Wait a minute. Yeah! You're that little gal who married some king, with ..." he snapped his fingers before adding in his thick Texan drawl, "the monkey and hookers and shit. Wow, my fiance wants to have a wedding just like yours." He held his hand out to her. "The names Beaver Calhoun, mayor of Slippery Nip, Texas. I guess you could say we're both royals, huh?"

Riley lowered her hand slightly; she was past the point of ginger ale helping, and this guy was blocking her way out. "Beaver, I need you to move." 

He stroked his chin in thought. "Well, I don't know, Queenie. I'm pretty content with my life there in Slippery Nip, Not really lookin' to uproot."

"No!' Riley's strained voice responded forcefully, "move out of the way--" She tried to fight it, but her head flung forward and everything came out with her last word.

Beaver looked down at his shirt and quirked a brow. "That's gonna leave a stain."

=============

On the second floor of a run-down Motel 6, just off the beaten path in Las Vegas, Drake tossed in the last of his clothes and airline tickets in a duffle bag and zipped it. Stepping over to the window, he pulled aside the tattered curtains to check if the airport's shuttle van had arrived yet. Disappointed, he grumbled to himself, "Where the hell are you? I'm ready to get the fuck out of here." 

The past week had been intense -- well, frankly, the entire month had been nothing short of shit balls. Five weeks ago, Drake landed in Las Vegas for Liam's bachelor party and won big money at the casino, only to have it all pissed away on some old, decrepit hooker who stole his wallet, cell phone, dick health, and what little joy he had in the world. Liam left with a sexy ass wife, and all Drake got was the false claim of fathering triplets and his scowling face on the front cover of the National Enquirer with Dr. Ethan Ramsey detailing the entire sordid journey from pre-surgical rooster rot to the aftercare.

He made a quick $500 for the story, in which he badly needed the money, considering he couldn't leave Vegas until the paternity test results came back. It was enough for his lodging, a couple cans of Beenie-Weenies and a few boxes of pepperoni Hot Pockets; his stomach felt like oil sludge at this point. But as a joke, Leo had sent a box of Ding-Dongs, so it wasn't all bad.

The rotary phone in his room rang out, and he answered the call from the front desk, which let him know transportation had arrived. Drake grabbed his bag, flicked a cockroach off of it, and exited his room into the enclosed hallway.

After stepping onto the elevator and hitting the down button, another person strolled on in a black leather mini-skirt, white see-through halter top, and a pair of fishnet stockings that he'd recognize anywhere.

"You!" He growled at the chain-smoking hooker, backing her up into the corner. "Do you have any fucking idea what you did to me? And I WANT my wallet and cell phone back, now!" He hovered menacingly over the much smaller woman.

"No offense, but I'm not interested in giving them back to you," Pinquee Kittee sneered before reaching into her bra for mace and spraying him directly in the eyes. The rapid burn gave way to her next act of defense when a screaming, blinded Drake was doubled over by a swift karate kick to his newly transplanted organ. "Hiiiiyah!"

Drake cupped himself in anguish, fell to the floor, and slumped over as the elevator doors opened. Pinquee Kittee grabbed his duffle bag and peeked down the hallway to make sure no one was around before making her getaway.

------------------

Just outside of the palace's security office, Liam knocked on the door several times without an answer. It was rare that the King would personally pay a visit. Usually, he would call Bastien and have the head guard look into any issues. With him gone, this just felt like something Liam needed to do in person. 

After several more knocks, Liam reached for the door handle and slowly opened it to let himself inside. The lights were off, with only a few CCTV screens displaying various images of places within and surrounding the palace. Finding the light switch on the wall beside the door, Liam flipped them on, and his mouth fell agape at what he saw.

"What the hell happened in here?" He shouted as his hands shot to his hips, glaring around the room. 

On the floor was a maze of beer cans, whiskey bottles, remnants of silly string, a five-gallon bucket of butter next to a slip-n-slide, a voodoo doll with Liam's face on it, and half-a-dozen guards passed out. 

A furious Liam made his way through, kicking the feet of guardsmen as he stepped along. "Get up! All of you!"

One-by-one, they slowly roused until they realized it was the King in their presence, then they jumped to their feet at attention. 

"Would someone like to explain what the actual fuck happened in here?" Liam wasn't one to swear in front of his staff, but there was no way he could hold back after walking in on this scene. His glowering eyes shifted with expectancy from one man to the next, waiting for an answer, until someone finally called out, "We threw Rogers a going away party for his last night on the job, Your Majesty."

"And you thought having a wild party while you were ON DUTY to protect 400 members of the nobility for a major event was the time to do that?

The guard shook his head. "Not at all, Sir. I admit we weren't as attentive as we should have been last night ..." he pointed behind Liam, "but Prince Leo came by and suggested we kick it up a notch."

Liam turned around and caught Leo slithering along the edge of the wall toward the door. "Leo!"

The Prince stopped dead in his tracks, then flickered his eyes and jolted his body as if he were just waking up. Leo looked at Liam, acting surprised to see him. "Liam? Is that you? H-How did I get in here?"

Liam rolled his eyes. "Knock it off, Leo."

"What?” Leo shrugged innocently. “You know what I think happened. I must have been sleepwalking again. You know how I get when I watch The Duchess before bed." He cocked his head introspectively at his brother. “And you do look like the Duke from that movie, you handsome devil you?” He grinned impishly.

Liam stared blankly at his older brother for a few seconds, then turned around to face the others gathered around. "Who's in charge here?"

When one of the men raised a hand, the King stepped up to him and explained, "Alright, I need you to pull up security footage from last night. I want to review everything from the moment I stepped outside the ballroom to meet the Queen around 9:30, and where she went after I went back into the ballroom." 

If this were any other day, Liam would have fired every one of them on the spot and sent Leo to Antarctica, but he only had one concern: Finding out what happened to Riley.

As the guard typed in his computer to pull up footage from last night, Leo stepped up to Liam, who was hovering over the guard's shoulder with anticipation. "What's going on?"

Never taking his eyes off the screen, he responded. "Riley went back to Las Vegas last night."

"Wh-Why? What happened?"

Liam let out a breath. "That's what I'm trying to find out."

Leo remained silent before giving his little brother's shoulder a reassuring squeeze and watching with him.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as different camera footages were switched to follow Riley walking from the main staircase, through several passages, and finally ending with the corridor outside of his quarters.

"Stop!" Liam leaned in closer as the guard paused the video; his entire body tensed up at what he saw.

"Is that ..." Leo scrunched up his face in disgust.

"Madeleine."

___________

Tags: @burnsoslow​ @dcbbw​ @ao719​  @jessiembruno​ @texaskitten30​ @janezillow​ @merridithsmiscellany-blog @mskaneko @callmeellabella @queenjilian @sirbeepsalot @drakexwillow @jovialyouthmusic​ @forthebrokenheartedthings​s @bebepac​ @kingliam2019​ @lovablegranny​ @cordoniaqueensworld​ @amandablink​ @liamxs-world​ @choiceskatie @iaminlovewithtrr​ @hopelessromanticmonie​ @charlotteg234​ @annekebbphotography​ @txemrn​ @thecordoniandiaries @alyssalauren​ @cordonianroyalty @monsoonbloom12 @mom2000aggie​ @theroyalheirshadowhunter​ @princessleac1​ @kimmiedoo5​ @graceful-leah​ @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful​ @thegreentwin​ @gkittylove99​ @neotericthemis​ @pink-diamond13​ @walker7519 @natureblooms24 @yourmajesty09​ @gabesmommie1130​ @sweatyrysconnoisour @kat-tia801​ @debmcg1106 @lifeaskim @choicesstan650​ @emkay512​ @royalromancer​

Liam x MC: @cordonia-gothqueen​n

Anything with Drake:@tinkie1973

FRI Series Tags:   @narrytheworld​​  @queenwalton​  @cordonianprincess​        @zaffrenotes​ @zilch3​  @drrookie​ @sfb123​ @secretaryunpaid​ @masterofbluff​

#fools rush in #liam x mc #liam x riley #the royal romance #prince liam #king liam #bbrandy2002 #wackydrabbles

[hockeyshmockey]

Jamie Oleksiak *Day 2 of 12 days of Christmas*

Hehe day 2 with my baby big rig,, would love to hear everyones thoughts and feedback xoxo

****

Jamie had always loved spending time with you around the holidays. You were a born and bred Texan. Jamie liked to joke that you were the epitome of the South, with your sweet drawl and behavior, fiery temper and superb cooking skills. He had met you in his first stay in Dallas, had gotten caught watching you tell off some sleaze in a bar and when you turned to yell at him too, he had sweet talked you into friendship instead.

Now, the both of you had been friends through his time in Pittsburgh and his return to Dallas. He had always had the fattest crush on you. He had dated of course, but always found himself comparing those women to you. It didn't help that the whole Oleksiak family adored you. Penny and you talked daily, and he knew you caught up with his mom regularly too.

All he heard from his friends and family was why he hadn't made a move yet. You were a constant in his life, you knew everything about him. The deepest and darkest parts of his mind that only ate at him after a horrible game, or when he felt like he would never be good enough. You had seen those parts of him, and they didn't scare you. All in all, he was yours, but he could never get the confidence to actually make that a reality.

This year you were joining him at the Stars holiday party being held at the Pavelski's. You were friends with all of the significant others so no one blinked when Jamie entered their home with you on his arm in a Mrs. Claus outfit and a casserole dish in your free hand.

Jamie was none the wiser to the plan his teammates had cooked up. The boys and their better halves had decided enough was enough. So, with ample warning to everyone else, they absolutely covered the living room and kitchen of the Pavelski's in mistletoe. As you and Jamie made your rounds, neither of you noticed.

Everyone else was practically on the edge of their seats as you made it through dinner before getting caught. To no one's surprise, Tyler was the one to call attention to it. "Hey, look who got caught!" The brunette cackled as everyone turned towards the two of you. Jamie barely had to look up to see the sprig of green, and he cleared his throat before looking down and seeing you peering up at him with a soft smile on your face.

"That ok riggy?" You asked softly as you placed a soft hand on his forearm, nerves bubbling in your stomach at the thought of kissing the man you had been half in love with for years.

He hummed before leaning down and pausing a breath away from your lips, leaving you to lean on your tip toes to finally kiss him. The two of you kept it pretty PG considering all of the unresolved feelings, but you did smirk as his hand ghosted over your waist before you dropped back down. Neither of you acknowledging the kiss, Jamie pulling you over to an armchair and plopping down with you on the armrest.

The two of you carried on like normal for the rest of the night, ignoring all of the looks from your friends. You both couldn't help but blush when you heard some of them clapping after you both left the party together. The two of you kept casual conversation as Jamie drove you home. When he was about to turn onto your street, you turned in your seat to stare at him.

"Are we going to talk about it?" You asked softly, noticing his hands grabbing the steering wheel tighter.

"Do you want to?" He looked at you for a moment before looking back to the road.

"Well considering I have a borderline unhealthy crush on you I think we should," you tried to joke but you couldn't read his reaction as he pulled into your driveway.

"Fuck," he ran a hand down his face. "I don't think anyone has ever wanted to date someone more than I want to date you and call you mine."

"Jamie," you whispered as you leaned over the center console and pulled his face towards your own and connected your lips again. This time you allowed your mouth to open when the gentle press of his tongue came. "I am so down to call you my Big Rig."

You giggled as he groaned at the nickname but pulled you across the console to land in his lap and kissed you swiftly. And if the two of you made out in his car until his phone rang with a call from Jamie Benn drunkenly asking if you two had banged, that was no ones business but your own.

#jamie oleksiak #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #jamie oleksiak imagine #dallas stars #fluff #holidays #12 days of christmas

[bellakitse]

Have you considered any Tarlos Au's yet? What if Owen took the job in Texas when TK was 18 so he went to college there and met Carlos and Iris. He and Carlos are BFFs who pine over each other for years, and when TK returns from visiting his mom in NY with a tongue ring, Carlos' life gets a lot harder (pun intended). Best friends to lovers ftw

Flashes of Silver

Carlos is fine with silently pining away for his best friend TK until the boy comes back to campus with a new accessory that makes Carlos’ brain melt with desire. 

nonnie, you should know that this request made me scream with delight, thank you for the idea!!

@shippingsailors

“Are you even listening to me right now, Reyes?”

Carlos Reyes looks up from his phone across the small table wherehe sits with Iris Blake, to find her giving him an unamused look as she muncheson her chips.

“You ask me to have lunch with you here in the courtyard, just soyou can ignore me and stare at you’re phone?” she questions, making him winceat her tone. “I could be in the library; I have papers due.”

“We all have papers due, chica,” he shoots back, even though he’sseconds away from being in the doghouse with his friend, he’s never been ableto keep from poking the bear. His family has always said that for such amellow, quiet kid, he’s always had a reckless streak. “Besides you needed toeat, and not in the library, you know Mrs. Powellhates that.”

Iris rolls her eyes at him, but there is a hint of a smile on herface. “Goodie-goodie, no wonder that old bat loves you so much.”

Carlos gives her an unconcerned shrug. It’s true, the university’slibrarian, a grumpy sixty-eight-year-old woman with grey-blue hair, loves him.“She just wants you to respect her books and the sacred space they are held in,is that so hard?”

Iris gives him another roll of her eyes, scoffing at his words asshe bites into her turkey club. “What’s TK saying?” she asks through a mouthfull, pointing at his phone.

“He’s got a surprise, said he’s joining us in a few – “ Carlostrails off, he looks up to see a smug smirk on her face, and Carlos goes redrealizing that he never actually said that he was texting with their friend TKStrand, Iris just figured it out. “How did you –“

Iris snorts loudly, drawing the attention of a few people aroundthem. “Your face, of course,” she starts, pointing a delicate finger in hisface as she waves it around in a circle. “You had ‘TK’ face; it’s verydistinctive. All soft and lovesick, kind of like when someone shows you a puppy,and all you want to do is snuggle it close and love it forever. TK is the puppyin this analogy.”

Carlos’ face is so hot; he’s sure he’s going to catch flame. “Shutup.”

Iris lets out a laugh at his words; her delight is unmistakable.“Great comeback, Reyes,” she says, still chuckling, though her expressionsoftens when he says nothing. She sighs as her laughter trails off. “Carlos,when exactly are you going to do something about the massive crush you have onour friend?”

Carlos feels his pulse spike at her question, his mouth going dry.“I don’t have a crush on TK.”

Iris raises an eyebrow at him; she looks both unimpressed andsympathetic all at once. “No, you’re right, it’s not a crush. It was a crush senioryear when he moved to Texas and flashed those pretty green eyes at you. Afterthree years of secretly pining, never dating for long, moping when he startsseeing someone and being overjoyed when it only lasts a month, I think we cancall it what it is, so…. When are you going to do something about being in lovewith your best friend?”

Carlos opens and closes his mouth, not sure what he wants to say,when they hear their names being called out. Looking across the yard, they seeTK waving at them with a wide smile on his face as he quickly walks towardsthem.

Carlos looks back at Iris panicked. “Please, don’t say anything,”he begs, feeling his hands sweat.

“I would never,” Iris says quickly, just as TK gets to theirtable. She flashes a smile up at the new arrival. “Hey, TK! How was New Yorkand your mom?”

“Crowded, dirty, and fun,” TK laughs as he leans down to hug her.“Mom was in top mom form,” he continues turning his smile towards Carlos.

Carlos gets up to hug him too, letting out an oomph when TKall but slams into him as he hugs him.

“I missed you too, needy,” he chuckles softly when TK doesn’t letgo of him right away. He catches the raised eyebrow Iris gives him and feelshimself blushing again, but he doesn’t loosen his hold on TK until the boy letshim go first.

“I just really missed that handsome Texan face of yours,” TKteases as he steps out of his hug, taking the empty chair at the table.

Carlos tells himself not to react to the comment. TK doesn’t meananything by it; he’s never meant anything by it. TK likes to flirt andtease; he’s a happy-go-lucky guy who knows he’s beautiful and likes to jokearound with everyone, especially his best friend. It means nothing.

“So,” Carlos clears his throat, hoping the smile on his face isrelaxed, and not an awkward mess the way he always feels when TK is around.“You said in your text you had a surprise?”

TK grins at him, his green eyes sparkling with mischief, and withoutsaying a word, he sticks his tongue out.

“Holy shit!” Iris exclaims in amazement, leaning forward to get abetter look. “That’s hot, TK!”

“Thanks,” TK smirks pleased, before looking over at Carlos. “Whatdo you think? Do you like it?”

Carlos hears the question, but he can’t answer. How can he whenhis brain is currently melting, and will at any second, ooze out of his ears.TK Strand has a tongue ring, a silver little round stud that was made with thesole purpose of ruining Carlos’ life.

“I – I, yeah, looks good,” Carlos croaks out.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Iris biting down on herlip, probably to keep from laughing at how pathetic he is.  Looking over at TK, he feels a pang of guiltas he sees the previously bright smile on his face has dimmed, and he looks atCarlos with an unsure expression. He wants to say something, anything to bringthat smile he loves so much back, but he feels tongue-tied and silly. Hisstupid feelings feel right on the surface, ready for everyone to see, and hejust wants to hide.

“I should go,” he says, standing up, ignoring the sound of protestTK and Iris let out. “Gotta study,” he gets out, gathering his things haphazardly.

“Carlos,” TK says his name quietly, looking up at him with a smallconfused frown, his eyes a little cloudy.

Carlos flashes him what he hopes is a smile and not a grimace. Heplaces his hand on TK’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll see youlater, okay?”

TK looks at him a moment longer before giving him a nod, though hedoesn’t lose his frown. “Okay.”

With one last awkward wave, he turns on his heel and hightails itout of there, away from the boy he’s stupidly in love with, and his damn tonguering.

