#he dumb ass didn’t even know who she was even though he’d interviewed her family multiple times before | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jiminrings · 3 years

Note

yoongi grills stem koo’s ass <3

cold senior!y/n x stem major!koo masterlist :D

stem koo wants to explain himself and yoongi may not want to listen

"hyeji's never packed you a sandwich before?"

jungkook pales at the mention, mouth drying when he sees yoongi bring up the soft smile that doesn't comfort him at all

“the one that’s all knuckle?”

oh my god

IS THIS A RIDDLE????

yoongi tilts his head in amusement when this pathetic excuse for your past crush is calculating what he just said in his mind

what is a sandwich that’s all knuckle?? but it doesn’t even rhyme!!

aren’t riddles sUPPOSED to rhyme????

jungkook’s more than well-versed in stem-related problems that are just rephrased 237 times over and over so that it wouldn’t be as easy to solve

he can solve that!!!

but this!!! :O his mind is short-circuiting pls do not approach him

“hm?” yoongi’s smile patronizes him further and puts him on the spot, straightening his figure and jungkook’s quick to stop him from coming back inside your dorm

“i want to-“

“i asked you — have you ever had a knuckle sandwich?”

yoongi enunciates with so much clarity that kook finds his mind blanking, tripping over his words he hasn’t even formed yet

“i-is it-...” he stalls, trying to rack his mind for the bread he’s not sure he’s ever even heard of in his life, “i-is it like, a pork thing? uhm, t-the pig’s knuckle? and then you put it between, uhm, bread?”

,,,, laughable

jungkook’s supposed to be smart, isn’t he? or atleast that’s what yoongi thinks he’s supposed to be

lmao he would’ve laughed at the boy’s poor attempts if only he wasn’t furious at him

he’s dumb but not the endearing kind ://

“no,” yoongi drawls out, pretending to fish something out from his pocket

jungkook watches in intrigue, thinking that yoongi’s reaching for his phone to show him a picture of what it looks like

the hypothetical situation in jungkook’s mind is clearly not the one that happens

jungkook SHRIEKS as he stumbles on his heels backward — crystal clear to him that yoongi was not looking for his phone, but instead balling his fist and him being the receiving end

almost the receiving end

yoongi almost sucker-punches jungkook in a blink, fist literally a millimeter away from his nose and the only thing he could see at the moment is red

... red and jungkook’s wide eyes that have never carried this much fear up until now

“that’s a knuckle sandwich, kid. would’ve fed it to you if only y/n isn’t in the room right behind me.”

holy fuck

his heart is beating right against his ribcage and that shouldn’t be possible, fists closing upon themselves nervously as he tries to soothe his thumb so his mind relaxes

spoiler alert: it doesn’t work

jungkook’s mind is all over the place, even more rattled than it was when he takes a text without studying (he was so low he got a 98), but the only thing that’s clear is that you’re behind this door

“yoongi — mister yoongi, please. i-i need to explain myself, and if only you let me try, i can!! i swear. i’m not forcing you but-...”

there he is again

jungkook’s only been in his sight for like two minutes but his eyes are already sore

“why are you even here?” he scowls and even if the younger boy’s taller than him, every bit of his posture and demeanor at the bite of his words scream small, “why go all this length for someone you stomped on today, then have the gall to be a crybaby about it?”

he's speechless and it only serves him right, looking at his mudded-up converse and trying to focus on anything besides the guilt within

"m-my explanation," jungkook mutters, hands behind his back as if he's being scolded, “will you tell y/n?”

yoongi releases an agitated breath at him muttering your name

he dOESN'T get to say your name!! no!!! not after what he did to you

“i’m not concerned about you. what i decide to do or not, has nothing to do with whatever you say right now.”

kook solemnly nods, and even if yoongi's much harsher in your words compared to yours, the gravity of yours with him not being related to you cuts deeper

there's nothing else he could care about, actually

jungkook follows campus curfews to a T and would come home two hours earlier in the rare event that he goes somewhere

but now, he couldn't care less when the dorm master could just be there any second and he'd pass a hall monitor like usual

for the whole day, you were the only one that occupied his mind

"i know hyeji isn’t the one."

god, it was clear as day

he'll be the first one to admit that he can't read people very well, but he knew from the start that it's probably not hyeji who's been packing his lunchboxes

jungkook sometimes takes attendance in behalf of the professor because as much as he's shy, he's also a teacher's pet

the classes she shared with hyeji? she wasn't present everyday for the whole duration of two weeks, and how could it be that she still managed to make him a lunchbox if she wasn't present in the campus at all?

there was a probability that it could've been her, but it was so low that it sat right next to improbable

"i-i entertained the possibility briefly that she was, but then nothing was making sense the more i thought about it."

jungkook sometimes also checks papers because his professors trust him enough and he has perfect scores anyway, so he uses his own as his answer key

"i needed to interview y/n for an assignment, a-and a signature above a name was needed and it was just so familiar."

the moment he racks his head for hyeji's writing, it seemed fAR from the writing on the sticky notes on the lunchboxes

"then she seemed mad at me, but when i went to her on the field to try and confront her-" jungkook pauses and almost whispers the next part, the shame on his skin starting to seep into his bones, "she told me that we weren't related for me to feel hurt about it."

yoongi clenches his jaw, a pressure forming on the center of his eyebrows because he knows where this is leading

"a-and i thought it was hyeji again."

jungkook can't bring himself to be elated that it's been you the whole time because he might be a little too late; a little too late when he's already subjected you to the heartbreak you didn't deserve

"i-i didn’t know what clicked in my mind but i was just so hurt that-"

that's the fiNAL straw for yoongi

this has been him trying to keep his anger at bay the whole time, but this one!! this one he can't just accept

"you are a fucking asshole. honestly."

jungkook slightly winces with the sudden cussing, but it barely scratches the surface

"you think you’re the only one hurt? tell that to me who’s never seen y/n cry so hard before — or even cry at all."

his explanation wasn't an excuse and he knows it, but nonetheless, it tears him apart

"i’m sorry."

his lips quiver and he's trying sO hard not to cry in front of his senior, but yoongi doesn't feel even the slightest remorse for the kid

"i don’t care. you don’t apologize to me; you apologize to y/n. whether she forgives you or not, which for the record i don’t think she should, you cannot take back what you said."

if what jungkook said was eVER said to yoongi, given that he had the same circumstances as you did, he wouldn't know how to bounce back at all

it's a pain he doesn't wish to feel and he could only helplessly look at you who's trying to navigate it

perhaps you don't even plan to navigate it — knowing you, you're just gonna sail through it all to the point you're not giving yourself enough time to even realize that you already are

it was the same cycle of trying to move on without grieving through it properly that it hurts yoongi and seokjin and the tiny amount of people around you

"grovel at her feet. cry her an ocean. commit penitence. whatever you wanna come up with, no matter what, you do not make my y/n feel like she isn’t deserving of love."

you're family and yoongi goes above and beyond for family.

"i don’t care if you make up. i don’t care if you don’t. all i know is that in any other place besides outside the room she sleeps in, i’d hurt you like you hurt her."

jungkook almost wishes that yoongi punches him now and he won't even try to dodge it

"i deserve it."

"you do."

they whole-heartedly agree and it's the only time that yoongi can get behind jungkook's words

"i’m always gonna be on y/n’s side, kid."

there's no other way around it and as much as you know it or not, you've cemented your position in yoongi's heart unknowingly

"the only way that i’m gonna be on yours is when you’ve earned my utmost respect," he can't even see when that happens, crossing his arms across his chest, "and you don’t."

jungkook's tears are falling to the floor but they don't get on his cheeks, the sudden set of footsteps coming from his side making his head straighten and wipe his eyes immediately

he's the only one alarmed and he spares yoongi a glance, then to said person

yeah right that couldn't have been you :((

the guy who's approaching doesn't stop walking and he looks like.... he's uh,,, coming to where he's exactly standing????

he seems oddly familiar though

“oh, taehyung!"

where did he hear that name before??

taehyung stands at the same height as jungkook, maybe a centimeter or two taller, but he just couldn't stop looking at him from the corner of his eyes

yoongi's oblivious to jungkook's ongoing deduction, immediately engulfing taehyung in conversation

"y/n’s already asleep. i could do her part of the project-“

he offers because he recalls that right, you told him that taehyung's coming over to finish your shared project of a business plan late tonight

uhhhhh you're kinda zooted and going through it rOUGH so yoongi doesn't mind doing your contribution for you

“yoongi!! oh no man, it’s not what i came here for," he leans for a side hug, eyes landing on jungkook to drop a polite smile to acknowledge him

jungkook only slightly bows, confused but even more intrigued because he heard your name in the conversation

"i just uh, i just saw y/n crying while i was on my way home awhile ago, and i didn’t get to ask why, but i felt bad, so i came by to drop some cookies.”

taehyung continues talking and it leaves yoongi and jungkook stunned, but he only focuses his attention on the former

“you looked like a hazelnut cookie kind of guy, so i baked some too!! is y/n allergic to peanuts? i put some too in a separate container in case she is.”

yoongi laughs and they go from there

IT'S LIKE JUNGKOOK ISN'T EVEN HERE!!!!

baby he's here he's nOT a hallucination!!!!

despite the fact that he's sticking out like and (unacknowledged) sore thumb, no one makes a move to take the conversation elsewhere

“thanks, tae. damn, you did all this yourself?”

yoongi whistles when he takes the tupperware opening it and almost watering at the sight

he doesn't mind baking cookies for you in case you wake up hungry, but taehyung really just did himself a nice favor without knowing it

he smiles softly, eyes narrowing in intrigue now that he realizes

"taehyung. no offense, but you’ve only interacted with y/n like once and it’s only for a project. why would you bake her uhhh 28 cookies?”

hehe

“35, actually :D”

tae interjects, waving him off when yoongi's jaw drops even further

“yeah, i know. i just felt so sorry for her — i’m not related to y/n but i just felt like i wanted to make her feel better.”

jungkook's jaw locks at this, his breathing becoming shaky all over again, fists balled this time

“it’s like,, economics!! i don’t actually know, maybe??? i’m in visual arts. y/n took over my part for me when i was sick-“

".... so you made her 30 cookies."

taehyung's the personification of a golden retriever and now that he thinks about it, jungkook reckons seeing him more than a handful of times

he laughs deeply at yoongi's rebutt and it may be in unfortunate timing that jungkook realizes he kNOWS him

he's in the same year!! he's the one that takes the portraits for the school paper and it's always his name in the credits

"good night, yoongs. hug y/n for me. tell her i'll take over her part, no questions asked."

taehyung walks away and he's perfectly content even if he didn't get to give you the cookies like jungkook thought he would

"night, taehyung."

yoongi looks at the retreating figure briefly, then looks at jungkook pointedly

he doesn't realize that he's still budging and listened on an entire conversation, dropping his head when yoongi points to the elevator

"bye, jungkook."

"good night, yoongi."

he feels hesitant to leave but it's probably for the better, putting his hands in his pockets still not enough to make his hands stop trembling

kook stops at the middle of his walking, turning his head to look back at yoongi whose mouth already has crumbs

"c-can i see y/n tomorrow?"