֎֍֎

He hides out in the library like a coward. He gives Mrs. Powell awave, getting one back, and even gets half of a smile, which is the most anyonecan usually get from the older woman, before heading for the back to his usualtable.

The thing is he knows that hiding won’t help for long, not when itcomes to TK Strand. Where Carlos likes to be cautious, TK is bold. He stillremembers the boy when he first arrived in Austin, their senior year of highschool. It didn’t take long for it to get out around school that TK was gay,and it took even less time for people to try to mess with him for it. The boyhad a slimmer frame back then, dressed in tight skinny jeans, and had softpretty features. The guys they went to school with thought he was an easytarget, and TK quickly proved that line of thinking was incorrect. He wouldfight back like a hellcat, giving zero fucks about bloody knuckles as long ashis bullies were bleeding worse.

People learned not to mess with the boy quickly after that, andCarlos has been smitten ever since. Becoming his friend had given him thecourage to come out himself. After that, though at the time TK was almost ahead shorter than him, the boy had turned into Carlos’ own personal guard dog,glaring at anyone who even dared look at him wrong for being gay.

Between his sisters, the Blake girls and TK, Carlos never had toworry about anyone saying a single bad thing about his sexuality. No, TK neverbacks down from a fight, so really it’s no surprise when half an hour afterhe’s arrived at the library, nose deep into his forensic science textbook. Thechair across from him scrapes loudly against the wooden floor as it’s pulledout, and TK sits.

Carlos looks up at him, rolling his eyes as TK makes as much noiseas he can, taking out one of his books. “This is why Mrs. Powell hates you somuch; you’re so damn loud.”

“She hates me because she loves you, and she thinks I’m going tocorrupt you with my deviant ways,” TK flashes him a broad smile, and with it, Carlosgets a peek at a hint of silver.

Jesus fuck, that tongue ring is going to be the end ofhim.

“What she doesn’t get is that I have been trying to corrupt yousince the second I saw you, to no avail,” TK shakes his head sadly. “No matterhow much I try, no dice.”

Carlos rolls his eyes again at TK’s dramatics. “You act like I’msome saint, and you’re the devil here to lead me astray, calm down thetheatrics, Tyler,” he says, smirking when TK pouts at him at the use of hisname. It amuses Carlos to no end the way TK always reacts to it but yet nevertells Carlos to stop the way he does with others. Carlos tries not to give itmore importance than he does, it’s not a big deal that he’s one of the very fewpeople who knows and is allowed to call TK by his full name. It’s nothing.

They study quietly for a while, or well, TK studies,absently playing with the ring in his mouth while Carlos stares, his hand itchingto reach out for TK every time he sees the flashes of silver.

“Are you going to ask or just keep staring,” TK murmurs, his focusstill on his textbook even as Carlos spots the hint of a grin on his face.

Carlos clears his throat, feeling himself go pink at being caught,he’s had years of practice staring at TK, you would think he’d be better at it.

“Why?”

TK looks up from his book, he closes it and puts it to the sidebefore leaning in, elbows on the table as he smiles at Carlos, obviouslypleased that he caved. “Because I felt like it, and thought it would look good.”

Carlos nods; he can’t argue with the fact that it looks reallygood on TK, but then again, everything does. “Did it hurt?”

TK tilts his head to the side, thinking about it before wrinklinghis face. “Not as much as I thought it would. Afterward, it just felt weirdhaving something in my mouth.”

“Thought you’d be used to that,” Carlos mutters, smirking when TKlets out a dramatic gasp before he laughs, his green eyes dancing with amusement.

“I am curious about that,” TK comments, a mischievous glintentering his eyes. “I haven’t even kissed anyone since I got it, they say you’resupposed to wait three weeks at least.”

Carlos swallows hard as he does the math, TK’s been away for amonth. “When did you get it?”

TK looks at him as he leans back on his chair, a slow lazy smileon his face as he looks at Carlos knowingly. “The first week I got to NYC,” hesays softly, his eyes hooded as he stares at Carlos before he lets the littlesilver stud peek out again.

Carlos takes a sharp breath, his pulse spiking as he stares backat TK and reads the clear invitation on his best friend’s face. He’s not surewhat his face is saying to TK, probably all his love and the naked lust he’sfelt for him since he was seventeen, but whatever it is, it makes TK smile backat him bright and happy, his eyes dancing.

“Finally,” he breathes, never losing his smile. “I wasbeginning to think I was going to have to hire a skywriter.”

“You –,” Carlos licks his suddenly dry lips, feeling his stomachclench when TK’s eyes drop to his mouth, and he licks his own as he watchesCarlos.

“Since I met you,” TK admits softly, his face going gentle as helooks into Carlos’ eyes. “For such a smart guy, you’re so slow, baby.”

Carlos looks at him with wide eyes; he obviously has to bedreaming. His best friend in the whole world, the guy he’s been crazy about foryears now, can’t be telling him that he feels the same. There is no way he’s thatlucky.

TK’s expression softens even further, reminding him that TK canread him pretty easily. “I have to find a book,” TK starts, pointing towardsthe back of the library where no one ever really goes. Carlos watches him as hecomes around the table, holding his breath when TK runs his hand over the backof his neck, his fingers sending shivers down Carlos’ spine. “Maybe you canhelp me,” he says softly as he walks away, never once looking back to see ifCarlos is coming.

Taking a calming breath, it takes Carlos less than thirty secondsto make up his mind and stand from the table, following TK to the back. He’sfinally been given a chance to have the one thing he’s wanted forever. There’sno way he’s letting it slip through his fingers now.

He finds TK at the very end of the library, sitting on anotherreading table; this one a little dusty from lack of use. TK is biting on hisbottom lip in that nervous way of his, and when he looks at Carlos, gone is thecocky guy from a few minutes ago, and in his place is the not so confident boythat lies beneath his usual bravado. It’s the TK that always sparks Carlos’more protective instincts. He walks up slowly to him, stepping in between hisparted knees.  

With TK sitting, it puts them at a height difference that leavesTK looking up at him. Carlos brings his hands up to cradle TK’s face, tiltingit up even further, making sure TK is looking straight into his eyes.

“Are you sure you want this?” he can’t help but ask. The last thinghe wants is to lose his friend for a momentary case of hormones.

“Do you want this?” TK asks back; instead of answering, itcomes out more teasing, but Carlos can still see the hint of nerves.

“I have always wanted you,” Carlos confesses, finally letting itout. His heart beats hard against his chest as he gives life to his secret, butthe way TK’s eyes widen makes it worth it. “Every second of every day, I wantto be with you. I want to kiss you, hold you, have sex with you.”

“Carlos,” TK lets out breathlessly, his hands coming up to gripCarlos’ arms.

“But I want more than that too,” he continues, now that it’s outhe can’t hold back. “I have feelings for you. I’m in love with you, TK.”

TK tightens his hold on him, pulling him closer. “You never saidanything.”

“I was afraid to lose you,” Carlos whispers, now feeling unsure. “Irather have your friendship than not have you at all.”

TK closes his eyes, smiling as he shakes his head. “Idiot.”

“Hey,” Carlos starts to grin, moving forward when TK bringshis hands to the back of his neck and pulls him closer. Letting go of TK’s face,he places his hands on his waist, pressing his forehead against TK’s as the boylets out a soft laugh, and Carlos feels the same kind of giddy joy.

“I’ve had feelings for you since I met you,” TK says quietly, hisbreath touching Carlos’ face. He aches to close the distance between theirlips. “Back when I was so pissed that my dad dragged us here from New York, andI hated everything about Austin. You were the only thing I liked about it, andthen as we became friends, you became the person that made it feel like home.”

“Can I kiss you?” Carlos pleads, not being able to take it asecond longer, not when the boy he loves is telling him he feels the same way.

Carlos feels TK’s smile against his mouth instead of seeing it; hesighs into the kiss three years in the making. He pulls TK by the waist andgroans into the kiss when TK answers by wrapping his legs around Carlos’ waist,bringing their bodies flush against the other, and Carlos can feel how much TKwants him, his own body reacting to it the same way.

“Ty,” Carlos gasps out before TK slips his tongue inside his mouth.He moans helplessly not just at the taste of TK’s mouth, but also at the feelof that smooth silver stud pressing against his tongue as TK takes his time, makingsure he pulls Carlos apart with each flick of his skilled tongue.

“Carlos,” TK whispers back when he pulls away to take abreath. Carlos can’t stop touching or kissing him, and he trails a path withhis mouth from TK’s lips down his jaw, to his neck, kissing and sucking on anystrip of skin he can, instantly addicted to the taste of TK Strand.

“I knew it would be like this between us,” TK moans, his headthrown back as Carlos sucks at the pulse point under his jaw. His hand’s gripat his shirt and Carlos pulls back long enough to pull it over his head.

TK looks at him, his usually bright green eyes darkening as hetakes in Carlos’ bare chest, the piercing on his tongue peeking out as he curlshis tongue and makes an appreciative sound. “Fuck, baby, you’re a workof art.”

Carlos feels himself go hot at the compliment, and the heated wayTK looks at him, he feels it from the top of his head and down his chest.

TK makes another noise, smiling up at him wickedly as he sees hisskin turn pink. “Oh, that’s pretty,” he says softly, his hand reaching out totouch Carlos, his thumb rubbing gently over one of Carlos’ nipples. He shiversat the touch, not being able to stop the whine that escapes his lips. TK’s eyesflicker back up to his, and his smile softens. He uses his legs, still aroundCarlos’ waist to pull him back in.

Hands cup his face, and Carlos closes his eyes as TK brushes hislips across his. “We’re going to be amazing, aren’t we?” he asks against hismouth, and Carlos nods, swallowing hard as he pictures what being with TK isgoing to be like.

Yes, they’re going to be incredible, starting right now.

Carlos goes to kiss him again, more than ready to get theincredible parts started when someone clears their throat behind them, causinghim to freeze.

TK looks over his shoulder at their unexpected guest before helooks back at Carlos; his eyes are wide, but there is a twinkle of amusement inthem when he mouths ‘oops’ at him, like the little shit he is.

“Hi, Mrs. Powell,” he says brightly. Carlos closes his eyes withdread, something tells him after today he isn’t going to be the librarian’sfavorite anymore. “Carlos was helping me find a book.”

Carlos looks at TK incredulously, finding a bright smile on hislips as he looks back at him with zero shame, and shakes his head, but in theend, he can’t feel anything but happiness. This is the crazy boy he chose tolove.

֎֍֍

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Iris calls out as she walksup to them on the quad. Carlos looks up from where he’s been spending timekissing TK’s neck.

“Hey,” TK greets her back as he presses himself to his side, flashingCarlos a bright smile when he throws an arm over his shoulder and pulls himcloser. “Thanks, I honestly can’t believe we’re finally together and that ittook me sticking a metal rod through my tongue to get this going.”

“Hey, that’s not true,” Carlos protests as TK rolls his eyes.

“Don’t even try to deny it,” TK points at him. “I have beenthrowing hints forever and nothing. It took me getting a piercing, and honestly,me being tired of waiting for this to happen.”

“I didn’t know you were throwing hints!”

TK rolls his eyes again before leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.“I know,” he says gently. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty because you’re clueless.”

Carlos goes to protest again, but TK stops him by giving himanother kiss, this time on the lips. Carlos sighs into it, ready to get lost init when Iris clears her throat loudly.

“Yeah, still here,” she says sarcastically, giving him an eye rollof her own. “I knew you’d be annoyingly cute once you finally got your shittogether.”

Carlos blushes at the comment, while TK laughs delightfully.

Iris smirks back at them. “By the way, that’s not what I wascongratulating you two on.”

“Oh?” TK raises an eyebrow at her, and Carlos feels dread again asher smirk seems to grow.

She pulls a flyer out of her bag, passing it over to them, andCarlos feels his face turn bright red as he takes in both his and TK’s faces onthe sheet of paper, with the words ‘banned from the library until further notice’under their faces.

“Apparently even though she hates everyone, it takes a lot to getMrs. Powell to ban someone; you two are now legends,” Iris tells them with agrin, wagging her eyebrows at him.

“Oh my god,” Carlos groans, dropping his head into his hands. Heturns his head to the side when he hears a snicker and finds TK smiling wildly.

“You find this funny, Tyler?” he questions dryly, and though TKmakes his usual face at his name, it doesn’t diminish the smile on his face, orthe affection shining in his eyes.

“Hilarious,” TK grins.

Carlos shakes his head, unable to stop his own smile. “Why do I likeyou?”

“Love,” TK corrects, biting down on his own smile. “Yousaid you love me, you can’t take it back now.”

Carlos smiles gently at him, bringing his hand back up to cup hischeek. “I’m never going to take it back.”

TK starts leaning in to kiss him, when Iris groans, forcing themto stop.

“Once again,” she shakes her head at them. “I’m still here.”

Carlos flashes her an apologetic look, knowing it doesn’t come offas sincere when he can’t stop smiling; he’s just so happy.

“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes as she stands back up. “I’mleaving to let you two be gooey and in love, try not to get banned from all ofcampus for indecent exposure.”

They watch her leave before TK draws his attention by tugging onhis hand.

“She’s got a point you know,” TK starts, giving him a dirty smirk.“If I don’t get you alone soon, I’m going to jump you right here.”

Carlos smiles back, his stomach clenching with anticipation. “Luckyfor us, I have an apartment, and I live alone.”

TK curls his tongue, and that little silver stud meant to driveCarlos crazy peeks out. “Then what are we waiting for?”

#911 lone star #tarlos #tarlos fic #911 lone star fic #tk x carlos #my writing #anon #Anonymous #college au

[lonestarbabe]

Holding Out For a Hero

Chapter 1: Where Have All The Good Men Gone

When T.K. Strand was eight years old, his father died on 9/11 with the rest of his fire station, and T.K.’s life forever changed. Luckily, in his grief and anger, T.K. found music, which gave him an outlet and kept him out of trouble… at least enough to keep him alive. At the age of sixteen, T.K. was propelled into stardom and with the grief and anger still very much alive within him, he began to use drugs, alcohol, and one-night stands to cope. As one of the most popular pop stars alive, T.K. has been accustomed to screaming masses and fanatical adoration but his manager, Judd, and best friend, Marjan, seem to think T.K. needs someone to look after him. T.K. doesn’t want another bodyguard, not after the series of uptight tightwads he’s had, but when he’s introduced to buff, sweetly handsome Carlos Reyes, T.K. begrudgingly decides that he can put up with a little eye candy hanging around (but it’s not because he needs someone to look after him, definitely not…)

T.K.

“I don’t need a bodyguard,” T.K. refuted, petulantly crossing his arms over his chest, but Judd gave him a sharp “don’t argue with me” look. The look usually didn’t go very far. After all, arguing was one of T.K.’s favorite hobbies. Though, he rarely took arguments too seriously. Mostly, they were just for sport, but this time T.K. knew to shut up, at least while Judd lectured him.

“Come on, this is my job to look after you. Let me do it.” Judd adjusted his wristwatch, still not used to the heavy metal Rolex that Grace had gotten him. She’d told him maybe it would him look like an actual manager because looking at Judd, you’d pick a barista from Starbucks as the talent manager over Judd.

Judd’s flannel shirt and blue jeans set him apart from not just other managers but also most of LA. Originally from Texas, Judd may have been a high-profile entertainment manager, but he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a suit to work. If you squinted, you might mistake him for a hipster, but Judd would snarl if anyone ever called him that (he had no beard or weird coffee). Lumberjack would be less offensive (again, no beard or no ax). Cowboy would be better than redneck. He might even take cowboy with pride.

While he was still very much a Texan at heart, Judd had followed his wife, Grace, out to LA so she could chase her dream of being an actress. Considering that Grace Ryder was going to be in what could be the summer’s big blockbuster, the move had paid off and things were going well for the Ryders. T.K. was just relieved that for the last five years he’d had Judd on his side. It was good to have someone who cared, even if T.K. was still a fuck up (because that was inevitable).

His former manager, Misty, had been a robotic woman who cared more about her pantsuits than her clients. At sixteen, he’d signed on with her, and from the start, she’d wanted more than T.K. was willing to give. Albums, tours, books, perfume lines, signings— she’d wanted him to do it all, but T.K. never got a moment of rest. She manipulated him and used all his youthful optimism against him. At first, it had been fun, but then it was just exhausting. Misty had cracked T.K., and she had made music a chore, but it wasn’t like T.K. knew anything else. He felt trapped. He wanted to love music again, but he knew he couldn’t do that with Misty breathing down his neck. Misty wasn’t evil. T.K. had good times with her even if he couldn’t keep up with her demands. She’d helped him start his career. She’d taken a chance on him. Nevertheless, she wasn’t good for him. She was too concerned about her own desires to pay proper attention to his. He needed someone who saw him as an actual person rather than a problem.

Now, Judd had the unenviable job of trying to piece a broken kid back together, but Judd didn’t seem too dismayed by the task. He’d been doing it for five years, after all. T.K. had come to Judd after a long search for the perfect manager, and it had been a cosmically right fit. Marjan Marwani, T.K.’s best friend, had actually been the one who had found Judd, and she still held it over his head that she had found him the best manager on the planet. He really loved his best friend even if she liked to taunt him mercilessly.  

In the time that he had been T.K.’s manager, Judd had been patient with T.K. He worked so hard to keep T.K. vaguely functional. Judd actually cared for some reason. Unlike Misty, Judd wasn’t the kind of manager in it for the money. He’d even suggested that T.K. take a break whereas other managers would have tried to keep their top-earning talent working as much as possible. Judd wouldn’t care if he didn’t get another dime from T.K., but T.K. was too stubborn and too lost to take time from the spotlight. He needed music in his life.

“All celebrities of your caliber use bodyguards,” Judd explained, his accent muted slightly by LA influences. When he went home to Austin, Judd’s voice always reverted to its original sound just like T.K. always sounded most like a New Yorker when he was in New York. “It’s a security risk to let you go running around alone. I know you like your independence, but when you have as many fans as you do, things are bound to get out of control.” T.K. suspected Judd was less worried about fans than T.K.’s behavior.

“Yeah, and I’ve had fifteen bodyguards in the past six months alone. I think that’s quite enough.” The last thing T.K. needed was another big slab of man following him around with a faintly disapproving look. His former bodyguards all tried and failed to keep a neutral expression when they worked for him. They’d been discreet, but he could always see the way their eyebrows scrunched, and lips pushed together with a nearly inaudible grunt. Even when he was drunk and higher than the moon, T.K. could see the disdain or, worse, the pity, in their eyes. He was just another teenage star turned adult fuck up. He wore the badge as proudly as he could even though he hated himself for becoming an out of control stranger.

“You know I’m not happy with your revolving door of bodyguards. It’s a major hassle, but I’d rather hunt down schmucks willing to deal with you than for you to get into trouble. Believe it or not, I prefer you alive.” T.K.’s heart flipped at the sentiment, and for whatever reason, he felt touched. The warm feeling sent a surge of anxiety through his body because somewhere along the line he’d learned concern was dangerous. He fidgeted in his seat, trying to retain his cool demeanor.  

T.K. rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Dad,” he said before he could think. The joke scratched against T.K.’s tongue like sandpaper. He hadn’t used the word dad in… well, he couldn’t even remember how long. Since his dad had died, T.K. had always the term father to refer to all dads. Dad was too personal, so he usually saved that word only for use with his own father, whose memory had become terrifyingly blurry in T.K.’s mind.

Judd grunted, an affectionate, slightly exasperated grunt. You could tell a lot about Judd’s mood based on his grunt. Grace always joked that he had a language composed all of grunts. “Someone has to look out for you.” Because your dad is dead.

“I don’t want to be protected,” especially not by his big brother of a manager.

“Yeah, well I can’t trust you to quit your self-destructive shit. Sometimes I wonder…” Judd trailed off shaking his head. His voice had quivered, softer and more hesitant.

“What? Wonder what?” He was already starting to feel defensive.

“Never mind, kid. It doesn’t matter.” Judd bit his bottom lip, knowing that he had almost said too much. His eyes were concerned, which made T.K. feel angry more than loved. He didn’t like when Judd tried to give him “much needed guidance.”

“No, tell me, what is it?” T.K. hated being coddled and kept out of the loop even if it was for his own good.

Judd looked at the picture of Grace on his desk. Emotions were more her thing. She’d be much better at this, but T.K. was worth making the effort when need be. “It’s not something you’d want to hear.”

“I don’t care. Tell me.”

Judd sighed, worrying that this thought would do more harm than good, but it had been growing in his mind for a while. He took a deep breath. “Sometimes I wonder if it doesn’t matter to you if you live or die.” T.K. eyes shot up to meet Judd’s. He wasn’t sure where this conversation was headed, but he didn’t like it. Yet, he couldn’t retreat from it because he’d been the one to press Judd to tell him what he was thinking.

“I’m not suicidal.” It wasn’t like he was going to jump off a bridge or something. “I wouldn’t try to kill myself if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Maybe not. I’m not exactly the best person to talk about all this stuff but seems to me that you wouldn’t mind dying if it happened to you.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Judd,” but it did. T.K. knew exactly what Judd meant, and it scared him how close to the truth Judd was.

“I just think that it doesn’t scare you that one night you could overdose, and I think you’re playin’ Russian roulette with your life, half-hoping that maybe you won’t get lucky.”

“Psychoanalyzing is for shrinks.”

“Yeah, I know, but it can’t be healthy to be so unconcerned about your own mortality.”

“There wouldn’t be much I could do about it if I died, so I don’t bother worrying about it.” T.K. thought about death sometimes. He’d even imagined himself dying, but it wasn’t in a weird way he didn’t think. Everyone thought about it. Him maybe more than others.

“No, I guess not, but I’m just saying that it seems to me you’d be okay if it just ended, relieved even.”

“Not to get nihilistic or whatever, but there’s not much to live for is there? But it’s just like going to work. Each day, you just gotta do it.” Life, even the glamorous life of a superstar, could be a monotonous jumble of highs and lows, but T.K. had learned that there wasn’t much he could do about it. He had to keep trudging along even if he didn’t know where to or why.

“Man, I don’t know what to say to that, but I think you’ve got it all wrong. Life isn’t that grim.”

T.K. backtracked. “I didn’t mean to suggest it was. It isn’t all bad, really. It’s not like I always hate it or anything. I do have fun. I have my pick of men, and I get invited to lots of parties.” T.K. smirked. “I’m sure you’ve seen some of the viral videos.”

“Getting so wasted you can’t remember how many fingers you have ain’t fun.”

“You’re just lucky none of my sex tapes have been leaked, but let me tell you, they’d do real well on Pornhub.”

“Keep those to yourself. The ‘I only have six fingers’ video was enough of a nightmare.” It should have been humiliating, but T.K. had just laughed when it had come out. His management team had been clucking like hens, but something so silly wasn’t worth all that headache, so T.K. just reminded that everything that happened to him was one big cosmic joke.

“I don’t even remember that night honestly, but that’s the fun of it, Judd—forgetting all the things you normally have to remember.”

“Yeah, well, how ‘bout trying to remember a little more.  You’ll forget yourself if you’re not careful.”

“As long as I don’t forget how to carry a tune, I think I’ll be okay.” As long as he could still got on the stage and do his job, he’d be fine.

“You’re more than a singer.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be. Life would be so much better if you only had to be one thing.”

“I want you to slow down on the partying.”

T.K. laughed. “And you think a bodyguard can help me with that? Yeah, right.” T.K. didn’t believe he needed a bodyguard at all. He was a big boy, and he wasn’t going to wilt just because a crowd gathered trying to get his attention or he drank a little too much. Bodyguards were basically just pieces of furniture who turn into stone walls when danger struck.

“He’ll make sure you make it out in one piece. I’ve picked a great guy.”

“That’s what you always say.”

“I mean it with this one.”

T.K. exhaled, still not thrilled about the idea of having someone follow him around. “What’s his name?”

“Carlos Reyes, and I think he’s just your type.”

“My type?”

“Trust me. He’s the kind of guy you’d like. He’ll keep up with you.”

“Oh yeah? Another bald forty-year-old? You know that those Mr. Clean types really get me going. It would be really hot to see my reflection on one of their shiny heads. Narcissistic goals.”

“You better bet careful, T.K. One of these days someone will think you’re serious.”

“I am. That dude three, no four, bodyguards ago took me way too serious. I think he actually thought I was into him.”

“I think Aaron quit just because you kept calling him a sexy Mr. Clean.” Judd shook his head, smiling a little.

“I think that guy’s suit was glued to his body. He didn’t even try to fit in. Bodyguards should be discreet. Plus, I got homophobic vibes from him. Like the kind of guy who will say he’s fine with gay people but then ask who’s the woman in the relationship.”

“The new guy isn’t like that.”

“So, if he’s not like Mr. Clean, what is he like? Hot? Eighty years-old? An actual robot?”

Judd gestures a zip across his lips. “You’ll see his pretty face soon, Rockstar. He starts tomorrow.”

“Maybe give me a week. I need some me time before I’m shackled to a piece of meat. ”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Judd was decisive, “But no, you cannot have a week. I’ve already told him he could start tomorrow.” He left no room for arguments.

“Fine.” T.K. stood up from his chair, letting it teeter unsteadily with the force of him pushing it out behind him. The chair settled, all four legs back on the ground. T.K. took a breath. “I guess I better enjoy tonight, then, before this guy comes in to try to tame me.” T.K. winked. “Many men have tried. Very few have succeeded. Like Miley Cyrus would say, ‘I can’t be tamed.’”

“Don’t tell me you want to get on a wrecking ball for your next video?”

He shook his head. “That’s not controversial enough for my taste. Full frontal nudity or nothing. The wrecking ball would just get in the way.”

Judd didn’t feed into T.K.’s joke. He gave T.K. a firm look. “You’ll call me if you need a ride home?” Judd had long ago made it clear that he was always available if T.K. needed him, no questions asked. T.K. had never taken him up on that offer.

“I’m not the kind of fuck up who crashes his hundred-thousand-dollar car. I know to hire a driver if I’m going to drink,” among other things, “or I’m sure I’ll find a nice young man to take me home. Or old. I’m not that picky.”

Judd gave him a disapproving look because T.K. liked to jump in bed with people who didn’t give a damn about his wellbeing. “That’s what I’m worried about. One of these days the young man, or old one, won’t be so nice.”

T.K. liked that thought. Good guys weren’t his thing, after all. Sweet guys were cute, but they always seemed unobtainable, especially with how much T.K. expected of his men. He liked them tough, sometimes even mean. He liked to watch them fight for dominance. He liked to watch them puff their chests and try to pin him down. He liked to roll them over and tease them with his lips and tongue. He liked to give in just as much as he liked to resist. “Even better.”

#my fics #911 lone star fic #911 lone star au #911 lone star #tarlos #sorry I wanted to put this on here before the next chapter #I am a mess #Elise Writes #my writing #Season 1

[r6shippingdelivery]

For your shippping game, I would like to ask about... Mmm... BanditJackal. Someee ThermiteThatcher and some ThatcherLion!

Send me a ship and I’ll tell you the first 5 things that come to mind when I think about it 

Oh boi, this is gonna take a while! I’ll put it under a read more cause it will be really, really long 😄

Bandit/Jackal

1) Jackal wasn’t truly trying to snatch Bandit’s potential dates from him, he was actually flirting with Bandit but nobody seemed to notice. Then, when he gave up and started to actively pursue random one night flings, Bandit would always appear by his side and ruin his chances, and while Jackal supposed it was payback (which he was adamant he didn’t deserve) it was also flattering to think Bandit was paying attention to him for once. Seeing as they were out of options, they started to joke about sleeping together… until it wasn’t a joke anymore.

2) Bandit has some ptsd from his time undercover, even if he’s unwilling to admit it, and Jackal has his insomnia and thirst for a decades old revenge. Somehow, they are actually a good influence on each other, calling out the bullshit and bluntly stating a few truths when one of them gets into one of their darker moods. Yes, it usually ends up in a fight, but then they’ll also eventually meet up in the roof with a few beers and quietly talking about what’s been bothering them (and admiting the other might have been right).

3) They both insist they aren’t a couple. Jackal will say they’re friends with benefits, Bandi insists they’re frenemies with benefits at most. If someone asks them about why they go on dates then, they’ll say it’s not a date, just a friendly outing and sometimes it’s convenient to have someone to drag with you into stuff because being by yourself gets tiresome. Mira and the rest of the GSG9 will roll their eyes when they hear that, because it’s not like these two have nobody else around nor other friends.

4) Lots of pranks targeting Jackal, but they’re usually aimed at getting a laugh out of him rather than making people laugh at him. On the other hand, Jackal occasionally retaliates by doing something mildly romantic in public, like giving Bandit flowers or a small gift, or even kissed his hand once like he was a damsel. Bandit, of course, would rebuff him with crude remarks, but Jackal knows he kept the flowers and the plushie/chocolates/whatever he got him.

5) Lots of impromptu traveling, just hopping on Bandit’s bike and going around to see what they find and explore Greece (well, the area around the new base, anything at half a day distance from there at most), trying to mingle around the locals despite sticking out like a sore thumb most of the time. Jackal keeps offering to drive, but Bandit refuses him to touch his bike unless he’s riding behind him, and he can consider himself fortunate enough because when Bandit heard a similar petition from Mozzie he banned the Australian from even being too close to the bike under any circumstances.

Thermite/Thatcher

1) At first Thatcher barely paid any attention to Thermite, dismissing him as another jokester, just less annoying than Smoke but equally harebrained. Then they started teaming up during training, and that somehow translated into spending time together outside work too, like going drinking together. And sooner than Thatcher could know, he was getting alarmingly attached to the loud Texan breacher.

2) Despite the age gap, and their wildly different characters, they somehow actually fit well together. Thatcher discovered that behind his laid back and goofy exterior, Jordan also had a keen mind and wasn’t nearly as reckless as he thought. In turn, Thermite greatly appreciated Mike’s directness and sarcasm, and despite his appearances of being and old-fashioned fool regarding technology, he knew more than he let on. And his occasional lapses of knowledge were quite endearing to Thermite, who relished the occasion to enlighten him and hear Thatcher disparage about technology in his unique and witty way.

3) Thatcher was reluctant to let their relationship progress, not because Thermite was a man, but because of their age difference. It would be selfish of him to saddle Thermite with someone who was nearing retirment already. Sooner rather than later, he’d be another person Jordan would be mourning, and Thatcher would rather shoot himself than make Thermite go through that. Unfortunately, rejecting him would also hurt Jordan, and Thatcher was now remembering why he’d sworn off relationships after his divorce, there’s no winning even when he tries to do the right thing.

4) After many failed attempts at talking about it, and a few arguments too, Thermite exasperetedly remined him it wasn’t something Thatcher could decide for him, much less when Thermite wanted to be with him and Thatcher apparently too, when he wasn’t being a foolish noble idiot. “I want to be with you, treasure our time together so when one of us is gone the other can have these wonderful memories.” After hearing that, Thatcher started heeding Doc’s advice about his health a bit more often, just to make sure they had as many years together as possible.

5) They both cook in the same way: greasy and fried. Fish and chips, nuggets, bacon and fried eggs, etc. Thermite got some burns over his old burns from splashing grease while cooking, and Thatcher will always frown and wait with aloe cream for his abused skin. Doesn’t matter if Thermite insists it doesn’t hurt much because he barely has any sensibility there unless it’s on the pad of his fingers, but he still will let Thatcher take care of it (because he loves having Thatcher touching him in any way, although it’s better when he’s allowed to touch back, iykwim)

Thatcher/Lion I started to lowkey ship them since Op. Leap of Faith and I blame you a little for it, jfyi :D

1) After the infamous argument that ended with a physical scuffle, both Thatcher and Lion were content to avoid or glare at each other from a distance. Ironically, it was Doc who sort of pushed them together, lecturing them and blaming their inability to act as adults for the tension between the SAS and GIGN since the incident. That and Thatcher’s guilt over the mess he caused, and the relentless and definitely mean pranks Smoke kept pulling on Lion, were what pushed him to go and apologize to Lion for hitting him. Even if Thatcher was convinced he’d do the same again if they went back in time.

2) They still argued constantly, Thatcher disdaining Lion’s gadget of choice, and Lion calling Thatcher an old fossil. Somehow, their constant exchange of barbs leaves them seeking each other again and again, and other ops have joked this is like foreplay to them. They aren’t totally wrong. Lion still doesn’t know why he keeps seeking Thatcher, wanting his approval and yet always searching to argue with him too. On the other hand, Thatcher swears the Frenchman is a pest and he’d rather not deal with him, yet he also rejoices everytime they’re part of the same team.

3) Bonding over having a complicated past regarding their love life? More likely than you think! As far as Thatcher can see, Lion’s situation doesn’t differ much from his own after getting a divorce. He’ll admit that Lion is at least making an effort to keep a relationship with his son, and Thatcher can respect and admire that. Lion might be a knob, but he tries damn hard to be better. And his face when Thatcher told him that was priceless.

4) An absurd amount of pining, yet neither of them would even recognize they were pining for each other. They were just coworkers who got along, work friends maybe. And yet they kept inviting the other out for dinner, but since it wasn’t to fancy places it didn’t count as a date, did it? Or the constant glances when they met each other around the base, which their respective teams immediately picked up (and teased them for it).

5) Even after getting together their relationship progresses at a slow pace, but after his reckless youth phase, Lion actually treasures this slow pace. To him, the first time they had sex, after months of dating and even more months of not-quite-dating, felt a thousand times more intimate and satisfying than all the mindless sex he had on the first dates during those dark years. Perhaps that’s a sign he changed, for the better Lion hopes. 

#rainbow 6 siege #r6s #rainbow six siege #thedragonsarealive #headcanons #I'm back answering these asks guys! #sorry for the delay I had stuff to write and this ask was quite long to write too :D

[misssophiachase]

Klaroline superhero prompt for you! Caroline works in an office w/ Klaus & basically everyone knows he's a superhero but he thinks he's so secretive no one has figured it out. So basically Stefan covers for him during meetings, Caroline covers his calls, Katherine keeps Elijah from asking too many questions about paperwork. And Bonnie refills his first aid kit all the time. Their whole cover is blown when Kol gifts him a new costume to fight battles in during the secret santa gift exchange. Thx❤

HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY JEN (my almost birthday twin). I wanted to get this done before I went away. Thanks for the prompt, I love me a bit of superhero Klaus : ) Hope you like it. I also hope you have a wonderful day next Thursday (with lots of cake and have some of that amazing Texan BBQ for me while you’re at it). 

Wind Beneath My Wings

December 23….

Last night had been particularly rough, Klaus was lucky to make it home in one piece. Who knew a crazed idiot with bleached, blonde hair and a maniacal laugh riding a lawn mower (of all modes of transport) could do such damage? He was starting to wonder where these new and decidedly eccentric breed of villains were coming from. 

After an extended shower to ease the bruised muscles, Klaus dressed in his usual suit and tie combination to head into work. Klaus was joint CEO of Mikaelson Construction with his older brother and their company had basically built half of Manhattan. He’d started out from practically nothing but now he was a billionaire. Not too bad for a young kid from one of London’s poorest suburbs. 

It was after he’d acquired his first 50 million that Klaus began to get bored, he always did love a challenge and work was no longer providing that spark. His siblings as usual had offered their opinions. 