"i'm not her dad."

jungkook nods somberly, leaving it at that while his bulk of emotions consume him

he thinks all about the ways he could attempt to make it up to you, a million ideas in his head but his head doesn't hurt

his nose twitches at the lingering scent the cookies left, annoyed at the persistent smell and perhaps the boy that brought them

jungkook's never really liked cookies.

#WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN NEXT :O PLACE UR BETS BESTIES #stem koo #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jungkook oneshot #jungkook drabble #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook au #jungkook angst #jungkook angst imagine #jungkook scenario

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thebigoblin · 3 years

Text

Sterek Fic Recs Part 3

[You can find the first two lists here: Fluffy Sterek Recs & Sterek Fic Recs. Also here's a special fic, check it out]

First off, thank you all for a 100 followers!! As of September 7, 2021 you've made me feel really, really good about my obsession with two oblivious idiots (with sprinkles of the hale pack and other fandoms), and this is my way of thanking you ♥️

If you're on PC, you can see that there is a page dedicated solely to fic recs, which caters to other ships & fandoms too. So don't feel left out if you're looking for something other than Sterek!

Without further ado, let's get to it then!

an awful curse

Isaac is asleep in a chair. The angle of his neck makes Derek wince in sympathy.

"Isaac," Derek says.

Isaac snaps awake immediately.

"You're-"

"Where's Stiles?"

"Stiles?" Isaac asks.

Jesus. It's not like they know more than one.

AU - Canon Divergence | 6.3k | By blinkiesays

Throw Away The Key

Stiles knew it was stupid to go to the hunters’ headquarters all by himself, so when he finds himself caught, he can really only blame himself.

It shouldn't surprise Stiles when the situation quickly goes from bad to worse as the hunters throw him to a feral werewolf waiting to tear him apart.

Sucks that it's Derek, though.

AU - Canon Divergence | 5.9k | By mommymuffin

Whatever Happened Last Night, Why Did Glitter Have to Be Involved?

Derek rolled out of bed in search of his phone - quickly finding it in the pair of jeans that had evidently been tossed aside haphazardly on the way to the bed. Seeing the pants sparked flashes of memories - wolfsbane-laced alcohol, loud music, multicolored lights.

Peter’s new supernatural-friendly club - the pack had gone to the opening night party.

He unlocked his phone and opened the pack group chat, which Erica had affectionately named ‘Moon Sluts’.

>>Derek: What the fuck happened last night

[or: Derek wakes up with three things on his mind: he feels like he was punched by a troll, his mate is missing, and there's glitter covering his bed. Oh, and the pack group chat is mildly helpful]

Prompt #159 - “Also, my bed has glitter in it for reasons I do not recall.”

Crack Vibes | 1.2k | By ash_mcj

Good to Eat

So if Stiles married Derek Hale, he could become Jewish too? Perfect. It was settled. Stiles gleefully shoveled a forkful of cheesy shells into his mouth.

"Uh oh. I know that look.” Claudia shook her head.

"Don’t worry, Mom, ” Stiles said, reaching for his plastic Batman cup.

"I’ve got a plan.”

"Good luck, Derek Hale,” his mother muttered.

Rude.

AU - Childhood Friends | 1.7k | By Jmeelee

Murder Brows and Avoidance Tactics

Derek gets the wrong end of the stick.

Written for prompt: "You're jealous, aren't you?"

AU - Everybody Lives | 2k | By Dragonink13

Double Vision (only registered users can read this one)

"So what caused my hearing and sense of smell to dull?"

Deaton's brow furrowed, all amusement vanishing from his face. "What do you mean?"

Derek snapped, letting loose all of his anger and fear at the man before him. "I mean I can't hear your heartbeat or the cars down below or the birds in the attic! I can't smell the flowers in Mrs. Everett's apartment, I can't smell the rotting burger in the fridge that Isaac left in there a month ago, I can't smell or hear anything like I normally can!" Deaton mouth was pressed into a thin line. "Can you explain that?!"

Tumblr Prompt: Derek jealous of himself.

AU - Everyone Lives | 6.1k | By Novkat21

Kiss?

Derek likes kissing Stiles, honestly he does. Until he doesn't.

Fluff | 3.6k | By clotpolesonly

Oblivious Misadventures, and Other Such Tales

Going to college was exciting and new, a chance for new friends and a fresh start, and the best part was, there was a supernatural fraternity on campus, meaning Scott finally had the freedom to be himself.

Then he met the resident human who came with a stalker alpha. What was the point of a supernatural fraternity if he still had to pretend to be human. And seriously, did Stiles ever fall asleep somewhere normal?

(aka - Five TImes Scott Found Derek and Stiles Sleeping, and the One Time He Didn't)

AU, Supernatural is real but not known by everyone, Alive Hale Family | 11.2k | By Little Spoon

Call Me (Cliché)

When the sheriff's sister ends up in a wheelchair for the duration of summer, Stiles' dreams of three months full of pack bonding, late-night video games and bro-time with Scott come crashing down. He's temporarily relocated to Redford, a three hour drive away, and he can already tell he won't be getting many visitors.

Sure the pack will forget about him while he's gone, Stiles is determined to make the most of his summer of isolation, training his body and mind - and his magic - so he can come back with a bang, and maybe catch a certain Sourwolf's eye.

Then Derek shows up at his window one night with a flimsy excuse about needing research done. Suddenly, his summer away is looking a whole lot more interesting.

AU - Canon Divergence | 84.6k | By Orphan_Account aka the author has dissociated themselves from the fic

Shiver

Stiles has really, really cold hands. Luckily, Derek knows just what to do about that.

Established Relationship | 1.7k | By canistakahari

Derek Hale's Possible Heart

An anon sent me a sterek prompt for Laura teasing Derek and Stiles joining in, then somehow sharing their feelings for each other in the mess of things.

AU - Canon Divergence | 4.3k | By loserchildhotpants

What's a Secret Identity?

Stiles sipped at a mug of coffee, absently watching the news play in the break room. Because of course a news station couldn't play anything other than its own content, even in the one part of the office that was supposed to be a safe space from work. His interview with Superman was making a rerun and Stiles glanced at Derek before commenting absently, “I’d totally let Superman fuck me.”

Derek, who had been in the middle of a swig of coffee, choked violently, “That’s not something I needed to know at nine in the morning, Stiles.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “What time would you prefer I tell you about all of the things I would let Superman do to my body?”

AU, Derek is Superman | 7k | By Chrystie, imabignerd and kate882

i see that you've come so far [just like them old stars]

But her big brother’s unwillingness to touch anyone, like he thinks he doesn’t deserve it isn’t the only thing she notices. She also notices how Stiles doesn’t touch him.

Everyone reaches for Derek in some form or another, but Stiles- Stiles is something different altogether because he reaches for Derek but he never makes contact.

He’ll be trying to shimmy past Derek and instead of putting a hand on his arm like most of them do, he’ll reach out with a hand and stop it scant centimeters away from Derek’s skin.

Or they’ll be walking alongside each other and Stiles will hover a hand on Derek’s lower back.

It’s both fascinating and tragic to watch, like NASA lost control of one of their robots and instead of it landing on the moon it’s fated to gravitate around it.

AU - Canon Divergence | 2.3k | By crossroadswrite

Déjà Vu

There’s a shop in Beacon Hills that no one knows anything about except that the mysterious proprietor, a witch in whispered circles, knows what you need before you do and that the things given are always just what you need.

Derek, lost after a breakup, heads into the shop to see if he can find something to help him forget his ex. The witch gives him a potion to drink, and when Derek wakes up, he finds he’s sixteen again and there’s a new student at his school, Stiles Stilinski.

Everything is familiar and yet not, and Derek finds he’s strangely drawn to Stiles in a way that is entirely supernatural.

AU, Supernatural is Real | 8.8k | By gremlins-came-and-got-me and StaciNadia

Start Small, Like Oak Trees

The months following Allison's death have passed Stiles by in a haze of monotony. He sleepwalks through days that seem to lose their color, an unwilling passenger in a body he no longer trusts. Eventually, he thinks, he'll just fade away. He isn't sure anyone would notice. Then, during a spur of the moment grocery run, he stumbles upon Derek Hale attempting to console a lost child, and for the first time in recent memory the world doesn't seem so awful.

He's not sure what he'd been expecting when he eventually convinces Derek to move into the Stilinski's spare bedroom, but a newfound passion for weeding and topsoil certainly isn't it.

AU - Canon Divergence | 24.2k | By SmallBirds

Undercover K9

As it usually goes, Derek acts before he thinks. This time he has a good reason, though-it's all Stiles' fault. Mostly.

Or, that time when Derek volunteered to spend all his spare time as a wolf with the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Office K9 Unit, just to protect Stiles' dumb ass.

Future Fic | 17.9k | By Cobrilee

Rose Colored Glasses

“Obviou—um, what? Derek?” Stiles managed. “What? You’re not colorblind. You’re colorblind?”

“Yes.” Derek said gruffly. “And?”

“And? What do you mean and? You can’t see colors?” Stiles demanded, thrown. “Does it—what kind is it? Red-green? Blue-yellow? Why doesn’t—oh my god, is this why your entire freaking wardrobe was completely black until like two years ago? Oh my god!”

“There’s nothing wrong with having a favorite color, Stiles.”

Established Relationship | 2.2k | By SassyStarboard

1,460 Days (gotta clean my slate)

Two years after Scott becomes Alpha and Derek gives it up for Cora, Stiles gets hurt during a fight and ends up in a coma for two weeks. According to the nurse, a guy has been visiting him every day and, as much as he wishes it were Derek, it sounds a lot like Scott. Except he and Scott aren't even friends anymore.

AU - Canon Divergence | 10k | By army_of_angels

This is it for now. Happy reading y'all! ♥️

#sterek #my sterek fic recs #sterek fic recs #derek hale #stiles stilinski

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floralseokjin · 4 years

Text

The Zoom Halloween Party

⇢ and beyond timeline (after crystallised)

[saga index] [drabble index]

kim seokjin x reader // slice of life, humour // 2,556 words

a/n; thank you to all the anons who gave me ideas for this halloween drabble, it wouldn’t exist without you!

“I have to say your costumes are pretty lame this year, you guys.”

“We’re having a Halloween party over fucking zoom, forgive us for not going all out.”

Seokjin bit straight away, unable to help it. He and Namjoon were like cat and mouse at all times, but even you had to admit to being offended by your friend’s dismissal.

Halloween was finally here, and while you couldn’t celebrate in person together, the marvels of technology were letting you celebrate virtually – although this was more like a Halloween hang out than a Halloween party.

“I’m just saying,” Namjoon shrugged. “Hoseok went all out for his.”

You looked over at Hoseok’s screen, watching him smile smugly. You had to admit he made a great Joker, but it was also the year 2020... He and his girlfriend, Nora were like two years behind with the whole Joker and Harley Quinn gimmick, it was old now.

Seokjin rolled his eyes, willing to argue black and blue. “It’s only good because his mom helped him with the makeup.”