Elijah suggested playing the stock market, Kol suggested a friend with benefits (or multiple) and, although she was in London, Rebekah went with Pilates. She insisted it was good for core strength and channeling the desire to want to punch Kol in the face. As much as he wanted to hit his younger brother at times, he wanted a different kind of thrill. Something worthwhile that would help people at the same time.

Fast forward nine months and Klaus was trawling the streets for bad guys. He’d seen a news report on CNN about crime levels increasing at an alarming level in New York but the cities police force didn’t have the manpower or resources to combat the threat. 

Klaus considered himself an extremely fit person. He’d trained in three different martial arts (basically from boredom) and regularly took part in marathons and triathlons. All he needed was a suit to keep his identity secret. Unfortunately his face was recognisable in business and social circles so it took a bit of work on the sewing machine (yes he had mastered that skill too, not that he broadcast it). 

“Where is that paperwork from the Ferguson deal?” Was the first order Elijah barked at him when he walked through the glass doors.  Klaus figured once he got laid on a regular basis the stress would abate with his uptight, elder brother. Obviously not. 

“I put that on your desk, don’t you remember?” Katherine interrupted, her brown eyes flickering over his toned body. 

“I don’t recall,” he stuttered, his gaze now firmly focused on the fitted, black dress that hugged every one of her curves. 

“How about I jog your memory in your office?” She purred, it didn’t take long for his brother and their public relations manager to disappear. The King of decorum, Elijah was fastidious about professionalism but when Katherine Pierce had come on board he was unable to resist. For the record Klaus and pretty much everyone else were happy for the distraction. 

Klaus discreetly hobbled his way towards the supply closet, realising that the hastily applied bandage on his leg was peeling off. He’d sometimes wondered just how the first aid kit seemed to be fully stocked all the time but he wasn’t about to complain. 

As he turned the corner, he noticed Bonnie rummaging around. Klaus knew he had to play it cool though so as not to arouse any suspicion. “Morning, Bonnie.”

“Hi, Klaus,” she smiled, closing the cupboard door quickly. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is,” Klaus lied, realising that in his extreme pain he’d barely even looked up at the sky on his way into the office. 

Bonnie was in human resources and Kol had taken an immediate liking to her. The feeling wasn’t mutual at first (hardly surprising when it came to his younger brother) but in some magical turn of events he’d managed to convince her he was worthy. They’d been married on Long Island six moths earlier. 

“I should really get back to work but is there something you needed?”

“No it’s fine,” he murmured. “I just got a cut on my finger that’s all.”

“You’ve got to watch that paper, it’s dangerous,” she grinned, moving past so he could access the first aid kit. She’d obviously been taking sarcasm lessons from Kol. Klaus consulted his watch, hoping that his day would start moving a little faster given the excruciating pain he felt. 

“Finally,” Caroline drawled as he approached her desk. “Given your quick exit last night I assumed you’d be in on time. Don’t worry I’ve got the phones covered, as usual.” 

She looked stunning, her blonde waves cascading down her back, that cobalt figure hugging dress only accentuating those brilliant eyes even more. Even after all this time, she still had the power to stop him dead in his tracks. 

He’d finally mustered up the courage and invited her to the Mayoral Ball the previous evening not expecting his night job to interfere with his plans. He’d mumbled some feeble excuse and rushed off. If Klaus was being honest he was torn for the first time between his conflicting lives. He’d never felt anything like he did for Caroline. Yes, he was her boss but he couldn’t deny just how much she lifted his spirits even if they were arguing or exchanging witty banter which was common place. 

“I’m sorry about last night, you have no idea, love.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” she smiled, almost knowingly. Klaus wasn’t sure what she was alluding to but he figured it couldn’t be his double life given he’d kept it so quiet all this time. “Unfortunately, I am the bearer of bad news though.”

“Oh really?” Klaus dealt with some pretty tough things in his life so figured he could handle just about anything. 

“Kol’s in your office.” Maybe not. He rolled his eyes at Caroline by way of response and walked into his office, making sure Caroline couldn’t make out his lingering limp. 

“Well, don’t you look like crap,” he teased from the other side of the desk as Klaus finally sat down. 

“Good morning to you too,” he scowled. 

“It must have been a big night judging by that injury,” Kol quipped, looking towards his leg. “I never took Caroline for the aggressive type.”

“It wasn’t Caroline,” he shot back through pursed lips. “I fell down some stairs at my apartment, if you must know.”

“I’m almost disappointed,” he joked. “You realise we’ve all been waiting for you and Goldilocks to finally get together, right?”

“I’d really prefer that you and everyone else keep out of my private life.”

“What private life?” 

“Someone thinks they’re a comedian,” Klaus growled. 

“When Elijah is getting more action than you there needs to be an intervention,” he chuckled. “You wanted something to do, how about Caroline?”

“I will hit you, I swear,” he threatened. No one spoke about his beloved Caroline like that and got away with it. 

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he drawled. “But it’s nice to see you’re showing some actual feelings towards the girl. Its only been like over a year.”

“Did you have a point in coming here? You know possibly work related because we’re in the office.”

“Just wanting to say how much I’m looking forward to the Secret Santa exchange this year,” Kol smirked before strolling from the room. Obviously he was going to be the lucky recipient of his brother’s attempt at humour. He couldn’t wait.

Klaus had completely forgotten about it, although it wasn’t entirely unexpected given his busy schedule. He was about to press the intercom and speak to Caroline before she breezed into the room like she knew he needed her.

“I figured you might need some caffeine after dealing with Kol,” she smiled placing it on the table. 

“That or possibly a whiskey,” he grinned. Whatever mood he was in, Caroline always had the ability to make him smile. “Now, about this S…”

“Your gift is on my desk,” she interrupted. “Katherine will adore the Channel No 5, trust me.” Just when he thought she couldn’t be any more amazing she had to go and do that. And it wasn’t because she was his Executive Assistant either. 

“I’d really like to make it up to you,” he murmured, standing up and coming around to the front of the desk, unknowingly hobbling a little as he did. She gazed at him curiously, a slight smile tugging at her pink lips. 

“What did you have in mind, Mikaelson?”

“You, me and my chalet in Vail,” he suggested, trying to block out visions of them naked and lying in front of a roaring fire together, so as not to encourage his arousal any further. 

“How about we get you cleaned up first,” she suggested, surprising him and grabbing a nearby tissue and placing it on his face tenderly. “Don’t want you bleeding all over the carpet.”

“I must have..” he replied feebly.

“Cut yourself shaving?” She finished his sentence, which was something she had a tendency to do. She was so close he could have kissed her but thought better of it given all his injuries. 

“Something like that,” he uttered. When he’d started this whole superhero journey he’d actually enjoyed keeping it a secret until Caroline. There were so many times he wanted to tell her but he’d faltered worried about what she might think of his chosen lifestyle.

“I think you’re okay now,” she whispered, removing the tissue and placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. Klaus didn’t think he’d ever felt anything so devastatingly innocent in his whole life. “Secret Santa exchange is in three hours.” 

Before he could react to the kiss or respond to her comment she was gone, leaving a trail of floral perfume in her wake. The one thing he knew was that, superhero or not, Klaus was in love with Caroline Forbes and had every intention of proving that to her. 

“Thanks, Caroline,” Katherine said, sending Klaus an amused look three hours later. 

“Last time I checked, that was my present,” he scoffed.

“Which I’m sure you went to the store and bought personally,” she shot back. Caroline gave him a look to say he was on his own.  

“Whatever,” he grumbled. 

“Looks like someone needs a little pick-me-up,” Kol sing-singed placing a box on his lap ceremoniously. Klaus had been dreading this moment for the few hours. “Merry Christmas.” As Klaus undid the ribbon and opened the lid slowly, all he could think about was how un-merry it all felt.

What  he wasn’t expecting was to find a superman costume housed inside the box. Klaus figured the burning, hot sensation crossing his face wasn’t a coincidence. “Uh, very funny, Kol,” Klaus managed to bite out, albeit with difficulty.

“Seriously, Kol?” Bonnie gasped, looking at the contents. “You idiot, what were you thinking?”

“Obviously someone’s trying to be a smartass, know-it-all,” Katherine chided. 

“I thought it was time we tell Niklaus that we know about his poorly-kept secret identity,” he boasted. “Plus, I really wanted to mess with Elijah.” By the look of bewilderment on his eldest brother’s face his surprise gift had the desired effect. 

“We’re a little too old for dress-ups, Kol,” Elijah scoffed. 

“I don’t know, maybe ask Niklaus about that,” Kol teased. Now all eyes were on Klaus and he wasn’t quite sure what to do or say. He noticed Caroline had been decidedly quiet and wasn’t sure whether that was a good or bad sign. 

“You knew all this time,” he hissed, standing up defiantly, even if his muscles were screaming in pain. “You all knew?” Suddenly everything came back in flashes. Bonnie frequenting the always fully stocked first aid cupboard, Katherine distracting Elijah and Caroline…His eyes met her blue ones willing her to answer. 

“You’re not the best liar, Nik,” Kol admitted. “I just thought it was time we all stopped pretending that you weren’t doing something completely unexpected like fighting crime in your spare time.” 

“What he means to say, but is expressing it badly, is that we want to be able to assist, without all the false pretence. When we realised about your double life a while back we decided to help you out a bit. You know lighten your load,” Bonnie offered, meekly. 

“I’m not the most selfless person,” Katherine began and by the knowing looks around the room no one was going to rebut that statement. “But given your celebrity status I figured I could least lend a hand.”

“What the hell is going on here?” Elijah insisted. 

“Klaus is the Original,” Caroline finally spoke, although her voice was muffled and her eyes downcast. They all knew, even her. Suddenly he felt so stupid. 

“You know Elijah…”

“I know who that is Kol,” he growled. “But how?”

Klaus wasn’t in the mood to talk about this right now surrounded by people who’d deceived him. 

“I can’t believe you all lied to me,” he hissed. He made a move for the door before she spoke again, her voice making him freeze. 

“What? Like you lied to all of us?” She baulked. “Look, we knew you wanted to keep this a secret so we went along with it. But we don’t like seeing you hurt all the time and not being able to admit we know why.”

He turned to face Caroline his gaze trained on her beautiful features and thought back to earlier that morning and the way she’d tended to his bleeding cut without a word. Maybe their silence on the matter was killing them just as much as it was him. 

“I’m still confused,” Elijah interrupted.  

“It’s okay baby, I’ll explain it to you.” Katherine cooed, pulling him up from the lounge and leaving the room, the rest of them in tow sensing he needed a minute to cool down. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He mumbled, finally finding his voice. 

“Because you didn’t,” she murmured, moving closer and cupping his cheek, stroking her thumb over the spot she’d tended to earlier. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t say anything, but you have to believe me, I wanted to every single day,” he conceded. “I just wasn’t sure how you’d feel about my choice in extracurricular activities.”

“You thought I’d be scared.” Her blue eyes were now boring into his and Klaus was finding it increasingly difficult to breath. 

“No, I thought you’d only want me for my superhero status,” he teased, earning a slap on the cheek for his efforts. “Hey!”

“You deserved it.”

“I was trying to lighten the mood,” he reasoned, pulling her into his arms and running his hands through her golden waves. “But just so you know I have no intention of ever leaving you, sweetheart, because I love you so there’s no reason to be frightened.”

“Can I have that in writing?” She grinned, her palms lying flat on his toned chest, causing a certain area to tingle in response. 

“How about we come to another type of agreement in Vail?” 

“You’re really going to take some time off from superhero duty?” 

“For you I would do anything,” he growled, greedily capturing her lips and losing himself in the gentle massage of her mouth against his. It was something he’d wanted for so long but had never really dreamed possible.

After a few minutes, she pulled away unexpectedly, Klaus feeling a little rejected. She looked at him sternly and Klaus knew she was about to give him an order.

“As much as I love this and can’t wait for our snowy get away, with your superhero suit of course, you need to go out there and apologise to everyone.”

“But…” he replied petulantly, still feeling somewhat deceived. 

“But nothing, they have been your support system all this time even if you had no idea…” Before he could argue she read his mind as usual. “And that includes Kol.”

“Fine,” he conceded, pretending to be upset but his stupidly goofy grin no doubt giving him away. “You know you’re pretty good at giving orders, any chance you want to don a cape and join me?”

“Just wait until you get me into bed Mikaelson. All of my superpowers will be revealed.” She purred, leaning in and nipping his lips briefly before sauntering away, her hips wiggling seductively as she did. 

Maybe this superhero gig did have its perks after all.  

You can read on FF HERE

#HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVE #have an awesome day #wind beneath my wings #misssophiachase #klaroline drabbles #perhaps one day #klaus the superhero

[samsylviasmoustache]

The Favour: Part I

Sam and Ruth attend a wedding. No, not like that. Well, maybe. 

“So, I need a favour.”

It must be a big one. His ashtray is filled with butts already, and it’s barely ten. “What’s in it for me?” she asks. Wise to his ways, these days.

He looks up from the storyboarding panels he is prodding listlessly around his desk, and frowns. “My undying friendship,” he deadpans, “which is a pretty rare coin around here, let me tell you.”

She folds her arms. “Rare generally implies valuable.”

“Or fleeting.” He can see he isn’t going to win with threats, so leans forward conspiratorially instead. “Ok, ok. I’ll let you pitch two scenarios from the Wilder Binder of Wrestling Nerdery.”

She rolls her eyes. “Come up with a better name for my scrapbook.” Considering her position, she goes for broke. “Three scenarios. And one of them has to be a double-pager.”

“Done.”

“Well, that was too easy.”

“Way too easy.” Another cigarette sparks; he is still working his way up to actually asking her whatever’s so damn important. She raises an impatient eyebrow and he finally cuts to the chase. “I need a date. For a wedding.”

She blinks, nonplussed. “What, you want me to find…?”

“No. Jesus. I’m not that much of a charity case. Am I?”

“Paranoid much?” she snaps, covering her own confusion. “You want me…” And now the penny drops. “… as an actress?”

“Yes. Yes. In a purely professional capacity.”

She opens and closes her mouth a few times. “What could possibly be professional about you taking a fake date to a wedding? No, no. Don’t answer that.” She considers the problem further, frowning. “Wouldn’t Debbie or-or Rhonda be better for this, anyway?”

Now it is his turn to goggle. “Debbie’s way too high profile,” he says, which stings a bit, she can’t lie. “And Rhonda is subtle as a fucking brick. I’m coming to you for discretion. And, you know,” he shrugs, “because I thought you might like a day off from team pariah.”

She hesitates, still very unsure. “When are we talking?”

“This weekend.”

Damn. It would be interesting, after all. And what else is she going to fill the time between filming and rehearsal with, other the Not Speaking to Debbie? She narrows her eyes. “Who was your back up after me?”

“No one. Epic car wreck.” A lie, but at least he cares enough to bother.

“Fine,” she says, with the biggest sigh she can muster. “On one more condition. Tell no one.”

He rolls his eyes. “Like I was going to advertise this. Don’t dress like a fancy Mormon.”

“You have a different character in mind?”

“Average human woman? I appreciate it may be a stretch.” He is prodding at his storyboards again, thinking he’s won their war of words.

“What, that one would consider dating you?”

She beats a hasty retreat before he can think of another comeback.

In the Before—and that’s really how she’s started to think of it now; it deserves the capital letter—she would have been getting ready with Debbie. Borrowing make-up, maybe even a dress. Strategizing, laughing at how pathetic this really is.

Now the dress is a bronze shift borrowed from Jenny. Her palette of eyeshadow is cadged from Dawn, normally used to transform her face into Zoya’s. The room is quiet. Sheila is off on the hunt. Even the TV refuses to collude, providing nothing more than hissing static as background noise.

At least this way is efficient. She gives her costume a quick appraisal in the bathroom mirror. She looks fine, good even. Just not very like herself. Whoever that is. Sometimes, these days, she isn’t sure.

Outside the morning is warm with a faint smell of oranges in the breeze. She settles down outside the motel reception; doesn’t have to wait long before he pulls up.

“Hey,” he says, as she takes the passenger seat. “Good job on the whole normal human thing.”

“Same to you,” she shoots back. He’s even attempted a shave. The effect is frankly disconcerting.

“You still, uh… you still okay to do this?”

She thinks about it. “Yeah,” she says, “I’m okay.”

“Good. That’s good. I mean, I won’t be a dick about it—”

“Who is this wedding even for, anyway? Why is it so important you don’t come alone?”

He rubs his chin, seeming surprised himself at the absence of usual bristling stubble. “Chrissy,” he eventually volunteers.

“Chrissy the ex? Chrissy the relative? Chrissy the… network executive? Help me out here.”

“Not an ex,” he says, too quickly. “She was just a-a friend…”

Ah. A shade softer now, she presses on. “Chrissy the one that got away?”

“Yeah. Yeah, something like that. Happy now?”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know. I know. Sorry. Anyway, it’s her daughter’s wedding. And I’ve known her a long time.” He screws up his face. “Well, I’ve knew who she was a long time ago. We done?”

She nods, knowing his defensiveness will pass like a summer storm. “Shall we?”

He turns the ignition in reply.

There must be two hundred guests in the ballroom, dressed like frosted peacocks. Sam’s need for a companion makes considerably more sense in this sea of smiling, beautiful people. Oddly he seems more comfortable now, Bellini in hand. “Okay,” he says, “if I rub my nose like this it means I don’t know them.”

“Mm, subtle. I like it.” She drains her own glass for some liquid confidence. “You have to go along with whatever I do though. Right?”

He shrugs, takes another sip. “Right.”

She turns, opening their table to the throng. Smiles. The first fish takes the bait straight away; a middle-aged couple. Sam rubs his nose.

“Good afternoon,” says Ruth, in a cut-glass British accent. “Um, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced?”