“Oh shut up, you’re just jealous because me and Hoseok will win best dressed tonight!” Nora scoffed under Hoseok in her own little screen.

Pouting like a baby, your boyfriend crossed his arms. “I’m not voting for you.”

“If anything, I should win. I make a mighty fine Batman.”

Attention back on Namjoon now, you all had to agree. But maybe that was because everyone was feeling sorry for him tonight. He was after all, the only single one amongst you. There was Jin and you, Lina and Jimin, Hoseok and Nora, and even though Sandeul was on his own tonight, he had Jess, who was working the night shift tonight. Two months ago there had also been Namjoon and Hana, but not anymore... Let’s just say Namjoon wasn’t having the best of time lately... Getting dumped during a pandemic wasn’t ideal. So he’d paired with Hobi and Nora tonight in some sort of DC-esque collab. He was definitely winning best dressed tonight, but maybe he’d see it as a pity vote…

“You’re body looks amazing in that suit, Joon,” you complimented, hearing Lina hum in supportive agreement.

“Hey!” Seokjin exclaimed, sounding mighty offended as he looked your way. You were smushed together on the couch, the takeout you’d ordered on your laps, but you were pretty full now, a belly full of wine already.

“The devil and an angel though.” Jimin’s voice sounded awfully judgemental. “Come on guys, so basic.”

“Well, who the hell did you to come as?” Seokjin was loud.

“Zombie Jim Halpert and Pam Beesly,” Lina replied as if your boyfriend was dumb.

“Lame,” Seokjin scoffed. “Half of these guys haven’t even watched The Office.”

“It’s a way more original idea than yours.”

You scoffed. “Um, this is the epitome of everyone’s sexual fantasy, I’ll have you know.”

“Whose?!” Lina roared, wrinkling her nose. She and Jimin were also squished together, but on his bed, the camera angle giving you an amazing shot of their chins... Not that you would tell your best friend that, of course.

“We all know what they’re doing after this then,” Sanduel stated. He was dressed as some character from a game he and Seokjin played (a lot.) Nerds.

“Stop,” Hoseok whined. “Does that mean you guys fucked as The Addams family couple last year?”

“Of course it does,” Namjoon replied matter-of-factly.

“Jesus.”

Ah yes, you two really had out done yourselves last year for Namjoon and Hoseok’s joint Halloween party. Thinking about it maybe your devil and angel costumes were quite lame this year…

“As if you didn’t guess,” Lina laughed. “They were reciting all those weird lines practically dry humping in the kitchen at one point.”

That was your cue, slamming into action, although as luck would have it you had re-watched The Addams Family two nights ago. You gripped Seokjin’s face, yanking him to look at you. “Seokjin, last night you were unhinged.” You began dramatically. “You were like some desperate, howling demon. You frightened me.” A pause for effect. “Do it again!”

Seokjin took your hand, in character immediately. He leaned down to kiss your knuckles. “Cara mia.”

You opened your mouth, ready to purr out mon cher in your best French accent but you were interrupted by Namjoon’s gagging noises. “That’s it, I’m leaving.”

Seokjin snapped his head around, unamused. “Bye.”

Everyone laughed… just before Hoseok sighed. “Aw, this makes me so depressed. I miss last year, when things were simpler.”

“This was the worst year to officially become an adult.” Nora joined in with a whine.

They were 100% correct. There couldn’t have been a worse year to graduate… The past few months had been so stressful but thankfully you were now in a much more stable place. Granted, you hadn’t been able to start the post-graduate internship you’d bagged right before the pandemic hit yet but eventually it would happen, and in the meantime you still had your retail job – and your savings.

Seokjin had truly lucked out, although his job at his father’s company had been set in stone since high school. He was working remotely until the end of the year (hopefully), rocking that business on top, casual down bottom fashion that he was so gleefully fond of – think a dress shirt and sweatpants ensemble – but you were so incredibly proud of him for adjusting so well after this shitfest of a year. He was your sexy, serious businessman.

Your friends hadn’t been as lucky though – well, mainly Hoseok and Namjoon who had recently moved back home with their parents while they job hunted. (That’s why the former and Nora were on separate screens – she still lived close by for work.) Lina hated her new job and Jimin still had a year left at college, so maybe he was better off at the moment... Sanduel and Jess were okay too, and had recently moved in with one another, leaving you and Seokjin to… follow suit…

It came as a surprise to you both, but it made more sense than the two of you living alone. You’d already grown used to it during those couple of months of lockdown at the start of the year and it felt weird after he’d left... It was a big step, but an easy one once you’d found the most perfect apartment to rent together. (You couldn’t officially live with one another in that shoebox of an old apartment, but it had been sad to leave it – you’d shared so many good times there.) It had only been about six weeks since you’d become official roomies, but you were loving every second of domestic bliss. Despite this crazy year, things were on the up, and you were very happy.

“Now we’re freshly graduated bums.” Namjoon moaned, knocking back the last of his beer.

Seokjin laughed. “Speak for yourself.”

“We can’t all have a CEO for a dad,” Namjoon shot.

“That sounds like a you problem.”

You pushed at your boyfriend’s shoulder, silently telling him to behave. Where was the sympathy for his heartbroken friend?

“At least you’re not stuck doing online classes.” Jimin piped up.

“I’d actually kill to be back there,” Namjoon chuckled. “I’m sick of receiving rejection emails.”

“Don’t give up hope, bro.” Hoseok told him. “I have an interview next week so fingers crossed.”

Nora squealed. “I hope you get it, babe. You need to get your ass back here. I miss you.”

You all missed him. And Namjoon. Even if you couldn’t all hang out like you were once able to, it was strange to think they were both living in different cities now. Last year seemed like an eternity ago, all you had were memories and even then they were murky.

“Guys, please,” Namjoon wailed, forehead hitting the screen as he threw forward dramatically. “One of us is single here.”

“Sorry.”

In fact, you all felt the need to apologise, a string of them following for no real reason other than you felt really bad for the guy. You knew he’d find a job soon, that wasn’t the problem really – whatever the company they’d be a fool to turn him down – you were just concerned about his mood. Getting dumped had come out of the blue so he was still adjusting, all while his life turned upside down in other ways too.

He hadn’t lost all sense of humour though, his trademark smirk growing across his face a few moments later. “So who will end up fucking on camera first?”

Amongst the groans, Sanduel scoffed. “Probably Mr and Mrs. Devil.”

“I’m an angel,” you corrected, a glass of wine back in your hand now. “Also, why would we fuck on camera? You guys don’t deserve the show.”

“God, you’re so drunk,” Lina screeched. She wasn’t exactly sober herself. Beside her Jimin winced at the volume.

“Of course I’m drunk, Lina, this is the first proper chance I’ve had in months.” Getting drunk alone was pretty miserable, now you had an excuse.

“So it’s definitely them who’ll start fucking first…” Hoseok muttered.

Seokjin heard him loud and clear though. He hooked his arm around your shoulders, pulling you against him. “Yeah if we leave randomly you know this angel got horny for some devil dick.”

“Seokjin!” You exclaimed, pushing at his chest. He just laughed, reaching down to kiss you.

He did look mighty fine dressed as a devil though. Yeah, the red cape was basic but so were your angel wings and halo, but with his dark hair pushed back above his forehead, two red devil horns visible and his eyeshadow off the scale (your doing), he made a very, very sexy Satan!

Jimin pulled a face. “You’re actually going to fuck in those costumes, aren’t you?”

“Of course we are.” Seokjin rolled his eyes. “That’s what Halloween’s all about.”

“No, it’s not,” Nora laughed.

“I don’t know why you’re all so surprised,” Sandeul sighed before shovelling down some candy corn.

“You know them better than anyone,” Namjoon chuckled.

“I was the first to know! Sworn to secrecy for weeks!”

“Yeah, and she didn’t tell me for so long,” Lina whined. Even though it was ages ago now you were still pretty sure she was salty about it.

Hoseok snickered. “It was because she was embarrassed to be fucking him.”

You scoffed, about to refute his claims but Sanduel had more to say apparently. “And then I had to deal with Jin moping around when she dumped him for that basketball player.”

“She didn’t dump me,” Seokjin protested. “We won’t together then.”

“Bro, you were still moping though.”

“Awh, you guys,” you whined, running your fingers through the hair on the back of Seokjin’s head. “Stop teasing him.” You leaned in to kiss his cheek but he moved, stealing one from your lips instead.

“Great Deul, you’ve started them off again.” Hoseok moaned.

“I don’t care anyway. The amount of times I’ve heard them going at it has made me immune.”

“Sanduel, we’re not that bad!” You complained, leaning forward to place your glass down on the coffee table.

Seokjin had your back. “As if we haven’t heard you and Jess fuck before.”

That however was not at all interesting to your friends though. They blatantly ignored it for a more interesting direction of topic.

“Did you ever catch them?” Jimin asked, sounding weirdly excited.

“No actually, which is baffling.”

“You nearly did – multiple times,” Seokjin informed him, which instantly turned Sanduel grey. Not bothered, my ass.

“Why are you guys so obsessed with our sex life?” You whined loudly. Was theirs that boring?

“Ooo, let’s play a game!!” Lina exploded suddenly, sitting up, her head now cut off from the screen. “Who’s the freakiest!!!”

Seokjin turned to you gleefully. “We got this in the bag, babe.”

In your eyes, the questions were quite tame, so yes, you and Seokjin really were scoring first place left and right. Although you had a hunch Lina was holding back information. As her best friend you knew what she was like and she was being awfully quiet for someone who’d suggested the game…

“Where’s the weirdest place you’ve ever boned?” Nora asked, six questions in.

Seokjin didn’t even need a second. “Namjoon’s bedroom.” Your eyes bulged immediately, surprised he’d gone there.

“What?” Namjoon choked.

“Sorry, man. It just kinda happened.” Seokjin glanced at you, deeply amused. Poor Namjoon didn’t need more bad news.

“You guys have fucked in my bedroom?”

“Well, technically it’s not your bedroom anymore, but yeah,” you shrugged.

“When?”

The third degree was real. “A while back.”

“What the fuck you guys,” he groaned, his face a picture. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“You don’t even know the half of it.” Lina couldn’t help but add.

“You, be quiet!” You warned, although you knew she wouldn’t spill. Your secret was safe with her.

Namjoon was looking more and more scared by the second. “What the fuck did you guys do in there?” Seokjin just laughed loudly. “Did you at least clean up?” He got no reply. He was deadly serious with his next question. “Did you make Ryan watch?”

“Namjoon!” Seokjin cried, practically wiping tears from your eyes. Maybe he was more drunk than you… You hadn’t realised. “He’s a stuffed animal.”

“That plush is all I have now.”

“Pity, the guy’s recently been dumped. This is bullying,” Hoseok interrupted, sticking up for his friend.

“It’s not,” your boyfriend insisted.

“Aw, Namjoon, I’m sorry,” you apologised, feeling guilty now. How could you make it up to him? “When all this is over you can come over and fuck someone in our bedroom.”

“What,” Seokjin protested. You ignored him.