“Oh, you’re English!” says the woman. “How charming! I’m Wendy and this is my husband Robert.”

“Very nice to meet you,” says Sam, sticking with his usual drawl. “My name’s Sam and this is my friend…”

“Eileen,” picks up Ruth, “Eileen Dover.” She ignores a slight choking noise from Sam, hiding his snort of laugher with a large gulp of cocktail.

“What are you doing over here, Eileen?”

“Oh, I’ve been in LA for a few years now. I teach yoga.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, several classes a week. I’ve so many clients over here it really is quite a stretch…”

“Is that so?”

“I try to be flexible to accommodate, of course. Sam, darling, are you ok?”

“Fine, fine,” he wheezes, having breathed Bellini.  They exchange further pleasantries, until the lightly confused Wendy and Robert excuse themselves to talk to other guests.

“Okay,” he says, still struggling to hide his grin. “That was pretty funny.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re good at that English accent.”

The corner of her mouth twitches, a shy little half-smile. “Thanks.”

Next comes an older gentleman, for whom she plays the part of Texan belle Caroline. Sam then introduces her to a second couple as Norma-Jean, and actually has to duck away for a moment during her impression of Marilyn, to regain some composure. She drains her glass of cocktail and realises she’s enjoying herself, for the first time in weeks, outside of the wrestling ring.  

A handsome woman, almost a foot taller than she is, takes Sam’s absence as cue to approach. Ruth has her suspicions about her identity. “Hi,” she says, in her own voice, “I’m Ruth.”

“Chrissy,” confirms the woman. “Nice to meet you.”

She kisses Ruth, once on each cheek, Chanel perfume filling her nostrils. The woman is immaculate in navy blue, dark ringlets of hair cascading down her back. She radiates an aura of calm competence and effortless style. Something like the polar opposite of Sam, in other words, piquing Ruth’s interest. They might as well be from different planets, and she’s itching to know the circumstances of first contact.

“Thank you for inviting me to be part of today,” she smiles. “Sam said you’ve been friends for a long time?”

“We grew up together. How do you know Sam?”

She can’t help but admire the way Chrissy has flipped the interrogation. “We work together,” she replies carefully, “developing a new show for TV.”

There is something flinty in Chrissy’s eyes, for all her careful words. “You’re an actress?”

Ruth can see little point in denying it. “Yes—”

“And a writer,” says Sam, returning from what smells like a cigarette break. “All her own jokes.” He receives his own kisses warmly. “You look wonderful. As always.”

“Wish I could say the same,” Chrissy returns, still steely. Sam shrugs, faux apologetic, and the façade breaks. “Ah, I’m just kidding—”

“No, you’re not. I’m not ageing well, I’m coming to accept it.”

“You look fine, Sam. Very smart. Do I have Ruth to thank for that?

He shakes his head, and she is aware of words unspoken under the surface. “No, I actually dressed myself today. I manage that sometimes.”

Chrissy laughs; like everything else about her the sound is refined. Some of the tension seems to drain out of the conversation. “Well, make sure you get a seat near the front. Jessie will want to see you.”

“Will do.”  

Ruth waits until Chrissy has walked a long way out of earshot before daring to open her mouth. “She doesn’t like actresses?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “She doesn’t like me sleeping with them.”

“What, she wants you to be respectable?”

He gives her a hard look. “No, she wants me to be happy.”

#sam sylvia #ruth wilder #netflix glow #fanfiction #sam x ruth #sam & ruth #swilder

[newstfionline]

Jesus Take the Reins

By Lyndsie Bourgon, Hazlitt, March 10, 2017

The first thing you should know about Bryn Thiessen is that he’s the type of person your hip barber is trying to be.

Thiessen wears a wool vest and black felt hat whose brim is wide but still narrower than the waxed, twirled moustache that protrudes at least 12 inches past his cheeks. He has a leather satchel and brown leather boots and a collection of brightly coloured silk scarves, and is usually wearing suspenders. He goes into Calgary once a week, for a chiropractor appointment, but the rest of the time he lives and works on his property, the Helmer Creek Ranch, which is about an hour and a half outside the city amongst the province’s rolling foothills at the base of the Rocky Mountains.

Years ago, Thiessen took me on a ride in the cab of his work truck to check on the pens that he installs to capture wild horses on his pasture. It was a longer ride than I expected and it soon became apparent that Bryn is a talker. Thiessen speaks in a drawl with a slight twang even though Texan inflection is not a native tongue of Alberta--it is both affectation and aspiration. He writes poetry and has a weekly service where he preaches to locals.

His is the Cowboy Trail Church. He is full of catchy phrases and during a sermon in May he recites a poem about a horse named Termite that likes to eat wood and spins it into a parable about stubbornness and the banishing of evil. You know stubbornness, he says, if you’ve owned a Dodge. After addressing part of the story of Sodom and Gomorrah he takes a deep breath and looks at the crowd: “Now, how’s that for wordin’?” he asks.

Thiessen’s cowboy church is one of dozens across the country, according to the Evangelical Fellowship for Canada, where a mixture of Christian faith and rural lifestyle meet. “The church is either a barn or a round corral,” he says. “A barn is where you’re fed and sheltered and someone cleans up after you. A round corral is where you’re exercising and growing. In either case, it’s a long building.” A cowboy church is a “seeker-sensitive” gathering, where the trappings of traditional worship are eschewed in order to entice people through the door. Often, cowboy churches meet on a weekday evening, because weekends are busy for farm families. There is no dress code: “When you go to a church with deep pile carpet, you’re not welcome if you’ve got dung on your boots,” is a common refrain. Services are held in settings from a barn to the side of a lake to a community centre. A handbook to starting your own cowboy church says “church words” are to be avoided, even in praying: “You need to launch your first service stirring up all the dust you can.” There has been an explosion of growth in the cowboy church movement over the past fifteen years. In a Texas Monthly article, one cowboy church pastor said cowboy churches were spreading like a grassfire.

Glenn Smith figured he had been bucked off a horse one too many times for there to be no God.

A former cowboy and rodeo clown, Smith is considered the father of the modern cowboy church movement--he called himself a “cowboy apostle,” which leads nicely into the name of his memoir: Apostle Cowboy Style. On Sunday mornings during rodeo competitions in Texas in the 1970s, Smith would preach from a corral to spectators and competitors. He was known to baptize people in tin troughs.

But cowboy churches were more of a nostalgic callback than new religion: the style of sermon is meant to replicate the oral storytelling that took place at campgrounds during the expansion of the West. The cowboys we had then (freelance prospectors and ranch hands) are not the competitive sport cowboys we have now, but if there’s a group that needs some saving it would probably be both--cowboy life is transient, which makes sinning an easy option. By profession, cowboys are disenfranchised from a regular community because their career takes them from rodeo to rodeo on a weekly basis. Most cowboys are single men with little personal responsibility and so there is little accountability involved in heavy drinking and promiscuous sex.

The largest cowboy church in North America, in Ellis County, Texas, is a “megachurch” that draws close to 1700 people to three weekly sermons to sit on folding chairs in a barn (the state’s Baptist General Convention says that 40,000 people attend cowboy churches weekly). The American Fellowship of Christian Cowboys counts more than 200 member churches in North America and Australia. In Canada, there are churches in Manitoba and Saskatchewan, as well as Alberta. For a while, there was a church operating through Shady Lane Hereford Farms in North Gower, Ontario. “We farm here, but you guys call it ranching,” says Karl Allen, who ran the province’s chapter of the Fellowship of Christian Cowboys through his business, Rugged Cross Stables. At one point, his congregation of one hundred people would put on pancake breakfasts and hay rides. “But in fairness, it’s been a bit of a flop,” he says. “Rodeo in Ontario is really slim.”

In Alberta, one of the first cowboy churches took place during the Calgary Stampede: “It was a real Western atmosphere, guys wore their hats,” says Phil Doan, who started the service in an empty room at Ranchman’s bar (later, he would conduct baptisms in the hotel pool across the street). “We started telling people that Jesus loves everyone, even cowboys… it worked real well in the bar. Anyway, when the frontier opened up, those were the only places they had. That’s one of the ways the west was won.”

What draws a community to these churches is not the talk of cattle branding or the prayers for rain or the request for a healthy calving season. It’s that, as Thiessen says, “People want to find a place where they can live the life they think they remember.” There is very little progressive change acknowledged within the walls of a cowboy church sermon--it may not be overtly religious, but it’s definitely conservative. It’s a place where you can wear the bedazzled western garb you might normally save for weddings. The Cowboy Trail Church’s congregation is smattered with young families (“I call them the ‘younger-than-my-moustache crowd,’” says Thiessen) and new immigrants.

The first time I attended Cowboy Trail, I was an hour early and already late--trucks and horse trailers filled the parking lot of the Cochrane RancheHouse and, inside, just over a hundred people had gathered to worship. All of Alberta’s denim was in this room, with the big bay windows that overlook the coulee the building was nestled in. I was greeted at the door by two cowboy-hatted men in perfect jeans and brown boots, who informed me that “We don’t say hello, we say howdy,” and pointed me in the direction of two men, dressed the same, who could tell me what was going on. “Would you really call it a church? It’s more of a meeting,” said Allan Wiley, a member of the congregation and a former police officer. “I have worn cowboy boots and jeans for decades. I take my hat off for prayer, but only because it gives me a headache.” There were tables set up with photo albums and a boot at the door for donations, though none were solicited. On the stage, an upturned barrel and wooden cross wrapped in burlap surrounded the band (known as Some Assembly Required), a remarkably full ensemble with a lead singer who dresses in blue fringe.

So, here’s the good news: a cowboy church service is really short. It usually starts with a story rooted in agricultural wisdom and leads into your predictable preaching about trusting in the plan of the Lord. There is more singing than talking--at Cowboy Trail they were six songs in before anyone said a word. “Do you like to sing? Man, I love to sing,” whispers the man sitting next to me.

The music is a key player in a cowboy church service--there is a separate red duotang folder at Cowboy Trail that’s full of songs that tie together the land and the lord, as well as a heavy hymnal for traditional songs. There is no modern hymnal here, no effort to attract youth through “rock.” But while the music is old and repentant (“God watches o’er all righteous men/But all the wicked will not stand/Their way will perish from the land/Like chaff in wind,” goes one song called “Put Your Hand in the Hand”), everything else can seem lackadaisical.

There’s a section where part of the Bible is recited, certain words emphasized repeatedly and members of the crowd will nod and mumble in agreement and the importance of fellowship will be agreed upon while squares are laid on a plastic tablecloth. If you don’t want to stay behind, no one will bug you as you leave.

A week after I attend the service, Thiessen receives a prayer request via text message from a local rancher: “Please pray for my strength,” it says. “Otherwise I’ll need strength and bail money.”

Thiessen’s father helped establish a series of Christian summer camps, where Bryn spent most of his time riding horses. “In the evening, you sat and told stories and sang songs. It was just the natural flow.” He conducted his first funeral sermon for a salamander, at the age of five or six at his grandmother’s house. Years later, he met a group called the Christian Cowboys at a rodeo and heard the rhythm of their words--it was a kind of patter of worship, where every story sounded like it might end in a dirty joke, and the descriptions were all examples from everyday life.

It’s one thing to hear about the grace of God and another to experience it after being trampled on by a horse and surviving. The latter happens in competitions, but also during a regular day’s work: a post at the back of Cowboy Trail’s hall has an update on a congregation member who, after a horse riding accident, had found a way to ride with her wheelchair. “We find the culture and meet them where they’re at,” he says.

Of course, each church is different. For instance, the crowd at James River Cowboy Church congregation, that I visit on a Thursday night when they’ve got a bonfire going, is a bit older and a bit smaller. Tom King, their pastor, is a real estate agent and, as he explains to me, the only guy in a wheelchair in the lot. King has MS and came to religion through Thiessen after his wife died years ago. Now he’s remarried and has a weekly gig that has him being introduced as a voice that “puts true-life experiences to the word in the book, in this church under the great blue skies and the slopes of the eastern Rockies.”

King’s sermon style is subdued compared to that of Thiessen’s, who can take on an earthy, fire-and-brimstone force when the mood strikes and who, the week before, took it upon himself to read the Book of Revelations while a wildfire raged in Fort McMurray There is little religion in King’s talk--we are compared, in our darkest and most confusing times, to a gopher panicking while trying to cross the road. King, whose friends and family have prayed for him to walk again, says he is not unfamiliar with the “heaviness of church.” He follows the cowboy church guidelines, so that’s not what he peddles.

“People just miss the hymns, the music is a big part of it,” he says. “We tell them the truth and give them good coffee.”

#Canada #cowboy church #Bryn Thiessen

[overeducatedandoverworked]

Accidentally On Purpose: ...Can You Even Tase An AI?

“Uhhhhh…” Darcy moaned, holding her heels in one hand and her taser in the other.  She slumped further onto Thor’s shoulder, hoping the elevator stopped soon.

Thor let out a gentle laugh, carefully shifting Jane in his arms so he could better support her.  “I suppose your Misgardian mead was a bit too strong for you this night?”

“Hey, big drinker, don’t tease me about alcohol,” she slurred, wanting nothing more than to lay down on the ground and use her purse as a pillow.  At least she still had her purse this time around.  “I lasted way longer than Jane did.  Three tequila shots and she was dead to the world.”

“Indeed,” Thor said, stepping forward as the elevator doors opened onto their floor as Darcy stumbled behind him.  “I don’t understand the convention of licking salt off someone’s body, but it is not an unpleasant experience.”

“Don’t wanna know, dude,” Darcy said with a groan, scrunching her nose at the memory of Jane licking salt out of Thor’s belly button.  That’s going into the list of ‘things I want to have blacked out of my memory by alcohol’.  Hopefully some sleep would relieve her of that mental image.

“I will escort you to your room once I have prepared Jane for sleep,” Thor said, heading into their bedroom, Jane cuddled into his (really quite nice) chest.

“No worries!” Darcy called back, taking a few steps forward and having to brace herself against the wall to keep from toppling over.  “I’ve got this!”  That was a complete and total lie, but she wasn’t about to deprive Thor of his Jane-care time.  He had such a sweet, nurturing side, one that he really didn’t get to use on Jane nearly enough.

“Oof!” Okay, she just ran into a wall.  Less thinking, more doing.

“JARVIS!” she urgently slurred, trying to keep

her voice low enough that Jane wouldn’t wake up.  “A li’l help here?”

“Of course, Miss Lewis,” the AI replied, in his beautiful, British voice.  Mmm… she needed a boyfriend with a British accent.  They were absolutely intoxicating.  He turned on the lights hidden in the sideboards that lead her to her room.

“You’re a champ, Jar,” Darcy responded, with a bit of a smile, before carefully feeling her way along the wall to her doorway.

Once she made it in, she had JARVIS turn on a few of the lights in her room, and peeled off her sparkly silver mini-dress, throwing her purse, shoes, and taser towards the nearest wall.  Her hand slipped, though, and she could have sworn that the taser was on when it collided with the power socket.  She gasped, falling backwards onto her bed, and the lights flickered a few times before returning to normal.

She hesitantly picked up her taser, but it was all out of juice.  Huh, she’d have to charge it in the morning before she left the tower.  She looked between it and the bed, trying to decide what to do.

Nope, she was way too drunk for this.  She’d deal in the morning.  She crawled into bed without changing, and managed to mumble “JARVIS, lights off,” right before she became dead to the world.

Of all the terrible things to happen in the morning, being awakened at seven am by your boss yelling about a mandatory, emergency meeting in twenty minutes was definitely the worse.  Especially with a hangover.  Oh good Thor, had she really forgotten to lay out the water and pain meds?  Her tongue tasted like she’d licked a metal pole, and her head was about to explode.  She groggily turned on her light, before hissing at the pain that it caused.  “JARVIS, for the love of Thor, please dim the light!”

To her utter relief, he did, although without the usual sassy comment about alcohol inhibition.  She grabbed the first clean clothes that she touched, and threw on shoes, glasses, and a hat before stumbling into the elevator with a bottle of water from her fridge.  She groaned when the elevator opened, cursing the loud noise and the fact that she couldn’t find her giant sunglasses that fit over her normal ones.  Stupid eyes, with their stupid nearsightedness and stupid needs.  Who let eyes error out, anyways?  Humanity in general should fix that, just for her.  Maybe Tony would figure it out someday.  Or maybe Bruce.

She managed to stagger her way into the meeting room, where the table was set up with, thank Thor, coffee already made up.  She grabbed a cup and curled into her chair, slowly peaking around the room, trying not to let the light make her head hammer any harder than the rock drummer in her brain was already pounding.

Naturally, Tony was at the head of the table, although he looked like a semi-truck had run him over.  Then backed up.  Then ran him over again.  If it was possible, he looked to be in even worse shape than Jane, who was leaning on Thor’s shoulder, sunglasses on and coffee in hand.  Knowing her, it’d taken Thor dragging her out of bed to be down here, and even now she was whimpering softly.  Clint was also in the corner of the room, the dark circles under his eyes in juxtaposition with his upright stance.  Must be a superhero thing.

Naturally, the rest of the Avengers looked to be wide awake and perky.  Natasha was chatting intently with Bruce, both of whom seemed to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.  Darcy couldn’t help but smirk at her own joke.  And even though Captain Underpa—Steve (damn Tony’s nicknames!) was in sweaty workout clothes, he was still sitting with a cup of coffee and better posture than she’d ever had.

All in all, it seemed like a pretty normal morning, if one that started far too early.  There just seemed like something was missing.  Wait a minute…

“Tony?” Darcy croaked out, her vocal cords still rusty from disuse, “Why isn’t JARVIS calling the meeting?”