“Who though?” Namjoon asked, sounding sad.

“You’ll meet someone new soon enough.” Lina reassured him. “You’re any girls dream guy.”

He perked up at that. “You think so?”

“Legit, man,” Jimin joined in.

“Wait,” Sandeul interrupted, seemingly realising something. “Is the costume roleplay exclusive to Halloween?”

… Of course the conversation was back on you and Jin…

“Why?” You asked.

“Because Namjoon had a fancy dress party for his birthday last year…”

Seokjin shrugged. “Any celebration.”

Sanduel instantly looked disgusted. “So you guys fucked as The Incredibles couple?”

You and Seokjin didn’t reply, but your faces said it all.

Namjoon groaned loudly. “I want to scoop my brain out.” Then he thought of something. “Was it in my bedroom?”

“Noooo!”

“Yes.”

You both replied at the same time and you pushed Seokjin. Now he was just purposely teasing his friend.

“Who’s lying?” Namjoon demanded, but Sanduel was too busy going through it, distracting you all.

“The Incredibles is my favourite childhood movie, man, now I feel gross. I can’t watch it ever again because I’ll imagine you two trying to superhero fuck.”

Your friends were way too dramatic. It wasn’t even a big deal, they were making it out to be way kinkier than it was, and Seokjin wasn’t helping matters. You were literally just having normal sex dressed up. That’s all.

“This game has taught me I’m best friends with a bunch of vanilla ice creams,” Seokjin tutted. “It’s called having fun. Something you guys can’t seem to do.”

“You all suck!” You agreed.

Hm, maybe you were just as guilty as your boyfriend… It was just too damn amusing goading your friends…

#bts fanfic #seokjin fanfic #jin fanfic #floralseokjin:writings #fic:crystallised

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nonagesimus · 3 years

Text

this is all debbie @gaysuperhell fault

Looking back, it felt like Brady lost Jess and gained Sam in the same night.

Some party, right at the start of sophomore year, and Jess had come back after Summer with an edge and vicious smile she hadn't had the year before. Familiar, but something had changed, and she was partying harder, and rolling her eyes whenever Brady tried to ask her about it, and he'd stumbled into her at some frat party where she was being followed by some kind of behemoth. This dude so tall that he made the whole room look slightly off, because people just shouldn’t be that tall. Scrawny, still, just... big.

Jess, already looking frustrated, saw him and said, "Oh, hey, it's Brady, you guys have so much in common, you should be best friends and both stop bothering me." And she'd shoved this guy in Brady's direction and disappeared into the crowd

And the guy had watched her go, sighed, turned to Brady and held out his hand. "Hi, I'm Sam."

"Brady," he'd said, accepting the handshake.

Maybe it wasn't that immediate. Jess had still been around after that night, and it wasn't like he and Sam had gotten together immediately. But looking back that was the bit that stood out.

After that it was seeing each other at another party, running into each other at the library, Sam casually asking if he wanted to get lunch on a study break, Brady equally casually asking if Sam would want to come to his dorm room and watch a movie. And that same movie night when some dumb joke made Sam laugh so hard that Brady leant over and kissed him until he stopped.

It became a little less casual, and a little more deliberate after that.

Brady got ready to go home for Thanksgiving, and Sam didn't. Late one night, tracing his fingers along the veins in Sam's forearm, he asked, "Are you out to your family?" They didn't acknowledge the silent is that why you're not going home that was asked alongside it.

"No," Sam said, voice quiet, nose pressed into Brady's hair. Even quieter. "I'm not, but they don't- We haven't spoken since before college."

Brady pulled him closer.

He went home for Christmas, but stayed for spring break, and he was biting his lip at flights around the date dorms close for Summer and wondering. Sam already had an apartment he was moving into, a shitty, one-bedroom that was probably far enough away from campus to cause an issue, but Sam just chirpily referred to as, "within budget." Brady was already feeling guilty for not thinking about this sooner, if they could've got a better closer place if he hadn't already been moving into a house with some friends, if he should've broken that promise to move in with Sam. If he should be staying for the Summer. He'd asked if Sam wanted to come to stay with his family, but Sam still got cagey about the fact that Brady's parents knew he existed.

Sam, ever practical, just shook his head at him. "Do you want to go see your family?"

"Yes," Brady said.

"Then go," Sam told him, with a kiss to seal it.

Brady sighed. "What if I come back a little early?" he asked. "My place won't be ready yet, would it be alright if I stayed with you for a couple weeks?"

Sam's smile answered the question.

But when Brady did come back, cramming his clothes into the little room left in the apartment, Sam was unhappy. Not at Brady, at least it didn't feel like it. Like, Sam was pleased to see him, he was just distracted, and frustrated, and edgy. Brady arrived on a Thursday and then by seven on Friday evening Sam had disappeared, and wasn't answering phone calls.

He got home sometime approaching dawn, still looking angry, with the stink of stale beer clinging to him, and piles of worn, folded twenties in his pockets. It took Brady a few minutes to realise he wasn't as drunk as he smelled, though he definitely was drunk.

They fought, and they'd fought before but Sam had always wanted to communicate. This time he was recalcitrant, and stubborn. An hour of trying not to wake the neighbours later, and he still hadn't even told Brady where he'd been for ten hours.

"Would it be better if I didn't stay here?" he asked, finally.

Sam flinched. "Do you want to go?"

"That's not what I asked."

Sam nodded, swallowed, the mulish look still on his face. "I gotta take a shower," he said, like he expected Brady to be gone by the time he was done.

When he did come out of the shower, in damp hair and sweatpants, Brady was sitting on the shitty couch he'd helped haul from where Sam found it on the sidewalk, curled up in a pile of blankets they’d found at a Goodwill. The anger wasn't there anymore; instead he looked stricken. Came to the couch, crawled into Brady's arms, and whispered apologies into his neck.

"I don't want to go," Brady said, softly, a little later. "But I want to help you and I can't if you don't talk to me."

Sam took a deep shuddering breath. "There's this dive bar a couple towns over," he said. "Just shitty beer and people making bets on pool, so I went to play a few games."

The confession seemed strikingly out of character, Brady tried to keep his tone neutral. "You left to hustle pool?" At Sam's affirmative noise he continued. "So, what's going on? Do you need the money?"

"No," Sam said, quickly. "No, I mean- I'll use it, but I don't need..." He sighed, wet eyelashes fluttering against Brady's neck. "It's what we did."

And slowly, as the sun rose, a story came spilling out about growing up in motel rooms and back rooms at bars. Of winning cash playing pool, and darts, learning how much to stumble and slur without overdoing it. Driving hours between towns, being the new kid in every school, right up until he left for college. Brady could read novels into the number of things Sam still wasn't telling him, but it was the most he'd spoken about how he grew up ever. So he didn't push, he just rubbed Sam's back and let him talk.

"I guess it's just. It's my junior year," Sam said softly. "It's been two years, and I just..."

"You miss them," Brady said, when it seemed clear Sam wouldn't continue.

"Yeah," Sam said.

Brady didn't let it get far past Christmas before confirming when Sam's lease ended, and at Sam's quizzical look saying, "Well, you don't want to renew this place, right? I'm not going all the way to campus from here every day next year."

Sam's smile was bright, and easy. "Are you asking me to move in with you?"

"I'm not asking," Brady said, slipping his hands into Sam's back pockets. "I'm assuming. It's very rude of me, but am I wrong?"

So it went.

Senior year, and they were in one side of a rundown duplex, but it was theirs. With Sam's shitty side-walk couch, and dents in the walls from moving Brady's heavy-ass bed frame, and textbooks scattered everywhere. And Sam was considering coming home for Thanksgiving, finally meeting Brady's parents, and it was Halloween, and he still wouldn't wear a costume, but he came to the party, and let Brady toast to his victories, and he smiled.

Brady woke up to him getting up to go to the bathroom, and rolled over into the warm spot he left behind to keep dozing.

Only he wasn't getting up to to the bathroom; there was a thud and muffled voices, and when Brady got up to find him having a hushed conversation with a stranger in a leather jacket, illuminated by the street lamp shining through the window

“Sam?” he asked, still a little hoarse from sleep, and the bar. “What’s going on?”

“Brady,” Sam turned towards him, a look on his face Brady had never seen before. “This is Dean.” He swallowed, hard enough for Brady to see. “My brother.”

“College boy has a roommate,” Dean said, giving Brady a brief once over before looking back to Sam. “How domestic.”

And that was enough to spark something in Sam, to straighten his spine and have him striding across the room to sling an arm around Brady’s waist. “He’s my boyfriend, actually.” His voice was decisive; Brady could feel his heart skipping beats beneath his palm.

That knocked Dean back for a moment - he gave Brady a slightly more thorough look but didn’t comment. “Well, tell your boyfriend I need to borrow you.”

It became clear Sam wasn’t budging, and Dean wasn’t thrilled. There was obvious intent in words, “Dad’s been on a hunting trip, and he hasn’t been home in a couple of days.”

Sam’s frustration couldn’t be clearer as he shoved clothes into his backpack. Their apartment was not big enough that Dean couldn’t see them from where he leant against the bench in the kitchen - shit he could probably hear them. But, as much burning curiosity filled Brady’s stomach towards Sam’s brother, Dean was not who he was worried about.

“You know you don’t have to go,” he said.

Sam shot him a brief smile. “It’ll be fine.”

“I didn’t say it wouldn’t,” Brady said. “I said you didn’t have to go. Three years, they didn’t even call?”

Sam sighed. “I know. But it’s my dad, y’know. And hey, Dean knows about you now, maybe I’ll be on a roll and when we find dad, I’ll tell him too.”

“I could not give two shits what your dad thinks of me,” Brady said, earning a genuine smile that time.

“Look,” Sam said, gripping Brady by the hips and pulling him close, “It’s just a day or two. We’ll find him, and I’ll be back for my interview on Monday.”

“Good,” Brady said, hands sliding to the sides of Sam’s neck. “See, I’m planning to be some hotshot lawyer’s kept boy in a few years, and I’d hate to have to find a new candidate now.”

Sam laughed at that, and said he’d call. They exchanged I love yous, and Brady kissed him goodbye, and if he’d known it was going to be the last time he’d see Sam he never would have let go. But he didn’t, so he watched them drive away in Dean’s loud car, and went back to bed, and sent one last text message that said ‘u better fucking call’ and went back to sleep.

#sambrady #my fic

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youbloodymadgenius · 4 years

Text

Stuck with you (Modern!Ivar x reader)

wA/N: This is for @lisinfleur‘s Quarantine Challenge. Thanks love 💖

I’ve been very inactive lately, my mind filled with worries... Stuck with you is not my best work, but at least I’ve been able to write again. Writing sex is not my strong suit. Sorry.

the gif belongs to @honestsycrets 🌻

@inforapound 🌺💐🌺 Thanks my friend ❤️

Summary: Your roommate swearing and screaming at the top of his lungs, you end up coming out of your room and going to see him. What happens next is... out of control.

Warnings: explicit sex; swear words; no plot AT ALL.

Words: 2745

"FUUUUUCK!!!"