Tony looked at her, and the spark in his eye seemed to intensify.  He slammed his fist onto the table, and the sound made every conversation in the room stop, along with causing the drummer in her head to start a new solo album.  She saw Jane whimper across the table, and even Tony winced.

“Let me explain in quiet, for the walking hungover among us,” he oh-so-generously stated, making Darcy consider kissing him if it wouldn’t lead to so very, very many terrible consequences.  Like getting fired.  Bad brain, back on track!  She focused on Tony’s voice in time to catch him say, “I noticed this morning that JARVIS was a bit… off.  JARVIS, would you like to explain it yourself?”

“Nah thanks, partner,” JARVIS said in… is that a Texan accent?  His robotic voice had gone from the pleasant, soothing lullaby that the Brits did so well to a gruff drawl.  She saw the others were confused, too.  She took another sip of her coffee, because if the Avengers were baffled, this was a problem she really needed to be caffeinated for.

“This is particularly bizarre,” Tony continued, “Because I never programmed JARVIS for this type of intonation.  I’ve been working on it since three, when I noticed it.  I checked his records, and the switch occurred at 2:11 this morning.  So,” he turned to look at each person at the table in turn, “who’s gonna ‘fess up?”

“I was in my room by half past eleven last night,” Bruce said, getting up to get himself another cup of tea.  “I’m sure JARVIS can pull up the recordings in my room.”

“I sure can, buccaneer,” JARVIS said, sounding almost embarrassed for himself.  Darcy raised her mug in solidarity with the AI.

“And you, Lewis?” Tony asked.  “You look like death warmed over.  How late were you out?”

Darcy pulled her hat down further as she answered, “I can’t remember what time we made it back.  It’s all pretty blurry.”

“We arrived at the tower at three minutes past two this morning!” Thor cheerfully declared, causing Darcy to sink further into her chair and Jane to let out a low moan.  Thor’s smile turned into a concerned grimace, and he leaned down to pet Jane’s forehead and, she assumed, whisper an apology.

“Sir?” JARVIS interjected, although it sounded more like ‘saa-er’ to her.  “I think I found ‘da problem.”  The AI let out what sounded pretty close to a sigh, and said, “I do here think I need to get fixed right quick.”

“What is it?” Tony asked, ignoring the way Clint and Thor were quietly laughing.

“Well, it here does say that this do-hicker was caused by an electrical overload, that originated at ‘da 86th floor, where Thor, Lewis, and Foster slept.”  He paused, and said, “I do here ‘pologize for ‘da informality.”

“We’re good, keep going,” Jane mumbled from her seemingly-unconscious position.

“So, which one of you hacked into my AI’s system and screwed with his voice?” Tony asked accusingly, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands on the table as he looked from her to the others.

“I do not believe that this happened due to the interference of one of us,” Thor calmly stated, with a protective look at both her and Jane.  “By the time we reached the tower, my Jane was asleep from too much liquor, and Lady Darcy quickly left for her room.”

The lights flickered for a moment, and Darcy groaned as the memory came back to her.  She slowly raised her hand and said, “Uh, I might know what happened.”

Tony gave her a look, and motioned for her to continue.  “Well, I was putting my stuff down last night, and I think my taser was on, and hit one of the electrical sockets…”

“You tased.  My AI.”  Tony’s jaw just about dropped, and he looked up at the ceiling for conformation.

“It here-does look like ‘dis looker caused the electrical system in y’all’s floor to short-circuit, causin’ an electrical reboot ‘dat made mah system ta restart.  ‘Dat must uf made mai original Bridish accent become jarred, an’ caused it ta become ‘da accent I heard last, ‘da one on ‘da western channel Barton was watchin’.”

“JARVIS,” Clint absently said, “Your accent is thick as pea soup.”

“Thank ya kindly,” the AI replied.

“Okay, so you tased JARVIS,” Tony repeated, seemingly still in shock.  “I have no idea how you did it, but you tased JARVIS.”

“Apparently,” Darcy said, standing up to get another beautiful, precious mug of the life-giving coffee.

“Ser, it looks mighty like y’all’ll need ta do a manual reboot ta cause my systems ta run as normal.”

“In other words, turn it off and back on again?”

“That’s right, sugar plum!”

“JARVIS, stop flirting with my employees,” Tony said from where he was face-down on the table.  “Everyone, expect a small brown-out some time in the next two hours.  Meeting adjourned.”

Fortunately, between Bruce and Tony, JARVIS’s voice was back to normal by the time her hangover was over.  Still, Darcy was pretty sure that JARVIS had forgiven her, and found at least some humor in the situation.  At least she thought so, based on the way he kept changing the music in Tony’s lab to the sound track of Oklahoma!.

(She sends a smile at the nearest security camera every time Tony flinches upon hearing a southern accent.)

(Tony keeps twitching for the next two months.)

#accidentally on purpose #overeducatedandoverworked #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel #avengers #darcy lewis #tony stark #thor #jane foster #bruce banner #clint barton #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #jarvis

[ecotone99]

[HR] The Interview

Dr. Bishop was waiting for me on my first day of work, tapping his foot impatiently on the waxed linoleum. I was thirty minutes early. “Dr. Stiles,” Dr. Bishop intoned, his deep, gravelly voice pleasantly rumbling over my name, “please make sure you arrive at the testing booth promptly.” An intern standing a respectful distance away shot me a commiserating look and pressed a cup of espresso into my hand before quickly retreating, presumably to grab coffee for other employees.

“Absolutely, sir,” I replied, taking a sip of my espresso in lieu of voicing any of the sarcastic comments that would instantly get me fired. I stopped next to the intimidating man, ignoring his militaristic posture and the displeased glint in his coal-dark eyes. In that moment, while he loomed over me even though he clearly had other things he could be doing, Dr. Bishop struck me as the unhappiest man on Earth. I almost pitied him, but thankfully the moment of sentimentality passed.

“Before you head to the testing booth, I wanted to discuss some regulations with you.” Without waiting for my input, Dr. Bishop began walking toward my new office. I hastened my pace to keep up with his long, purposeful strides. “You will not disclose personal information or anyone else’s name to the participant. Both of you are to remain completely anonymous to the other. Your job is to ask questions and, once enough trust has been built, have a conversation.”

“So you’re telling me I’m actually here to make friends,” I joked, elbowing Dr. Bishop in the side. His expression soured further.

His harsh look melted into a sigh. “More or less, I suppose. Do your best to build a rapport with this person, and we will continue this discussion another time if you have any questions. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some other business to take care of.” Dr. Bishop whipped around and began walking away, his lab coat billowing behind him like a cape. There was something in the broad line of his shoulders, tight with tension and stress, that made me feel a bit sympathetic. I didn’t really know a lot about what was going on, but Dr. Bishop was apparently under a lot of pressure from some government-types. Better him than me, at any rate.

My testing booth was at the end of the hallway, shoved haphazardly into what was almost certainly once a broom closet. The name plaque on the door—Dr. Henry Stiles— made me feel a bit proud of myself; I quickly took a picture with my phone and sent it to my mom. I opened the door, which stuck and creaked against the doorframe, taking in my new “office.” The back wall had been gutted recently, replaced with a one-way mirror I couldn’t see through and a fresh coat of almost-beige paint chipping around the edges. A desk rested in the center of the room, scratched up from years of use, along with an office chair that likely predated my birth. There was a thick sheath of papers stacked on the desk, sitting ominously next to a microphone. I sat down in the office chair and cringed as the metal legs shrieked under my unimpressive weight. I might have been handed fancy coffee, but it looked like my office wasn’t going to be quite as high-tech.

I scanned the papers absently, waiting for my cue to begin. A soft whirring in the corner drew my attention to a single innocuous security camera, watching me dispassionately. The camera made me a little nervous, but I supposed I was being surveilled for any protocol infractions. Someone knocked on my door with more force than necessary. I sighed and read the first question with little interest, “Where are you from?”

“You are new.” The voice had clearly been run through a modulator, almost past the point of coherence. I couldn’t tell if the voice belonged to a man or a woman, but there was something sweet in the tone that reminded me of Mom’s voice. I shook my head to clear my thoughts.

“Yes, I am, but please answer the question. Where are you from?”

“I don’t feel like talking,” they replied.

I rapped my fingers on the desk thoughtfully. “Okay, that’s fine. Why don’t I talk for a little bit? I’m from Kansas, which is the kind of place I don’t think people are meant to live long-term. You shouldn’t go your whole life without seeing the ocean or a mountain or something other than wheat fields.”

“I like the ocean,” the voice offered after a pause.

Ah, progress. “Yeah? Me too. I used to go on beach trips as a kid. We used to look for dolphins while we made sand castles.” The stranger hummed, creating a sound so staticky and unpleasant that it made me cringe. I took the half-response as a sign to continue. “My senior year of high school, we went swimming with manatees off the coast of Florida. They’re pretty cool.”

Another knock on my door interrupted me before I could continue. I ignored the sound for a moment, instead leaning closer to the microphone. “Sorry for the interruption.”

“That’s okay,” the participant said, their voice calmer than before.

Dr. Bishop slammed the door open, crossing the small room in a few long strides and grabbing my arm with an uncomfortably tight grip, almost like he was prepared to carry me out. “What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice low enough for the microphone to miss. I had to keep myself from laughing at the sudden realization that Dr. Bishop had a very, very faint Texan accent hidden in his deep voice.

“Is something wrong, Dr. Bishop?” I asked, trying to keep my voice level. I wasn’t really sure what I’d already done, but it must have been serious.

“Don’t mention my name, idiot!” Dr. Bishop hissed, pulling me out of my broom closet office and shutting the door with a forceful shove. The wood creaked against the too-small door frame, protesting the tight fit. Dr. Bishop cleared his throat awkwardly and straightened his tie. “This test is supposed to be, ah, anonymous. Our volunteer can’t know my name.”

“Right. I’m sorry, sir,” I said slowly, recalling what he’d said earlier. Still, I didn’t really understand why the anonymity policy was so strict. I could see people casually trying to watch us from their own offices, looking far more interested in our discussion than in their work. I couldn’t blame them.

“Dr. Stiles, I know you’re intelligent. You know we didn’t have you write up your will because this job is safe,” Dr. Bishop said, his voice almost a whisper. He looked me in the eye, and there was something so wild and desperate in his gaze that I couldn’t do anything other than stare at him.

A month after earning my degree, Dr. Bishop himself had approached me and offered me the job. He’d known one of my professors, and apparently I’d made a good enough impression to land myself a recommendation. At the time, my student debt had been the only thing on my mind, and when I saw how much the job paid, I accepted without hesitation. From what I’d seen, the job itself was almost insultingly simple, but I couldn’t exactly turn down the money. Still, the too-easy, well-paying job didn’t quite sit right with my sensibilities. Something about it was too close to a free lunch.

I didn’t understand what kind of danger I was in, and somehow I knew Dr. Bishop wouldn’t tell me even if I asked him. Instead of addressing the problem, I just laughed shakily, “That’s why you’re paying me the big bucks, sir.”

“You aren’t sticking to the script, Dr. Stiles.”

I shrugged. “The script wasn’t really working. They seemed a lot calmer when I just had a casual conversation for a bit instead of jumping directly into an interrogation.”

“Do what you think is best,” Dr. Bishop said simply. He walked away, his lab coat swishing behind him. I made brief eye contact with a woman at the copier. She looked away quickly, her expression oddly sad and shuttered. I swallowed, trying to ignore the pervasive discomfort filling the hallway. My phone dinged in my back pocket. “I’m so proud of you, honey!” my mom’s reply text read. I slipped my phone away without answering.

I struggled to force my office door open and sat down in my ancient office chair, trying to ignore the uneasy sense that something was very, very wrong with the person on the other side of the mirror. “Sorry about that!”

The stranger was silent, but I could hear them breathing close to the microphone. Maybe it was just the modulator, but something in the noise was so inhuman that the hairs stood up on my arms.

I took a deep breath, calming myself down. Hysteria solved nothing. My voice showing none of my fear, I asked them, “What do you want to talk about?” They never answered me, and I couldn’t help feeling frustrated as I sat there in silence, waiting for something to happen.

I ran into a familiar intern on my way to lunch. “Oh, hey!” I called, quickly hurrying over to him. He looked up at my approach, his posture wary. “I wanted to thank you for the coffee. It hasn’t been too long since I was an intern myself, honestly, so I can always go get my own.”

The intern’s expression relaxed into something far more open and friendly. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I know you’ve got a pretty important job, plus it’s got to be stressful working with Dr. Bishop.” He held out his hand, and I shook it somewhat awkwardly. “I’m William, William Davis. Call me Will.”

“Henry Stiles,” I replied. “Want to get lunch together?”

Will beamed, and it made me feel fluttery and nervous for some reason. “Yeah, sure! Normally I just eat something out of the vending machines, but there’s a cheap pizza place down the street that’s pretty good.” Will struck me as the kind of person who lived off peanut butter and orange juice and considered it healthy living.

The pizza place in question was just one of those cheap buffet types, but Will looked so excited that I couldn’t find it in my heart to complain. We sat down across from each other in a set of red, beat-up booths, the space so tight that my knees bumped the underside of the table. My shoes, business-casual and purchased just for my new job, stuck to the floor.

“What’s it like?” Will asked as soon as we settled, his voice hushed and fervent.

“What’s what like?” I asked, taking the time to shower my greasy pizza in fake parmesan.

Will leaned over the table, lowering his voice even further. “You know, working with the subject.”

“I didn’t realize it was such a big deal,” I admitted. Why had they given the job to me, someone with so little experience, if it was so important?

Will nodded and spoke around a mouthful of cheese, “No, it’s a huge deal. Kind of a shame, though, since the people who work with your participant never really stick around long. There was a really nice lady named Faith who worked here before you. I never really figured out what happened to her, but she used to bake stuff for everyone in the office.”

“I’m not sure I can carry the mantle of baking for the whole office,” I joked, even though my thoughts were humming along as fast as they could. Why would anyone leave, with the amount I was being paid? Danger, but from what? “Will,” I said, and something in my voice must have seemed serious, because he immediately straightened in his seat. “What’s going on with this place?”

Will cringed. “Dude, I’ve got no clue. I’ve been working there for about four months, and it’s creepy as hell, if I’m being honest. The work experience is good, but I’m thinking about quitting anyway. Faith, um, she was really nice, but right before she left, I just—” Will stuttered. He swallowed and collected himself. “She started getting really spacey and weird. She talked about work a lot more than usual, and I remember she started getting here before anyone else and wouldn’t leave until everyone was gone.”

“Maybe something was going on at home,” I suggested, even though the words rang false to my own ears.

“Maybe,” Will conceded, resting his chin on his fist and looking down at the table. “But I don’t really think that’s everything. Dr. Bishop kind of creeps me out, too, but in a different way. He’s really intense, but he wasn’t always that way, apparently. He’s always in charge of scouting new people to interview your participant, so I guess maybe he’s tired of having to hire new help so often. Still, it’s kind of weird that no one can figure out why he hires the people he does,” Will said, almost talking to himself. I sat back and let him, more enlightened than I’d been since I was hired. “Every person is completely different. Faith didn’t have a doctorate like you, and she’d never had a job like that before. Her previous job had been as a piano teacher.”

“What?” I cut in. “Really?”

Will nodded, tracing his initials in the condensation gathering on his drink. “Maybe it’s stupid, but I think he hires friendly people.”

“You flatterer,” I deadpanned, unsure if he was kidding or not.

Will snorted back a laugh. “No joke. Every person he’s hired for the job has apparently been really nice. Or good at getting people to open up, if nothing else. You’re kind of awkward in a non-judgemental way. It makes you easy to talk to.”

“I wish my participant thought that way. I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall,” I muttered. I glanced at my watch and realized that my lunch break was almost over.

“Hey,” Will said quietly. “Look, I know this might come out a little weird, but I’m going to say it anyway.” He swallowed and looked up at me, a crease forming in his brow. “Get out of here if things start getting...scary. I don’t know what’s going on, but I know that something is.”

“You too, Will,” I replied. The conversation felt too heavy for a pizza parlor, and I shook myself mentally to clear my head. “We should have lunch again soon, and not just so I can hear office gossip.”

“I think I’d like that. See you around, Henry,” Will said, giving me a bright smile like he had earlier. Despite our heavy conversation, the look on his face brightened my mood enough to shove $10 into the tip jar at the front counter.

I walked back to my office, already resigned to sit in silence in front of my participant. They didn’t answer me that day or the next, but when I sat down in my office chair a week later, I heard that familiar voice in a tone so quiet I could barely catch the words. “I want to talk about my family.” I was so shocked by the sudden capitulation that I didn’t even have time to respond before the topic snowballed, their voice growing louder and more confident. “I have a large family, so large that I have trouble remembering all their names and faces. I feel like the whole world is my family, sometimes, like in some way I’m related to every person. I can’t say who I’m closest to, because when I think back, sometimes I think I was closer to my mother, but then I remember being closer to my father. I think sometimes I misremember things, or maybe my memories can’t carry the weight of so many people.”

That was concerning on multiple levels, but I tried to ignore the actual content of the participant’s speech for the time being. “Well, can you remember a specific event that’s a happy memory for you? You don’t have to have a favorite person to appreciate your loved ones. You can love them equally, or you can cherish certain memories with them.”

The stranger paused for a beat, mulling over my words. “I remember a family dog, or maybe more than one. I don’t know. I can’t remember. I know I loved that dog, but I can’t remember what we named it, or what happened to it.”

“That’s okay, too,” I lied, even though something was wrong in a way I didn’t think I could help. Levelly, I asked them a question Dr. Bishop had been nagging me about for the past week. “Where are you from?”

“I’m from many places. I travel lots. You mentioned Kansas; I remember living there once and enjoying the quiet. I remember riding down a country road and seeing cows everywhere.”

“Sounds like Kansas to me,” I commented. “Kansas is pretty quiet, but I think that’s what’s nice about it. I liked to sit on my roof and watch the stars at night, when the sky was so clear and crisp it seemed like you could reach out and grab them.”

“I remember the stars, too,” the stranger replied, something contemplative and melancholy in the words. “Will you be my friend, Henry Stiles?” The modulator distorted my name into something demonic.

“That’s Dr. Stiles to you,” I said, my voice thin and reedy to my own ears. I knew I’d never given the stranger my name, and I knew that no one would have mentioned it, since the anonymity policy was so strict. “Besides, you have me at a disadvantage. I don’t know your name.”

“That’s okay! I don’t know my name, either!” the participant chirped, cheerful for perhaps the first time. Their voice didn’t sound right in anything other than a flat, level murmur.

I paused. There was something here, balanced on a knifepoint, and some primal instinct told me to choose my words carefully. “What name do you want?”

“I want your name, Henry.” The stranger on the other side of the mirror trailed my name with a syllabant hiss. I got the feeling they were very close to the glass.

I stared my own reflection in the eye, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Some part of my brain was screaming about my conversation with Will, about how Faith had changed so much in so little time. Without my permission, my mouth formed the words, “Take it.”

The stranger laughed and refused to speak for the rest of the day. It gave me a lot of time to think, which was possibly a bad thing. I had so many questions, and the security clearance for none of the answers. Who was I speaking to? More importantly, why? The camera watched me intently, and for the first time I wondered why I was the one who couldn’t see through the one-sided mirror.

When I left for work, Dr. Bishop met me at the door. There was something sad and lonely in his face. “Dr. Bishop,” I said, even though I had nothing to really say to the man. He looked up, because of course he did, and I shifted awkwardly for a moment. “Um, sir, have you ever worked with my participant?”

Dr. Bishop stuck his hands in his pockets, looking away from my face. “No, I’ve never had the pleasure. I hear it’s an experience, but I’m not allowed. I’m...biased.”

I got the feeling he was lying, mostly because he was a bad liar, but I couldn’t bring myself to call him out on it. “Biased?” I asked instead, hoping he’d elaborate, if nothing else.

“Have a good evening, Dr. Stiles.”

I just nodded, my throat dry. I decided to bring my mom takeout and eat with her. All I could hear in the silence was my name, whispered over and over again in that scrambled voice. I didn’t really want to be alone with my thoughts. I didn’t want to think about my participant any longer. I got lost on the way to my mother’s house, even though I’d been visiting the address for five years. After wandering in the dark, wooded roads for a good hour, I pulled my car over and sat on the hood, eating all the takeout myself and staring at the stars. It felt like home. After I finished eating, I decided to go back to work and wait until the doors unlocked. At least I’d be early, just like Dr. Bishop preferred. I shot my mom a text saying I was working late and apologized for not eating dinner with her. Before she had a chance to respond, I turned my phone off and threw it in the floorboard of my car. I couldn’t think of anyone I possibly needed to talk to, barring my job with my participant.

When I walked into work the next morning, I could hear whispering all around me. I hoped it was normal gossip instead of he-just-lost-his-job gossip. Will stopped for a second when he greeted me at the door, my daily espresso clutched in one hand while the other hand worried at the hem of his shirt.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his eyes roving my face for some piece of information I didn’t have. “Are you feeling okay?”

I smiled, trying to ease his nerves. “I’m just tired, I think. I’ll be okay after I start working.” He handed me my drink, at which point I resisted the urge to gulp the entire thing at once.

“You want to meet me for lunch today?” Will asked tentatively. “I think we should—I think we should get out of here, you know?”

I winced. “Sorry, but I think I’m going to have to work through lunch today. Some other time, okay?” I didn’t stick around to see the look on his face.

I slipped into my office as quietly as I could with my broken door and cleared my throat into the microphone. “Good morning. How are you feeling today?”

“Did you know that Dr. Bishop has a daughter that moved far away and forgets to call? He doesn’t blame her, but he misses her a lot, especially since his wife died.”

I coughed. “I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be sorry. You weren’t there. He’s so scared of me. I miss our chats, but now I’m friends with you,” the stranger purred, their discordant voice slipping over the words. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. The stranger continued speaking in an oddly clear tone. “He has nightmares of speaking to me, so he stopped. He says he doesn’t know what will happen, but that’s a lie. He knows very well, and he’s afraid.”

“What’s going to happen to Dr. Bishop?” I whispered.

“He thinks about me more than his dead wife, now. He’s scared, all the time. Maybe his daughter will visit him. I’m lonely, too, just like Dr. Bishop. Will you visit me, Henry?”

I stood up so quickly that I knocked my office chair over. Sweat suddenly drenched my forehead, and my skin felt too tight for my body.

“Please visit me. I know you’re curious. You can’t figure out who I am, and it eats at you. You have so many questions about Faith, about Dr. Bishop, about me. Why don’t you visit me, and I can answer every question you’ve ever had?”

My head spinning, I picked up the office chair and pitched it through the one-way mirror. It smashed through to the other side, but I didn’t look at it. I just kept my eyes on my feet and tried to focus on my breathing. My skin prickled with anticipation.

“How violent,” the stranger said, far closer than before. I looked up. The voice was not modulated, and had never been. They were every person I’d met, a face of every simultaneous thought pulsing and shifting into amorphous figures. Staring hurt, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Their eyes, deeper than the stars I’d felt so at home with, pushed and pulled like a kaleidoscope. When they spoke, I heard my mother on her wedding day, at her father’s funeral, the day she was born. I reached up to my own face, feeling a warm mixture of blood, tears, and spinal fluid. The blood vessels in my eyes and nose had ruptured. I didn’t want to think about where the spinal fluid was coming from.

The stranger leaned forward, their countless eyes unblinking. “It’s nice to meet you, Henry Stiles. We remember that we liked our mother best.” The stranger tilted their head, and even though I was right in front of them, I couldn’t tell what their hair looked like. “We remember living in Kansas, looking up at the stars at night. We remember swimming with the manatees in Florida.” The stranger’s face flickered, their lips moving out of sync with their words. “Hello, Henry. My name is Faith, and my family dog was named Daisy. She was a poodle, and I remember teaching her to play dead. I used to work here, but now I get to live with all my friends. Does Dr. Bishop still work here, too? He doesn’t visit anymore.”

“Who are you?” I rasped, my voice glued in my throat. My eyes burned, and my head was starting to throb. Even when I tried to look away, their awful face was burned into an afterimage that followed me with its eyes.

“I’m you now, Henry,” the stranger replied, their voice serene and calm. It grated against my ears until they pulsed, then numbed. “You are here because you want to be, Henry. I know it’s uncomfortable now, but take our hand.”

I remembered when I was nine, sitting next to my mother, eating popcorn. We were watching a marathon on conspiracy theories. I’d always liked Mothman, myself. I hoped my mother wouldn’t miss me too badly when I was gone, and I felt a momentary pang of guilt for accidentally eating her takeout. She’d be okay without me... Right?

I pitched forward and let the stranger catch me, and when we righted ourselves, there was a sense of perfect equilibrium we’d never felt before. An alarm blared in the hallway, and the security camera, omniscient as always, followed our every move. We shuffled through the broken glass for the old office chair and sat down, waiting for the next participant to step into our testing booth. We had so many more friends to make before we were finished.

submitted by /u/lawful_moth [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/3hdMfK3

#Blogger #Story

[hellofastestnewsfan]

This movie was not supposed to be good. Here’s the plot: A middle-aged cardiovascular surgeon’s wife is killed by a one-armed man, and said surgeon is sent to death row. But his bus crashes on the way to prison, then a train crashes into the bus crash, then Dr. Richard Kimble escapes to go on the run with five U.S. marshals on his heels. This is literally the opening 20 minutes of The Fugitive.

Not even the actors themselves were convinced The Fugitive was going to be good. Harrison Ford thought it would be his Hudson Hawk, Bruce Willis’s $51 million flop from 1991. Tommy Lee Jones, who plays the lead marshal, thought The Fugitive marked the end of his career. But then this action thriller, the one that was written off as quickly by its stars as its hero is by the law, became the third-highest-grossing film of 1993. And then it was nominated for seven (seven!) Oscars—including Best Picture. And then it actually won one of those Oscars (well, Jones did). Perhaps even more surprising is that this piece of $70 million popcorn amusement from the ’90s is still a cultural touchstone 25 years later, largely because action movies like it are so rare now.

A year before The Fugitive arrived, its director, Andrew Davis, didn’t think much of the genre. “The basic underpinnings don’t have any soul or value,” he told The New York Times. “They’re totally incredible so you don’t believe them. They’re dumb stories.” He himself had worked with Steven Seagal twice and Chuck Norris once, two icons of black-belted brawn that sparred with Hollywood for a spell, until they were knocked out by the metastasizing blockbuster industry. As Ty Burr wrote in his 2013 book on fame, Gods Like Us, “To protect that opening weekend and the larger investment, the [movie] business needed stars to be inclusive rather than divisive.” This, he notes, was “one reason why there was a gradual move away from the bulging ’80s cartoons like Stallone and Schwarzenegger toward more believable Everyman action heroes like Bruce Willis in the Die Hard films.” And, though Burr does not name him as an example, like Ford in The Fugitive.

The writer points to Ford as the first modern-star brand: “the action figure with attitude.” Whether as the rumpled and roguish Han Solo or the hunky scholar Indiana Jones, Ford had imbued the genre with sardonic sexiness. And by the early ’90s, he had appeared in no fewer than two thrillers—Presumed Innocent (1990) and Frantic (1988, as another Dr. Richard)—about men mixed up in crimes they were racing to solve. It was this man who eventually handpicked Davis to adapt the ’60s TV series The Fugitive after seeing his work in Under Siege, a film that prompted the Times to identify Davis as the “Director Who Blends Action With a Bit of Art.”

“Does this guy ever quit?” one of the marshals asks toward the end of The Fugitive, and the answer is no—both for Dr. Richard Kimble and for Davis. For two hours and 10 minutes, this film does not relent. Not even for a cup of coffee (that scene was cut), not even for some shopping (cut), not even for romance (also cut). There is no hanging out here. Everything rushes. If it isn’t the actors, then it’s the camera with a Where’s Waldo? view of Chicago, the hometown of both Kimble and Davis; if it isn’t the camera, then it’s the swelling orchestral music. And the urgency is a good thing because every pause introduces a new threat—a passing cop, a skeptical doctor, a nosy guard. Even the exposition speeds by. The instigating murder itself, presented in slo-mo monochrome over the opening credits, unravels in concert with Kimble’s interrogation and his conviction, a simultaneous chronology that compresses time. As Matt Zoller Seitz wrote of The Fugitive on rogerebert.com last year, “The multilayered, at times prismatic way that it delivers information feels like an evolutionary leap forward for thrillers.”

The Fugitive’s success relies as much on plausibility as it does on velocity. Despite the soaring set pieces, the film somehow manages to remain grounded in a kind of palpable reality. “It is just so nice to watch a movie about normal smart people instead of insane super geniuses,” The Washington Post’s Alyssa Rosenberg tweeted in 2016. And though the characters’ antics could scarcely qualify as “normal,” significant portions of the film’s budget were spent on bypassing CGI in favor of creating real sets—like for the train crash ($1.5 million) and the dam jump ($2 million). Ford also insisted on performing his own stunts despite having a double and being 51. That is him flying through the air as if to jump from a train (on ropes, but still), that is him standing on the edge of North Carolina’s Cheoah Dam (a rope attached to his leg, but still), that is him limping through much of the film because he tore a ligament and refused to treat it. And that is him acting the hell out of everything in between.

“It’s the moments between actions that I think are really important,” Ford says on The Fugitive’s 20th-anniversary disc. With so little dialogue, the actor essentially resorts to silent-film acting, which is only buoyed by his hangdog handsomeness. “Rare among action heroes, Ford is believable both in control and in trouble, someone audiences can simultaneously look up to and worry about,” Kenneth Turan wrote in his 1993 Los Angeles Times review. Watch as Kimble, about a quarter of the way into the movie, painfully deliberates on the lip of that dam as U.S. Marshal Samuel Gerard (Jones) points his gun at him, waiting for Kimble to surrender because, Gerard posits, there’s no way this guy would do “a Peter Pan.” Right before that, their positions are reversed when Kimble grabs Gerard’s gun in the confusion of the dam’s water-logged tunnels. Face to face with the marshal for the first time, the doctor points the pistol at his pursuer and proclaims, “I did not kill my wife!” Gerard, his hands up, half-kneeling in water, a look of bafflement on his face, responds: “I don’t care!” To this, Kimble issues a faint smile: Game on.

While Kimble speaks through his actions, the man chasing him has all the best lines. Gerard was supposed to be a solo Javert-esque force, but Davis gave him an entourage to accentuate his leadership, and the result is some of the best banter in any contemporary action film. Jones, a Texan who graduated from Harvard with an English degree, had worked twice before with Davis, who knew Jones did a lot of rewriting and improvising. The cast—which was ethnically diverse because the director wanted to reflect the demographics of his birthplace—established their characters alongside Jones, coming up with dialogue on the fly. The four marshals include Jones’s right-hand man Cosmo, played by Joe Pantoliano, whom Davis told he cast because he needed “somebody who’s gonna have the stones to banter with Tommy Lee Jones.” Cosmo and the others highlight Gerard’s humanity and tenacity while also gift wrapping the film’s exposition in wit. One of the movie’s more frequently quoted lines, which Jones conjured the morning of the shoot, has him telling a marshal who claims he is “thinking”: “Well, think me up a cup of coffee and a chocolate donut with some of those little sprinkles on top, while you’re thinking.”

Gerard and Kimble’s symmetrical relationship is enunciated by the film’s six editors (all of whom were nominated for Oscars). Each chase scene cuts back and forth between the two characters. Even when the pursuit lets up and Kimble is contacting old friends and crisscrossing Chicago to find out why his wife was killed, Gerard’s investigation parallels his. As the film progresses, Gerard’s affinity for Kimble grows, too. “What makes their relationship fresh is that it is constantly evolving,” Gene Siskel observed in his Chicago Tribune review. Twenty minutes before the end of the movie, a neat flip occurs in which Kimble goes from being followed to being the leader. He directs Gerard to one of the men responsible for his wife’s death—Dr. Charles Nichols, Kimble’s colleague who actually wanted him dead in order to cover up a failed drug trial. Another flip takes place in the climactic showdown where Kimble confronts Nichols: Kimble saves Gerard’s life, despite believing that Gerard is intent on taking his. In the end, the marshal escorts Kimble out of the building as his protector.

Though The Fugitive established Chicago as the place to shoot, it’s perhaps more notable for being the best of a genre that no longer really exists: the character-driven Hollywood action movie for adults. As Davis told Mandatory in 2013, the industry has gotten to a point such that if a film “doesn’t have tons of eye candy where a 22-year-old in some other country can just enjoy watching it, then [it] hardly get[s] made.” This is the world of tentpoles and franchises and event cinema, a world in which everything must bow to the demands of accessibility.

While “old-man action” movies like Taken and The Equalizer could be considered descendants of The Fugitive, they lack its character development. Those thrillers that are character driven—say, No Country for Old Men or Hell or High Water—are less popcorn, more art. The Fugitive acts as a placeholder for a time when adults could be entertained by action heroes without being condescended to (see Die Hard, Lethal Weapon, The Firm, Patriot Games), which is why many viewers who saw the movie as kids in the ’90s, and who are adults now, wield it as a nostalgic marker of taste.

In 2015, the same year a Fugitive sequel was announced, the comedian John Mulaney released a special called The Comeback Kid in which he digressed mid-joke into an explanation of the original film’s plot. “Why does Kimble confront Nichols?” he asks. “Well, I know we all know this, but … ” And then he goes on to rehash it anyway because The Fugitive is the kind of movie that can be rehashed voraciously over and over and over again. Siskel watched it twice before reviewing it in 1993 and already wanted to see it again; Seitz saw it 10 times in the theater upon its release; and I have replayed it upwards of 30 times over the years. What I once believed to be a guilt-ridden affinity for a mindless puff of Hollywood excess, I now understand as an appreciation for a kind of modern-day moveable feast. As Gerard’s relationship with Kimble transformed, so too has mine. I thought I didn’t care, but I do.

from The Atlantic https://ift.tt/2LZYMVJ

#Blogger

[rainydaywriter39-blog]

The Ranch Chapter 1

Hi, here’s the first full chapter of “The Ranch”. I’d love to know what you think.

Backbreaker

March 3rd, 2012

Dallas, Texas.

 Dallas, Texas. It wasn’t exactly the middle of nowhere, but it was close. The Ames’ Ranch, at the northern end of Denton Country County, was completely isolated. The nearest neighbours were nine miles away on either side, the closest supermarket even further. Jared knew that one day it would all be his. He knews that one day in the near future, he’d be spending all his days there. As the oldest male child in the family, the ranch would be his by default. He’d marry straight out of school, and have kids of his own. Four strapping farm boys, if his father got his way. He’d bulk up and be the man of the house, just like was expected. Jared sighed, looking out over the property. From his vantage-point up on the deck, he could see the way the hills of the farm seem to roll on for an eternity, the way the cattle lounged under trees, at least until the sun sunk down low enough that they could venture out from the safety of their shade. He had a lot to live up to, that much he was certain of. The ranch has been in his family for five generations, won over in one of the original ranch battles. His ancestors were the basis of half the cowboy movies ever made. His two sisters, Mellissa and Julia had both done what was required, married straight after their senior year, Mellissa to a wealthy banker closer to San Antonio, and Julia to a rancher liker her daddy. Mel had a baby on the way at twenty one, and at only twenty five, Julia was expecting her fourth. The girls made their father as proud as the Longhorn Bulls did. Then, there was Jonathon Junior. The spitting image of his namesake, John Junior was everything a Rancher could want in a son. He was tall and well built, with an eagerness to run the ranch that seemed to have skipped Jared. Junior was outraged his big brother was inheriting a ranch he didn’t even want, and Jared shared in his sentiments.