Exasperated,you roll your eyes before immersing yourself again in the captivating historical novel you're reading.

Less than five seconds later, your attention is drawn away by a heavy thud – no doubt some kind of object crashing into the wall – shortly followed afterwards by another loud "FUUUUUUCK!"

Sighing deeply, you place a bookmark between the pages of your book, put it on the night table and eventually get out of bed, checking the time on your clock.

7:45am. Certainly too early for you to silently tolerate your rommate's screams.

Crossing hastily the room dressed in nothing but your panties and a long t-shirt, you take in a big gasp of air before opening the door.

"FUCKING BULLSHIT!!!"

Your hand still on the doorknob, the door ajar, his scream this time causes you to jerk.

Reaching the living room, the first thing you notice is the remote control, or maybe it's a phone you're not sure, on the floor, shattered into a thousand pieces. The next one is that Ivar is screaming again. "FUUUUUCK!! I JUST CAN'T FUCKING STAND IT! FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!"

You then spot him, sitting on the couch in gray sweatpants and a withe t-shirt. Furrowed brows, clenched jaw, tensed features… If you still had any doubts, you don't have any now. He's angry. Very angry.

Taking two cautious steps forward, you know better than to get too close to him, so that you can avoid any unexpected flying objects. Hands on your hips, the strong breath you release gets his attention. "FUCK Y/N!"

Knowing his outburst isn't actually directed at you, you keep calm, speaking softly. "What's wrong, Ivar?"

"WHAT'S WRONG?? YOU'RE FUCKING ASKING ME WHAT'S WRONG, Y/N?? I'M SURE YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT'S WRONG! FUCK!!!" He spits at you, his hands waving all over the place, and you can physically feel his wrath. You’ve never seen him like that. Of course, Ivar is often quick-tempered, but that… that is something else, and it's quite unsettling.

Still, you force yourself to stay calm, inhaling deeply before answering, your voice gentle.

"No Ivar, I don't."

You're not exactly lying. Of course, you have some idea, but you can't be sure. The truth is, you two barely know each other. If you've been living under the same roof for almost six months, it's not really by choice. You were desesperate to find a room and Ivar was looking for a roommate. Or more specifically, Ivar had to find a roommate. He lived alone for two years, but after a nasty fall that put him back in a wheelchair for weeks, his overprotective mother decided it was her job to interfere. The deal was this: find a roommate or come back home. When you met them – yes, his mother was there, after all, she owned the apartment – your conversation sounded weirdly like a job interview. After two hours and a lot of nosy questions from Aslaug, you got the job, huh sorry, the room, the fact that you're a nursing student surely helpful.

And frankly, living here turned out not so bad.

The huge apartment is perfectly equipped, its furnitures luxurious, the fridge always full, thanks to Ivar's mother, and your room probably bigger than your parents' house. Ivar is certainly not the most congenial person but he's mostly never around. Between his doctoral thesis and his unofficial involvement in the family corporation, he leaves most of the time at dawn and doesn't return until late at night, except on days when his legs hurt too much. On those days, he usually locks himself in his room. The few times you run into him in the apartment, he barely acknowledges your presence, doesn't really talk to you – you're well aware that he'd prefer to live alone – yet he's never directly hostile.

Plus, you would be lying saying he's unattractive. Truth be told, Ivar is a sight to behold. Gorgeous blue eyes, strong features, sharp cheekbones and high forehead, sign of his obvious intelligence. Ivar is, plain and simple, stunningly handsome.

So yeah, all in all, living with him isn't hard. Ordinarily. But now, the ordinary is not part of your lives. Because of this virus, schools, theaters and shops have been closed for two weeks and you and Ivar are mostly stuck at home. He's been grumpy ever since, but you've managed to keep him pretty calm, at least enough for your new shared meals to go well.

Right now, you're not sure there's anything you can do to avoid the upcoming storm.

As Ivar glares at you, eyes wide open, obviously bewildered, you simply repeat, "I don't." Grabbing his crutch, you think for a moment he's going to stand up, and maybe that's what he was going to do, but finally he just throws it angrily accross the room, still being careful no to aim it at you, shouting again,

"FUCK YOU DON'T!!! HAVEN'T YOU HEARD THE FUCKING NEWS, Y/N???"

You give him a confused look. "What news, Ivar? It's not even eight in the morning, I woke up not long ago and I was reading." Explaining yourself is useless but you feel compelled to do it, for whatever reason.

"YOU ARE FUCKING STUPID, AREN'T YOU? YOU SLEEPING WON'T STOP EARTH FROM FUCKING SPINNING, YOU KNOW THAT?" His tone scornful, pointing to his temple with his index finger in a universally obvious gesture, he's slowly getting on your nerves.

Getting closer, you take advantage of the fact that he's sitting and you're standing, hovering over him, one eyebrow raised. He's clearly not impressed, but it feels good anyway. Small victories are victories nonetheless. "Don't give me shit, Ivar. I'm not dumb and you know that. Just spill the f–", biting your tongue, you stop before saying what seems to be his favorite word today, "spill the news Ivar!"

"TOTAL LOCKDOWN!!!"

Shocked, you fight the urge to take a few steps back while his screams don't stop. He doesn't notice your discomfort, caught up in his own anger. "THAT'S WHAT THE FUCKING STATSMINISTER ANNOUNCED LATE LAST NIGHT!! A FUCKING TOTAL LOCKDOWN! FOR AT LEAST THREE FUCKING WEEKS!!! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? WE'RE NOT ALLOWED TO GO OUT AT ALL, EXCEPT FOR GROCERY SHOPPING. WHICH DOESN'T CHANGE ANYTHING SINCE I DO IT ONLINE, I KNOW! STILL, I WAS SUPPOSED TO FLY BACK AND FORTH TO LONDON THIS WEEK BUT THE PLANES ARE GROUNDED. ALL THE FUCKING PLANES! CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? WE'RE FUCKING STUCK HERE, Y/N, 24/7!! ALL BECAUSE OF THIS FUCKING CORONABULLSHIT!!"

Waiting to make sure he's done with his rant, you give him a disapproving look. "Ivar, this is not fucking bullshit. This is a life-threatening virus. People are dying all over the world and the quarantine is the only way. You know that. We knew it was coming. You can't be selfish, not in such circumstances."

You know he knows you're right. Ivar may be mad right now, but he's still smart enough to undersand the urgency of the situation. Yet, he's not quite ready to admit it, at least not entirely.

Even so, his voice is soft at first. "Yeah, yeah, of course you're right." Running his fingers through his dishelved hair, he sighs before getting carried away once again. "But fuck Y/N!!!" Ivar takes an heavy breath and releases it loudly, shaking his head frustratedly.

And here we are again. Three-two-one-zero… Go! "BUT FUCK Y/N! FUCK!! IT FUCKING SUCKS, CAN'T YOU AGREE? WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO, HUH? WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO? WE ARE STUCK HERE, LIKE WE ARE IN A FUCKING PRISON!! WE ARE FUCKING STUCK HERE TOGETHER AND THE FUCK IT SUCKS!!"

Hearing his words, you're not sure if you should be amused or rather offended, finally opting for irony. "Sure, it's true that's I'm so lucky to be living with you, while you're stuck with the most boring rommate. I guess this is the part where I'm supposed to apologize for existing, right?"

Ivar freezes, speechless. Wow. It's not something that happens a lot. Small victories blah, blah, blah… Nervously wiggling his fingers, he gives you a constrained, almost apologetic look while biting his lower lip. "Fuck Y/N," his voice speaks softly, "I didn't mean it like that." He lowers his gaze, his hands now rubbing his thighs. You can tell he tries very hard to stay calm and you can't help but think it's adorable. "You know that… Fuck! Y/N, I'm not good at that, and we both know that we didn't choose each other, but I'm fucking grateful it's you who's living with me, and not some dumbass. And even though I'm a spoiled brat and probably a fucking pain in the ass, I know being stuck here with you won't be hell on Earth. Still, just being stuck here sucks. IT FUCKING SUCKS!!!"

That's the exact moment when something switches in your mind. It all comes up out of the blue and you're suddenly aware of the warmth in your lower belly, of your increasing heart rate, of your clammy hands… You have to make a prodigious effort not to lick your lips. Ivar is… flustered, akward, still angry and cocky yet soft and almost sweet and seeing him like this makes you feel things. Unexpected things.

You can't think straight anymore. Maybe lockdown is driving you crazy too, after all. Or maybe it's because it's been months since you've… Or it's all Ivar's fault. Yeah, that's it, it's got to be his fault. Because with is huge blue eyes, his reddened cheeks, his chiseled upper body and the anger still flowing out of him, he's… he's… he's…

… insanely hot. So FUCKING insanely hot.

Checking discretely with one hand that no drool is leaking from the corner of your mouth, you go on right after. "Maybe you should stop talking about it and just do it, Ivar. You know, to take the pressure off." Your words are rushed and you know you're blushing, but you can’t control your brain anymore. It's probably not really functional right now anyway.

Baffled, Ivar looks at you without understanding. "Wh- What? What are you fucking talking about?" His scowl is back, and you realize it makes him even more attractive.

“Oh Ivar, don't play dumb, you know what I'm saying, don't you? Fuck and fucking… Those are the only words you seem to know. Stop saying them. Do it. Just do it. I bet you'll be more relaxed after." Okay, you're obviously out of your mind. You couldn't care less though, your only focus at the moment being the sparkle in your inner core.

"What-?" His chocked voice gives away how stunned he is. "But… with… with whom, Y/N?"

The answer is an obvious one, right? At least to you, but probably to Ivar too, since he's stuck there with you and only you. You can see in his eyes that yes, he knows what you're implying. Still, the bewilderment written all over his face a clear indication that he can't bring himself to believe it. You don't blame him. The impression you give is always that of a (too) serious person. Ivar doesn't know who you really are. You're not even sure you know it yourself… And right now, it doesn't matter.

Because yeah, disbelief is obvious on his face, but lust even more so … oh gods… Gods… Slightly confounded and blinking a few times, but looking at you like you're a prey, Ivar is, if at all possible, even hotter than before. And that's what matters.

Winking at him, you quickly take off your t-shirt, swinging it accross the room. His mouth ajar, his gaze is that of a toddler, sitting under the tree, contemplating his gifts on Christmas morning.

"What do you think, Ivar?" His eyebrows furrowed, you don't allow him time to respond, straddling his lap. You're not sure he's breathing, clearly incredulous, almost skeptical. And gods, how beautiful he is. You can't resist. You won't resist. When you crash your lips together, you stop thinking.

The akward moment disappears quickly, replaced by a shared eagerness. Ivar kisses you back, his need now as great as yours, his tongue invading and claiming your mouth. You can't help but moan while feeling him growning against your clit. "Fuck Y/N!", he mumbles as you rock your hips purposefully against his. Rewarded with a loud growl, you smile, never breaking the intense kiss.

All off a sudden, you don't know how he manages to do so, you're lying on your back on the wide couch, Ivar's body all over yours, warming you from the inside out. His shirt gone, his callouse hands are everywhere, roaming your body – your jaw, sides, belly, neck, navel, even squeezing your cheeks as you raise your hips – his mouth on your tits, nibbling and sucking. Digging your fingers into his back, you release a gasping breath before kissing each and every part of exposed skin he has to offer, his taste so overwhelming, you can't get enough, moaning and panting endlessly, your heart already pounding hard in your chest.

As he slips his fingers under your panties, your breath stutters, your whole body jerking and tensing when his fingertips brush over your clit. You can feel him smile against your skin, proud and smug, huffing a small snort just before parting your folds.

Slipping a finger inside you, a low moan rattles in his throat, his wonder at how wet you are obvious in his eyes. When his middle finger begins to glide in and out, you grab his wrist hard, a frustrated growl escaping your mouth.

"Stop it, Ivar." Muttering against his neck, you put your free hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly, his gaze an universal what-the-fuck-gaze. Without loosening your grip on his wrist, you let your fingers run down his chest, your hand grabbing his waistband.

"Don't waste our time with foreplay." Rushing your words, you give him a short yet rapturous kiss. "Save it for later, will you? We'll have a whole lockdown to do that." Yanking his pants and briefs down his hips, you then slip off your panties, Ivar leaning on his forearms, his biceps flexing. Looking at you with desire in his blackened eyes, he releases a husky whimper of yearning as you grab his hard length. "Fuck Y/N!" he hisses, panting and shivering.

"That's it, Ivar! Do it. Fuck me. I need you inside me. Now!" Your breath coming in shallow gasps, you squeeze his cock, brushing it against your core.

That's all it takes for his control to snap as he drives into you, stroking you from the inside. He thrusts straight away into you, hard and heavy. It's not gentle, it's rough and primal, exactly what you need. Grasping and squeezing handfuls of his ass, your hips snap upward and you groan against his skin and into his mouth as he hits you from all angles, going deeper inside you than you thought possible. Your body jerking back, your hands cling to his shoulders, allowing you to feel his quivering muscles under your fingertips. Your skin feels like fire as he keeps pumping relentlessly, his tongue thrusting into your mouth.

Your breathing uneven, you know he's as close as you are as your walls clench around him. Pushing your hips upward and back, faster and faster, his thrusts become erratic. "Fuck!", he roars once more, your hands back on his ass again, your body starting to shake.

Crying out, your body bows upward. The muscles of your inner walls constrincting tightly around him, you scream his name, exploding all around him, his thick and hot seed spilling inside you, your orgasm hitting you in strong waves as his mouth seeks yours for a final sloppy kiss.

Sated to the point of exhaustion, Ivar falls heavily onto you, shaking and sweating. Not letting himself slide out of you just yet, his hands lazily stroke your sides as your fingers run along his back.

Out of breath, you both need a few minutes to come down from that high, Ivar being the first to talk, his voice still shaky. "There's no fucking way we're not fucking doing this again!"

Bursting out laughing, you give his cheek a peck before leaning on one elbow. Rolling your eyes playfully, you gently push a strand of hair away from his forehead. "You're fucking right. But for now, Ivar, you know what? Give it a rest and just fucking shut up!"

🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets @saldelys @waiting4inspiration @lisinfleur @hecohansen31 @a-mess-of-fandoms @gearhead66 @readsalot73 @lonewolf471

#ivar #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #modern ivar #modern!ivar #modern ivar x reader #modern!ivar x reader #ivar imagine #ivar the boneless #vikings imagine #vikings #ivar fanfic #lisinfleur #quarantine challenge

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tisfan · 4 years

Text

The Right Girl

Word count 1492

01 - Handjob Tags: Handjob, shower sex, mental health, unhealthy coping mechanisms, Steve punches things a lot, anti-Ellen DeGeneres Couple: Steve Rogers/Jessica Jones (Man with an Alias)

Takes place in the Communal Kitchen AU

Steve was exactly where she’d expected him to be. Jessica Jones could say one thing about her boyfriend, Steve Rogers, and that was that he was fairly predictable.

She leaned against one of the concrete pillars that held the roof of the gym up and watched Steve whale the hell out of a super-soldier punching bag. His hips moved in perfect time with his jabs, and his ass did the most adorable little bounce every time he hit. Jessica knew that everyone thought Tony Stark had the best ass in the Avengers -- it came up from time to time in those ridiculous listicles -- but Jessica was going to have to respectfully disagree.

That was America’s ass, right there, that was.

She held her hands up with double Ls to frame it.

“Take a picture,” Steve suggested, not speaking up to be heard. He knew she was there, had known it the whole time, probably. “It’ll last longer.”

“Rather just get my hands on it,” Jessica said, coming up behind him.

He punched the bag one more time and then held out his hand flat to make it stop swinging. “Did you need something?”

Jessica didn’t wince, or pause. She already knew this was going to be bad. “Want to talk about it?”

Steve gestured at the punching bag. Does this look like my talking face?

Jessica barreled on ahead, because she never knew how to shut up, really. She was broken in all the right places to lean against Steve’s broken bits. “So, what happened?”

It was supposed to be a fluff piece; not quite talk show, live in front of a studio audience, because after the debacle with Steve saying Ellen was friends with a war criminal and therefore just as bad, their PR team never let Steve do anything aside from ribbon cutting ceremonies that couldn’t be edited later.

Steve wasn’t even allowed to do commencement speeches, which always seemed to shock people and Jessica never understood why. Did they not realize who Steve was?

Well, no, they didn’t. They had some ultra-white conservative Captain America on their boner and never realized that wasn’t the same person at all. It had taken Jessica about three hours to realize Steve wasn’t Captain America. And she didn’t consider herself to be the brightest bulb on the Christmas Tree, so what the fuck was up with other people?

“They had an interview with Peggy,” Steve said. “She was having a good day, I guess. Talked a little about us… and that stupid thing with Howard and my jealousy. And then the reporter turned the video on me and asked me what I thought Peggy would say about my being--”

“With me?”

“Yeah.”

“So, are we going to have to pay damages?” Jessica moved a bit closer and rested her head against his sweaty back, listening to him breathe. She was as strong as he was, and it always astonished her that he was so much bigger than she was. Show off.

“I didn’t break anything,” Steve admitted, sounding cranky about it.

“Is that why you’re down here?”

“Yes-- no. I-- I’m with you,” Steve said. “Peggy and I… I mean, we never knew if anything was gonna happen, you know? There was a war, and we were busy. It might not ever have come to anything, if we’d both lived to come home.”

Privately, Jessica doubted that. Peggy Carter had been the love of Steve’s fucking life. She was always going to be second to that, and she told herself she didn’t mind, that it was okay, she had him now anyway--

“Peggy moved on with her life,” Steve said, “which is what’s supposed to fucking happen, and I’m not jealous of her husband or her kids, or her grandkids or her fucking horse farm in England.”

After more than a year together, Jessica would have supposed she’d have gotten used to Steve cursing, but she wasn’t. There was always a little elicit thrill to listening to Captain America with a fucking potty mouth.

“But you’re still mad?”

“It’s disrespectful,” Steve said, “to you. You’re not second choice, or someone I’m settling for. I love you. And I don’t see why that’s anyone else’s business but ours.”

Jessica pressed her face against his damp tee-shirt. Steve loved her. She knew he did, but that didn’t keep it from being amazing, every single time. “I swear to God,” she muttered into his skin, “that I could jerk you off on national television, and they’ll still put you and Peggy’s pictures together. It doesn’t matter, cowboy. We’re together.”

Steve turned around and tipped her chin to make her look up at him. He was slightly flushed, a little sweaty, and stupidly gorgeous as always. “You could do it now,” he suggested, and that flush got darker.

“Do-- ohhh,” she said. “Well, I suppose it is another way to destress.”

“Not-- not because of them, you know. I--”

“You love me, and Peggy is old news and you need to prove it to your dumb brain before you can move on with your life, no, I get it completely.”

Steve slumped just a little, as if in relief that he didn’t have to use his words like an adult, and if Jessica hadn’t been so cross with the magazine fuck-nuggets who thought this sort of thing was okay, she might have teased Steve a little about being too immature to ask for a handie when he wanted one.

“Come on, cowboy, let’s hit the showers,” Jessica suggested, because Natasha’s wrath was mighty when she walked in on people having sex in public areas.

Jessica stopped by her locker to pick up some of the soft joggers and tees that the cleaning ‘bots left for people to change into after workouts. Everyone in the tower had several sets, they were all color coordinated for their armor colors. Tony was ridiculously silly about that, and everyone wore them, so it made Tony happy.

Jessica grabbed the pale grey tee and purple pants. “One of these days, I feel like telling Tony Stark that my favorite color is, in fact, pink.”

Steve blinked. “It is?”

“No, but he’d make an even more ridiculous face than you are right now, so I might do it anyway,” Jessica admitted.

Steve shucked out of his sweaty, filthy workout clothes, and Jessica was only a little behind him, because she tended to wear skinny jeans, and she did not tend to appreciate Steve ripping them off her, unless it was a very special occassion.

Steve had the spray going full blast, boil-a-lobster, she slid in behind him, hand reaching around his hip.

“Seems like I should be doing you,” Steve said, almost apologized, and she gave him a little squeeze to stop that line of thinking.

“I’ve seen your refractory period, cowboy,” Jessica said. “You can do me a few times later. Let’s just rub one out and get you feeling a little less murdery.”

“So romantic,” Steve grumbled, laughing a little.

“You want romance, you got the wrong girl,” Jessica said. She got her hand around Steve’s girth -- he was so fucking thick, and even though she had long fingers for a woman, she really could not wrap her entire hand around it. But it was close enough, and she had a pretty good angle behind him. She stroked, up and down, twisting her palm to put pressure in just the right places.

“I think I got exactly the right girl,” Steve protested, and if he ever did replace Peggy in his heart with her, it was when their relationship was just like this, earthy and filthy and hot and sweaty and sexy. All the times he’d taken her to bed and all the times she’d cooped a feel under the dinner table with the entire family of Avengers. All the times he’d saved her, and all the times she’s saved him.

And if she couldn’t replace Peggy in his heart, well, it really didn’t matter, did it? Peggy was ninety some years old and on a good day, sometimes she’d recognize Steve. And sometimes she didn’t. Closure was overrated, and it wasn’t like Peggy Carter wasn’t a legend in her own right.

“You’re thinking too loud, sugar,” Steve said.

She twisted her hand again and Steve groaned, pushing into it, fucking up into her fist, his hips snapping powerfully.

She nipped at his back, licking along his spine and then nuzzling right between his shoulder blades, and then Steve was coming against her hand, dick pulsing against her palm.

“Sometimes I think you’re going to be like Superman and come bullets right through the wall or something.”

Steve cracked an eyelid open reluctantly and looked at the tiles. “Nope, still no speed of light orgasms,” he reported.

“Well, that’s good,” Jessica said. “Feel better?”

“A little more relaxed,” Steve said. “Give me a second, I’ll--”

“Give me my turn?”

“Yeah, that.”