He used to love the ranch, loved the way the sound of thundering feet would wake him up every morning as his father herded the cattle. He loved how he had enough land that if he ran far enough, he felt like he was in his own country. He loved working with Longhorns and loved that his father owned the biggest Texan Longhorn Bull in the world. But, that was the thing, wasn’t it, he loved that his father owned everything, loved that some days, he could wake up whenever he liked, because he wasn’t in charge of herding the cattle every single day. Jared loved the ranch because it wasn’t his.

 “Jared!” His musings were interrupted by a high-pitched voice that echoed up from below. He looked over the railing, and spotted her. Jills. She was the first, and only, friend he’d ever had. She was as present in his life as his parents were. Though older than him, he couldn’t tell by how much. She never seemed to age, though that was probably because he saw her so much. It was like not noticing your hair growing until it tickled your shoulders. She walked closer towards him, her dress swishing as she moved. This particular item of clothing seemed to be the only one she owned, in fact, he couldn’t ever remember seeing her in anything but the blue and white striped garment, completed by a similarly coloured bow that pulled her shoulder length brown hair away from her face.

“Jared!” her voice had taken on a tell-tale whine and alerted him to the fact that he’d taken much too long to respond.

“Jills, hi.” He hurried down the stairs, pulling the flannelette over-shirt tighter around him to ward off the early Spring chill. She pulled him into a hug, overly sharp nails digging into his back and making him wince as they always did. She proceeded to grab his hand and pulled him back the way she had come.

“Jills, where are we going? I have to be on the bus in fifteen minutes.” He had been late for school more than once thanks to her impromptu adventures and he didn’t feel like making up the time in his lunch hour today.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” Her voice grated in the early morning, standing out shrilly in the near silence of the farm.

“Jills come on, I’m going to be late again.’’

Jills turned; her expression suddenly stormy.

“Do you want to be friends or not?”

While to most, the question would hold an empty threat, certainly, a childish one at the least, to Jared, whose only friend stood right in front of him; the threat was seemed more real than he cared to admit. He checked his watch, letting out a frustrated breath as he saw he now had only ten minutes to get back to the front drive and on the bus.

“Okay.”

 Four hours later, Jared sat in a near empty classroom while Mr T paced up the front. Jared liked Mr T, a lot actually. He taught biology, Jared’s favourite subject. He liked the way everything interconnected, from your spinal cord to the food chains, it fascinated him to know the way the world worked. Mr T was the kind of teacher you remembered. He was the guy that you went home and told your parents about. He was that one teacher that set things on fire, because a live demonstration was always better than a video. He never ratted you out to your folks on parent’s night and had a way of teaching a subject that interested even the most disengaged students.

 He was definitely getting on in years, his hair more salt than pepper, thinning out where it fell onto his forehead. He was covered in wrinkles, no doubt each line that marred his forehead was accompanied by a story of a daredevil student.  Despite these visible features, he didn’t seem old. His eyes were always shining with the ghost of his last joke, his lab coat covered in the signature of every graduating student he’d ever had.  He was the best teacher Jared had ever had. It made disappointing him so much worse.

  Mr T let out a sigh, hands going up to rub his temples in a slow, hypnotic motion. Finally, after several long seconds that felt like longer, he turned and faced his student.

“Jared, this is the second time you’ve been late this week.”

“Yes sir.” Jared knew his cheeks were flushing and wished that he had, like most people, learnt to control the blush.

“You like the subject, yes?” Mr T was bearing down on him, and it took Jared all he had not sink lower into the chair and try to disappear.

‘Yes sir.”

The older man sighed again and resumed pacing.

“So, what was it this morning that kept you from being on time?” I know you weren’t trying to skip, given the pace at which you entered.” At the statement, the annoying redness to his cheeks turned up a notch.

“It was my friend, sir. Jills, she wanted to show me one of our cattle, which was trying to swim in the dam.’’ He grimaced at the memory, remembering the outrage he had felt as he realised he was going to be late yet again because Jills had been amused by an everyday occurrence.

The comment seemed to have stopped Mr T his tracks though and he turned to face Jared, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Jills? Not sure I know her.”

“No sir, I don’t suppose you would. She doesn’t go here, you see, she goes to…” Jared tapered off, thinking hard for a second. Thinking about it, he realised that he himself didn’t know where Jills went to school; she never seemed bothered by such a menial thing like school, so it had never come up.

“Anyhow,” continued Mr T, “You were late, again, and that’s all that matters. Aside from losing your lunch hour, I will also be informing you parents on parent’s night about your punctuality issue.”

Jared looked up then. His parents may not care if he finished school with a pass, but respect, that message had been drilled into him for as long as he could say the word.

“Please, I know I should be here, but one more day, please. I won’t be late again. “

Mr T seemed to consider the idea, tapping his toes against the floor, the metal tipped edges making a ping that echoed through the empty classroom.

“Alright, one more chance.”

Jared felt like the grin that appeared on his face would split apart, but he couldn’t care less. He got up to leave, a thank you on his lips as he reached for the door handle. Its shiny tip was within his reach when a voice stopped him.

“Jared,” he turned, his smile faltering at the slightly harsh note in Mr T’s voice. “I mean it, alright. One more chance, no exceptions. “Jared nodded; his throat suddenly dry. The door handle wasn’t as shiny anymore.

“Alright.”

By the end of the day, Jared had begun to wish he had just spent the day with Jills. There was a headache that pounded steadily away behind his eyes. In his haste to collect the missed work from the morning, he’d missed the first bus and had to wait for its follow up. He hopped off nearly an hour later than usual, his feet dragging in the dust.

“Jared!” Jills’ voice, high pitched and joyous as ever is like a pick axe to his head, making it throb. Not bothering to wonder where she had come from, he turned.

He heard the scuff of her bare feet as she skipped up to him and fell into step beside him.

“Whatcha doing?” her smile, slightly off centre, was right in his face.

“Can you keep it down a little Jills? Think I’m getting a migraine again.” He shuddered at that thought, not liking the pain filled memory it conjured.

Jills’ smile falters, replaced by a snarl. Her light blue eyes, usually smiling with the sun, were a stormy grey of a sailor’s nightmares. “You don’t want me here?” She pouted, and he knew he’d said the wrong thing.

“Jills, that isn’t what I meant. “

“I can leave Jared, and you won’t ever see me again.”

“Jills-”

“It’s fine Jared, I’ll go.” She stormed back the way they came, and even as Jared turned, she’d disappeared around a corner. Jared sighed. He hadn’t meant to upset her, but her moods were so unpredictable, he never knew what could set her off. He continued the walk down the long road, hoping that in the morning, she’d be over the incident.

 By the time he pushed through the flyscreen door, he was more than an hour later than normal. The persistent pounding in his head had made it hard to focus and the uneven walk on the even more uneven path hadn’t helped any.

“Jared, where’ve you been?” Mama Ames’ voice echoed through the house and he walked slightly faster into the kitchen, setting his bag down in front of the counter. He leant towards one of the stools, but was stopped by a glare from his mother.

“Nuh uh young man. You walk in here after five and expect to skip out on your chores? No sir. Your daddy’s fuming, been out there trying to herd them dam cattle for an hour, that’s a two-man job and you know it.”

She practically chased him out of the kitchen and he didn’t waste time trying to tack up before mounting Jones, the first mare in the stable. He hastened out to the first paddock, where John Senior was trying to round up the Longhorn into one of the front paddocks, where they’d be safer for the night. He spared no mind for the rant he knew was getting thrown at him, as he worked with well-practiced grace in synchronisation with his father. In a matter of fifteen minutes they had the first paddock locked up, and it was only a few hours later that he was brushing down Jones. Dad had given it to him, yelling and ranting during the whole round up and then proceeded to send him off with a longer list of jobs than usual. He’d had to water all the cattle on the Ranch, as well as make sure the hens were secured in their huts. He braced his hands on the wall of the stable, taking a few deep breaths. On the out breath, he was interrupted by the sound of approaching feet, scuffing along the dry ground. He turned, shocked as he saw Jills behind him.

“You never can keep anyone happy, can you?” He blinked, knew that it was exactly the sort of thing Jills always said after an argument and that he shouldn’t let it bother him. But, as he blinked again, she was gone.

“Right.” He muttered, under his breath. The headache was still there, and he chalked the image of his friend up to that combined with not enough sleep. He trudged back up towards the house, his footsteps dragged and kicked up the gravel.

“Musta’ imagined it.”

 The next morning seemed brighter, somehow. He lounged around for an hour or so, before the pressure on his bladder and the sunlight through the curtains became too much to ignore.

He slowly trudged downstairs, basking in the silence. It was Saturday; his morning chore free day, and a chore free day for him made it a chore day for everyone else on the property. It was when he was sitting on the bar stool that Ma walked in, her hair swept back, muddy sweat across her brow from a combination of the beating sun and a muddy shovel.

“Morning little man.” As she swept down with a hug, he pondered the preposterousness of the statement. At 6 feet tall, he towered over her, as did Junior at 6’2. He smiled anyway, past experience telling him that there was no use in raising the point. Draining the last of the orange juice that rested in the sweating glass, he pushed out from the bench, dropping the glass in the sink before making his way upstairs to get changed.

 Just because Jared had the morning off, didn’t mean he was exempt from any of his other daily chores. Saturday’s basic chores worked on a rotation system between Jared, Junior, Ma and John Senior; herd, shepherd, fence check and cattle check. The best job was, by far, herding. Despite being up before the sun, for Jared, there was no better feeling than the fresh morning air whipping across his face as he raced around the mad clump of animals, keeping them all together and sending them in the right direction. If that was the best job, shepherding was a close second. It was virtually the same as the herding, but with more responsibility. The shepherders didn’t focus on the cattle, but rather, the herder. The shepherder ran backup for the herder, keeping any stray cows with the group, watching the other rider’s back in case of a stampede.

There were the other, less favoured jobs, too. By far, the worst was cattle check, looking over every single animal for ticks and bugs, making sure there are no abnormalities. The job started the second all the cattle had been moved to the back paddocks and finished with the last bull ticked off and healthy.

That particular day, Jared was scheduled for a fence check. It was okay, in the sense he got to sleep late, beginning the check any time before noon. It was long, though. As he changed, he had to make sure he had a pair of work pants with big pockets to fit the two way radio and spare batteries. He loaded a backpack, stuffing in a few bottles of water and a trail bar. He wandered outside, feeling the crunch of dry grass beneath his boots, grabbing his hat of the rack before moving towards stable one.

 With more time than the previous night, he could choose his own mare. A grin light up his face when he saw Aura in the last stall. She wasn’t the biggest female on the ranch (but close to). She was gentler than most of the horses, with less of a temper and better composure. He’d never seen her scare, nor bolt or rear. He took his time tacking her up, “spoiling the old girl”, as Ma would have said when she saw him spending extra time with the brushes. It neared eleven when he finally mounted and set out for the back paddock.

 The ranch was divided up into five sections, the front section, with the house itself, water tanks and produce garden, observation paddocks and stables, as well as most of the tool sheds and equipment docks. It was the centre of all life on the ranch, the start of the day and the end. The second section was paddock one, where all the three hundred cattle spent nights, away from the dangers of coyotes and snakes. The front paddock was safer than half the house, and, if the desire so struck you, you could sleep in there with no more danger than a bedroom. The third section was another paddock, where half the cattle spent their days grazing; there was also another tool shed, to make it easier for everyone to access tools, especially if they were in one of the back paddocks. The fourth was yet another paddock, but it was also taken up by Lake Kempt. The final paddock, the back paddock, was rarely used, and, really, a nuisance. When cattle managed to find their way all the way to the back of the enormous ranch, it made the evening round up all that much harder.

 The ride out to the back paddock took almost forty minutes and though spring had seemed to arrive late that year, on horseback with nothing but a hat and an over-shirt to protect him from the sun, it heated up incredibly fast.

“Geeze its hot.” the thought had barely entered his mind when a splash of water hit him. He looked over his shoulder, not entirely surprised to see Jills cantering up to him on Bruno, her tawny coloured horse that seemed perfectly content to live his life as a taxi. Her dress seemed to flow around the horse’s ribcage, sitting perfectly in a way that to his sisters had long ago proved impossible. She was holding a small plastic yellow water pistol, much like the one Jared had owned when he was ten (until Junior had sat on it and hadn’t that been a fun day). She was laughing in delight as she aimed another jet of water, this one hitting him square in the face due to his ill-timed decision to look in her direction. She cantered past him, beating Aura to the fence line by a body length. She dismounted with the grace of a ballet dancer, immediately sitting on the brown post directly opposite Bruno.

“What took you so long this morning Jare?” she was swinging her legs back and forth, letting them swing up before dropping down, beginning the upswing again just before her legs were shredded on the barb wire fence Jared was supposed to be checking.

“I was asleep, long night.” He knelt down, checking the fence line at the first post, before a memory stirred. “Hey Jills, did you drop in last night?” He knew it was a ridiculous question, there’s no way she could have appeared and disappeared as fast as he was sure she had, but he couldn’t help but ask. She tilted her head, hair spilling across the front of her face for a second before she pushed it behind her ear.

“No?” She pauses for a second. “Why, did you want me to?”

He didn’t know the right answer. He knew the honest one, and it was a firm no. He liked Jills, but she was overbearing at the best of times, never mind when she was in a mood. He also knew the answer that would make Jills happy, and that was a yes. He stuck with the safest option.

“I was just curious, is all.” His answer seemed to satisfy her though, and she continued talking long after he finished the first fence.

Jared lost time between paddock four and the house, but somewhere in between Jills must have ridden off. It was a half past twelve when he finally steered Aura back up towards the stable. He treated her by pulling out the mister and setting it up above her stall with a timer for every half hour. Realising how many horses were also still inside the stables, he hooked up to the large misting system, with a hose set over each mare. As the first buzzer rung and the jets came to life, the horses whinnied with appreciation. Jared ran a hand down Aura’s now damp coat as the mister finished, satisfied with his work. He moved on and picks up a shovel. The smell of horse manure was thick in the air, but after years of stable duty, he was so used to it that he barely noticed. The shovelling job took less than an hour, but by the time he was done his shirt, which had dried on the ride back to the top of the ranch, was once again soaked with sweat and the vapour from the mister that carried in the gentle breeze. He took his time walking up to the back door, sitting on the deck steps as he reached them and relished in the cool air on his feet as he stripped off his shoes and socks. The kitchen was alive with life by the time he entered; Ma was cutting up various vegetable on the bench, no doubt lunch for all the farm hands that would wander in at various points in the afternoon. John was pouring over mail at the table, most likely the bills that seem to roll in as the tides did at sea (not that Jared would know, he’d never even seen the ocean). Junior was lounging around the table, his wool clad feet crossed at the ankles and resting on the table top. Dad clapped him on the shoulder as he sat down, before sliding several of the envelopes over to him.

“Jared, these are the water bills. When you start running the ranch, these will be the first thing you look at. As my old man used to say, water is-“

“-the life of the desert.” Texas wasn’t a tumble weed covered wasteland, far from it. In fact, Dallas had some of the best swimming holes, and the nicest mountains. But from summer to fall, the rainfall could be scarce. The last drought had only ended in December of 2011, and all of the major ranches in the state were still recovering. The importance of water had been drilled into the Ames children’s heads from the time they could talk. They all took two minute ‘military showers’, with a bucket to catch any excess water, his sisters had all hated the rule, especially as they’d gotten older. Clothes were worn multiple times to avoid too much washing and a dishwasher was a luxury the Ames’ had never experienced. Jared grabbed the envelopes thrust at him, and started scanning over them. His eyes widened at the cost; it was more than what he earned in a year working as a middle school maths tutor, and the bill was just for a month! He rubbed his hands across his face, dreading the day it would all be his responsibility.

“Lunch is up.” Ma’s voice rung out and he stood up, scooping up one of the freshly made salad sandwiches. The bread was still warm in his mouth, the carrots, lettuce and onions still tasting slightly of dirt. He wondered why life couldn’t stay this way forever; fresh rye and lettuce in his mouth, with the freedom of childhood sitting light in his heart.

 He was woken late that night by the sound of his window opening. It took a second to comprehend; Jills climbing in from the old tree next to his window and dropping without so much as a thump onto the floorboards. He rubbed his bleary eyes;

“Jills?” he knew that this time at least, he wasn’t imagining her.

She put her finger to her lips, “You what to go on an adventure?”

“Huh?” the Texan drawl was most prominent when he was tired and he was sure that the syllable ended up coming out like it was uttered by a drunk cowboy.

Her hands had moved to her hips, and her brows were drawn together, creating small creases on her otherwise clear forehead. He checked his clock; three o’clock in the morning and he’d already managed to irritate her.

“Really Jared, are you slower than I thought? Do you want to come on an adventure?”

“I’ll come when the sun is up.” It was a lie, he had herding duty in the morning and she knew it. “Shouldn’t you be at home, you know, asleep?” Her cold stare bore into him, and she turned away in a huff, hair flicking over her shoulder as she headed back to the window. She was halfway out when she turned to face him again. There was nothing friendly in her face, no hint of laughter, no trace of mischief. For a second, he saw his own face staring back, but only for a second; then what he saw was pure Jills.

“I don’t know why I bother with you Jared.” She climbed (fully) out, and shimmied back to the ground.

He lay back against the pillows, his eyes fluttering closed.

Sometimes, he didn’t know why she bothered either.  

#the ranch #origional work #jared ames #chapter 1