#jbbKinktober2020 #communal kitchen au #Steve Rogers/Jessica Jones #lemons

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gothfoxx · 4 years

Note

Miraculous Ladybug, Male! Marinette x Lila, They were partnered up with in a project but they hated each other. They have settled their differences or they would fail the project.

(I’m using @virgil-is-a-cutie ‘s male!Marinette name for this)

When Ms Bustier said they would do the project in pairs Marin could feel the eyes of everyone in class glance hungrily in his direction. There was sure to be a fight for an easy grade. “Partners will be assigned at the end of the lesson so please pay attention!” The teacher informed them. ‘Ha!’ Marin thought as all the greedy vultures groaned and moaned about their lost meal ticket.

“That leaves Alya and Juleka as the last girl team and Lila and Marin as our last co Ed team!” Ms Bustier said way too cheerfully for someone that just sent a guy down the river. “Remember I want to see effort from both of you in your project for this lesson, think of it as your idea child. Raise it together with love and care!” The woman added a happy little half clap to emphasize her giddiness at the prospect.

Marin held back an eye roll that he was sure several other students could share. At least it was a subject he liked so if he had to do all the work he wouldn’t be struggling. The plopping down of a bag jars the bluenett out of his musings huh Alya left already and when he looks up he sees his nightmare hasn’t ended yet, “Hey~ Marin. So I guess we’re working together huh?” Lila asks feigning innocence and dripping artificial sweetness. When he doesn’t address her right away she tilts her head and pouts, if he didn’t know it was all an act he might have been swayed into being sorry.

He heaved a sigh to rivial a tiny god’s and puts on his ‘customer service’ smile, “Guess so. So do you have an idea for what we should do? I’m all ears!” Might as well jump to it and prepare for the worst. She surprises him by pulling out a piece of paper with some sloppy writing on it. “I might have one idea.” She beams, ew she can fake that too is that healthy?. “Oh cool.” Came his less than enthusiastic reply as he tried to read the paper, “So what IS the idea?” He finally asks after getting nowhere trying to read from the paper. Lila grinned and this time if was the kind her was used to, the sly cruel smile of a Predator on the hunt.

“I’m glad you ask Marin! It just so happens that my grandpapa’s work involved research of this area. We have some of his old journals at home. We practically have this done!” She boasted, and for a lie this one seemed rather...dumb to say the least. How was she going to get out of something so plainly’put up or shut up’? “So I guess we’re doing it at your place?” He remarks as he looks back at his notes for the list of suggested topics. A sound like a strangled cat catches his attention back to the brunette, she was red in the face and sputtering, “excuse me? Come again?” She wheezes between two steadying breaths. He’s confused at to what set her off but he repeats himself, “Are we doing the project at your house? Where the journals are?” And by golly she goes from looking mad to being embarrassed. “Oh, sure” comes the oddly soft response.

After school Marin texted his parents that he’d be home for dinner and prayed that if this was some kind of murder plot that they would at least start the search for his body quickly. The awkward silence dragged on until it got to be too much for the boy so he asks, “So what did your grandpa do?” After a few steps Lila answers with a grand sweep of her hand towards a front door. “You’ll just have to see, welcome to the Castello Rossi!” For all the grand showmanship it’s a very plain looking house, well kept but plain. “How nice, I like your plants.” Marin comments trying to be civil since they still have work to do.

As Lila opens the door with another grand gesture Marin is shocked to see how empty and impersonal it feels. Most of the front room looks unlived in with just two picture frames sitting on the mantle. “Mama won’t be home till later so let’s go to the office and get as much done as we can.” She states, beckoning him to follow. The office is a stark contrast to the room earlier, stacks of important looking paper tower on the dark wooden desk, Knick-nacks and books fill the shelves, and family phones are scattered along the walls. While Marin is taking it all in Lila goes to a shelf in the corner and pulls out two worn out sketch books.

As it turns out Lila’s grandpa was part of a team of anthropologists that studied post World War I art and his books were a mix of notes on the how the war changed how the art had changed and sketches of people he had interviewed. It was all so fascinating and emotional. Marcelo Rossi had a way with words, Marin felt like he could hear the man’s voice narrate as he read entry after entry. They easily got most of their project done, the impact of WWI in everyday life, all they needed was a second source and they would be finished. All in all it was a not horrible experience, maybe if Lila could shape up they could really be friends like everyone wanted.

Ending 1: not so bad

Marin was surprised that in the week and a half that they had been working together to discover the Rossi family were well known in nitch circles of the anthropology and archaeological sciences. He had seen a picture of her great aunt recording the dying language of the Tihan people of Tiahana, gotten to read the musings of the eccentric late great-great-uncle Sal who studied prehistoric plants. They were amazing people who changed their fields, it was a wonder Lila depended on lies to get attention. When the day of the presentation came up Marin was excited to share what they had written, Lila even brought scans of the sketch books to pass around. Everyone else’s reports were pretty standard in comparison so when it was their turn they knocked it out of the park!

After class Marin walked out with Lila like he had done everyday for a week when to realized that he didn’t need to follow her anymore. It caught him off guard at how sad that made him, he liked seeing the real Lila under all the lies and faux confidence. Did they really have to pop their little bubble just because they didn’t share a goal anymore? “Aren’t you coming?” Lila asked tugging on Marin’s sleeve, “We need to celebrate, that report was definitely an A. We deserve a treat!” She declares, dragging the less than reluctant boy along with her. They announced their relationship a few days later to the cheers of the class.

Ending 2: how did it end up like this

Marin had gotten to know the real Lila over the week and a half they worked together. He had really gotten through to her as he assured her that what her family did was interesting and there was no need to hide behind her web of lie. She agreed to come clean to the class with Marin to vouch for her after the project. He was really proud of her and was planning on asking her to lunch together later that day.

Strangely when they walked in that morning in prep for the report Marin felt the burning feeling of eyes boring into the back of his head. Ms Bustier met them at the bottom of the steps, “Lila is it really a good idea for you to come in today with everything that you’ve done?” The teacher inquired with a grit of her teeth. A murmur rippled through the room as Marin realized the glares weren’t aimed at his mmm for a change. Lila paled and looked around the class before focusing back on Ms Bustier, “What’s going on? What do you mean by what ‘I’ve done’?” The brunette asks a bit nervously.

It was Alya that stood up and pointed an accusing finger at Lila. “You lied about everything, you made me think you were going to help me with my career! You just strung us along like puppets!” She roared, Juleka had to hold the journalist back from rush the Italian. “Alya sit down! I will handle this!” Barked Ms Bustier, looking very run down and already very tired for the time of day. If Marin though Lila was pale before then she looked ghostly now, her eyes looked huge on her face as she looked at the struggling Alya. “As you can see. It would be best if you spent the day with the principal. Your mother should be here soon” the teacher growled.

Just then Juleka lost her grip and Alya rushed forward making Lila bolt out the door. Marin braced his body, the same way he did when Manon tries to escape to cling to her mom, and grabbed Alya around the middle and kept her from chasing his friend. “Why are you stopping me! She lied, you know she lied!” Raved the girl trying to wrestle her way out of his grip. “She played us!” She snarled. “She played you like the cheap kazoo you are!” Marin responded in kind. “I told you before it was a problem that she was lying but none of you would hear me out, you asked for proof, you called me envious! But it’s now that I like her and she promised to come clean that you choose to see the truth!? Fuck you guys!” He yells, dropping Alya on her ass and running after Lila.

He finds her crying in the hall that leads to the principal’s office. Her eyes are red and puffy, it breaks his heart to see her scrubbing her face in an effort to make the tears stop. Kneeling down next to her Matin holds his arm out so she can curl up into his side. “Don’t worry about them. They never knew the real you. After all the talk they spout about friendship and loyalty and giving chances they never even tried to get to know who was under all the celebrity stories. They all dropped you without asking questions or giving you a chance. So don’t worry about them. You have me.” He promises, rubbing her back soothingly. They wait there a long time before Mrs Rossi arrives, Marin stays for the meeting holding Lila’s hand through the whole ordeal. With compromises on both sides Lila is allowed to stay in the school but she will be switching classes and seeing a councilor. After Marin walks Lila and her mom back to their car, it might not be the best time but he’s not sure when he’ll get the chance again, “Once you’re not grounded anymore will you go out for coffee with me? Or a movie, I don’t even know if you like coffee.” He rambles get stopped in their tracks when Lila leans over and places a peck on his cheek. “I’d love to” she smiles, eyes still a bit wet, before having to close the car door and drive away.

#foxx writes #lilanette #male!marinette #ml angst #no heroes au #ineedspellcheck

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heartofsnark · 4 years

Text

This Is Love (Chapter Six):Burnt Offering

Notes: So, given that the last chapter was kind of short, at least by my standards. I decided to go ahead and post the next chapter this month. We're starting to near the point where what I post and where I'm at in writing are meeting up, I have chapter 7 done and am currently about halfway through writing 8, so don't be shocked if we end up with a slowdown in chapters like what's had to happen with my other fic series. It just happens, such is life.

Word Count: 9243

Chapter Warnings: Blood, Domestic Violence, Alcoholism, POV Switches, Talks of the Testicle Festival,

For chapter one and the warnings about this fics overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

The cruiser door shuts with a heavy thud, followed by Rook’s boots hitting the asphalt. Staci stifles a laugh, the newest addition to the Sheriff’s Department has a pea sized bladder and a penchant for guzzling energy drinks like an idiot. He’s had to pull into the Golden Valley Gas Station for her to run off to the bathroom, again.

His joints pop and crack as he gets out of the car, taking the chance to stretch his legs. The sun hangs high and bright in the great blue sky, warming his skin as rolls his shoulders to get out the kinks. It’s nearly noon and if he has to be here, he might as well find something to eat, the door of the gas station chiming as he walks in. He looks over the hot food options, garbage mostly, but tasty garbage. Hamburgers, pizza, hot dogs-

“You getting lunch?”

Staci jumps at the sudden question, a voice over his shoulder that he wasn’t ready for catches him off guard. A soft laugh as he turns to look at Rook who’s just scared him, sometimes she’s like a bull in a china shop and other times she’s silent as the grave. He can’t keep up and ends up glaring at the smirking woman. She finds way too much enjoyment in his misery, she’s the probie, he’s supposed to be giving her shit not the other way around.

“Someone needs to put a fuckin’ bell on you, I swear.”

“I thought you could ‘hear me coming a mile away’,” she says trying to imitate his voice when he mocked her earlier.

“That was then, this is now, and right now, you’re a sneaky bitch.”

He can’t resist the chance to wipe that dumb little smirk off her face and grabs her cheek between his fingers, stretching the soft tan skin. A small sharp pain in his wrist when she smacks him away, but it’s more than worth it to see her looking a little less cocky.

“Bite me.” She says and knocks against his side as she grabs a hamburger, nearly throwing him off balance.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Ew.” Rook grimaces at his little attempt at flirting, like an asshole. Then again, with her, she may not realize he was trying to flirt.

He grabs himself one and follows after her to the drinks, he watches her line of vision immediately go to the large sized slushie cups. They’re nearly the size of the short deputy’s head.

“No,” he tells her, voice low with warning, he already has to worry about pulling over for her constantly.

“What?”

“You drink that and you’re gonna be needing twelve more bathroom trips before our shift ends.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You nearly pissed yourself, five minutes ago.”

“I’ll be fine.” Rook rolls her eyes as she fills up the giant cup with blue slush. No matter what he says, he swears she’d break her neck just to do the opposite.

They buy their lunches, if it can even be called that, and leave the gas station. The weather’s too nice to eat in the cruiser, a soft breeze and a clear sky to eat under instead. Staci instead sits on the trunk of the car, balancing his drink on his thigh as he eats. Rook follows his lead, for once since she’s been here, and sits down on the car as well. She pulls one of her legs up onto the car and under her, keeping her drink in hand.

It’s quiet as they eat, but unlike the awkward still of when they first started patrolling together, this silence is surprisingly pleasant. Staci has never liked quiet, making those first patrols painful to sit through, but their time spent in silence has grown more bearable with every shift.

Rook is weird, but not bad; he’s decided. She’s quiet and serious, especially so at the start. But, she never misses a chance to talk back or give him hell, which might be his own fault. She’s dedicated to the job and never seems to shy away from what it entails, only ever seeming bothered by the work when she was stuck pushing papers. Despite her constant scowling and resting bitch face, Rook is eager to help people.

He doesn’t know much about her, which is only natural with her short time with the department and her lackluster communicative skills. She likes her job, Hudson, animals, and giving him hell. She hates crowds, churches, and talking. That’s about all he’s got. And dress codes he guesses? Though since the Drubman incident she’s stuck with modest tanks and tees under her uniform, other than buttoning it up, it’s the same damn thing. Hell, even Hudson and him don’t button it up all the way.

When she was first hired, the week separating her hire and her actual first day, he asked Whitehorse what he was thinking when he hired someone so young. The sheriff just laughed, saying she had a good heart. He supposes her jumping to help Mary May the day of her interview was proof of that.

There are a lot of reasons why people become cops, not all of them necessarily good or right. Staci himself is exhibit A of that. He’s always been honest with himself and others that he became a cop to get laid, it was nothing short of a whim. Something women are attracted to and didn’t require too much education, so he could avoid debt. No ideas of helping people or delusions of keeping the peace; he chose his career based entirely on the prospect of getting his dick wet.

Hudson is better than him in that regard, well, in many regards but that’s beside the point. But, her choice mostly stems from her family. Almost everyone in her family has had a career in either the military or law enforcement. Her mom is a veteran and her dad a veteran turned police officer, retiring early due to injury. One of her brothers works as an officer in Billings and the other currently in basic training. It only seemed natural she’d follow one of those paths, becoming a cop because it’s what they do in her family. A fact she’s always taken pride in.

Danny, not to speak ill of the dead, was probably a hall monitor in high school. He was a stickler for details and rules, he enjoyed being the one enforcing order. But Staci isn’t confident that Danny enjoyed it because he believed in what was best for the public so much as he liked rules for the sake of rules and being the one to crack the whip. It’s strange to say after so many years of butting heads, but Staci misses that asshole. It hit Joey hardest, Danny being her partner, but it hit him too. Danny was with the station since before him or Joey were hired on, for him to just be gone one day… Hope County is a sleepy little place, it can be easy to forget how dangerous this kind of job can be when speeding and hunting violations are the biggest crimes. Danny was a grim reminder and hopefully, the last one Staci will ever get.

“That’s gonna fall,” Rook’s voice cuts through the quiet, her finger pointed at the drink balanced on Staci’s thigh.

“It’s fine,” he dismisses her out of hand, and she rolls her eyes, sunlight making the brown look nearly gold.

She’s cute, it’s something he’s had to admit, as much as he’d rather not. While he’s always been a bit of a womanizer, it still feels weird acknowledging he’s attracted to his newly acquired pain in the ass. But…Rook is real easy on the eyes. Even with her constant sourpuss of a face, she's cute. Though the rare times he’s seen her smile… It’s a good look on her. Hell, it's a good enough look that he asked her out on an impromptu date to the F.A.N.G Center the moment he saw it. Though that ended up being botched; the Junior Deputy inviting Joey along and then abandoning them partway through the day.

He’s gotten to spend hardly any time with her outside of work, between that and her never tagging along to The Spread Eagle, a part of him has to wonder if she just doesn’t want to deal with him when she doesn’t have to. God knows, it’s not Hudson, he’s pretty sure Rook would break her neck to spend more time with Joey.

Staci’s mind is drawn back to Rook’s dismissal of his mild flirting, she seemed uncomfortable with Adelaide’s more…forward tendencies too. But there’s no denying she has a huge annoying crush on Joey. Her face going redder than a lobster anytime the two are near each other. He’s asking her on dates without even meaning to and he’s not even sure what way she swings.

“So, what’s your deal?” He decides to just ask, it might be a long shot, but no harm in seeing if he has a chance. Right?

“My deal with what?” She raises an eyebrow and takes another slurp of her drink.

“Well, I know you’re into women; so are you gay?” Rook chokes on her slushie, blue dribbling down her chin as he continues, “Bi? Pan?”

“What the fuck, dude?!” She yells, scrubbing her slushie covered hand against her jeans, her blue stained tongue catching his eye as she freaks out.

“It’s just a question.”

“A real fuckin’ personal one.” Her face is a vivid red, making her blue chin and tongue stand out even brighter.

“What? You worried ‘cause, ya know, Montana?”

“No, I’m not worried because of that.”

“Good, because I promise you most people here don’t give a fuck.”

“No, it’s not, I just don’t like talking…”

“You can honestly stop that sentence right there.”

“Pff,” she lets out a soft laugh and the corner of her mouth curves up as she says in a gentler voice, “I don’t like talking.”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” He gives her the out and she groans.

“Look, dude, not that it’s any of your business but I barely know what the fuck’s going on in my own head. If I can’t figure that shit out, how the hell am I supposed to explain it?”

“I know you like Hudson.”

“Yeah, I do… I can’t say I’m not attracted to men? I don’t think, I’ve thought men are attractive. I just, women catch my eye more,” she shrugs, face still red, “though I don’t know if that’s because of me or ‘cause of the….selection here.”

“What do you mean?”

She glares at him, dark eyebrows furrowed as if she’s trying to figure out if he’s serious while she slurps on her slushie. He can nearly see the gears in her head desperately trying to turn.

“Dude, seriously?” She asks raises an eyebrow when he doesn’t budge.

“Seriously, you make it sound like the men here are drooling apes.”

“Women in Hope County.”

Rook points out a woman stepping out of her car, long tanned legs and daisy duke shorts.

“Men in Hope County.”

She gestures towards a man at the gas pumps, bent over with his jeans half falling off his ass with plumber crack on display for the world.

It’s his turn to choke, pop catching in his windpipe as her sputters and gags on his laugh, leg jerking and sending his entire drink falling into his lap.

“Jesus fuck,” he manages to cough out as cola soaks his crotch.

“Told you it was gonna fall.”

“At least I don’t look like I blew a Smurf.”

“Fuck off.” She roughly shoves him as they both laugh.

“So, all us Hope County men are just too ugly for you?” He says with mock hurt in his voice as he stands from the trunk, walking around the cruiser.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“No, no, I get it, I mean, how could anyone stand to even look at me.”

“What do you want from me?” She’s glaring at him now from over the cruiser, each at their respective doors as they talk.

“Nah, it’s my cross to bear, I have to learn how to deal with being hideous.”

“I mean, we can always get you a paper bag.” Her face breaks into a smile and she starts laughing halfway through her own joke, blue tongue pressing against her canines.

“Wow, fuckin’ wow, just double down.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“Unbelievable.”

“I’m sorry,” she rolls her eyes, face still flushed from laughing, “for what it’s worth, you’re one of the more attractive guys in Hope County.”

“Thank you,” Staci can’t help but genuinely smile, between the compliment and her expression, something about the moment settles warm in his chest.

“Which is kinda like being a tall dwarf.”

“Fuck you,” his outburst makes her laugh and he can’t help but laugh right along with her, “you can’t let me have anything can you?”

“Nope.”

They’re still smiling, stomachs and cheeks aching as they climb into the cruiser. He turns the key and starts up the engine, pulling them out of the parking lot. The soft tapping of Rook’s finger against the door is the only sound as they drive through the valley. She’s always moving, he’s not sure he’s ever seen her completely still.

The cola on his jeans has barely started to dry by the time the radio starts to crackle, dispatch putting out a call.

“Units please respond, we have a domestic disturbance at the Ramsey Residence, neighbor reported yelling coming from the home and threats of violence.”

The Ramsey place is about fifteen or twenty minutes out from where Benjamin and Julie live. They’re familiar with the Sheriff’s department. He hates to sound so jaded and cynical, but they’ve done this song and dance so many times. Benjamin has been an abusive drunk since as long as Staci’s lived in Hope County. No matter how many times they cuff and drag him away; Julie refuses to press charges, bails him out, and welcomes him back with open arms. It’s an endless cycle and Hope County doesn’t have the resources to break it. With that in mind, he grabs the receiver.

“Deputy Pratt and Hale responding, over.”

He flips on the sirens, lights flashing and the speaker squealing as they rush towards the Ramsey house. Tires spitting up gravel as he drives along the backroads, following them to the old farmhouse. It was once a beautiful house, he’s sure, but it’s started to fall apart over the years. The white paint peeling and the wood of the porch starting to rot away.

There’s a tension in the air as the deputies get out of the cruiser, grass crushing underfoot as they make their way to the home. Despite being Staci’s subordinate as far as standing in the department goes, Rook is in front of him and taking the lead. Not because he wants her too; she just does that.

The porch lets out a loud creak when the junior deputy takes a step, straining under her weight. That doesn’t bode well for him, while not a particularly heavy guy, he’s over a foot taller than Rook and fit. She may have muscle mass, but he’s sure he still weighs more at the end of the day.

“You might wanna be careful,” she warns him, standing next to the door, clearly having gone through the same thought process as him.

“Yeah, this porch has seen better days.”

It strains and creaks, echoing a louder under him as he takes the steps up. Then his foot goes through the porch. He curses as he starts to fall through, broken rotted wood splintering into his jeans and boot. A hand wraps around his wrist, Rook steadying him as gets his bearings. He grips the railing as he his rips his foot back out of the wood; breaking and ripping apart boards with the force of it. The smell of mildew, rotted lumber, and muck getting kicked up from it.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

He has to shift back onto the steps that were able to hold him, he could step over or around the broken gap, but the chances of it just breaking through again are high. Rook lets go of his wrist once he’s on stable footing and turns back to the door. She knocks on the door three times, before calling out.

“Hope County Sheriff’s department, we got a call, just here to make sure everything’s okay.”

There’s no response, of course they’re in no rush to open the door for police. A beat of silence and then something breaks from inside the home, like glass crashing to the ground.

“You ever deal with them before?” Rook asks as she tries to open the door, but it’s locked.

“Plenty, he always has to be taken kicking and screaming. ”

“Is he dangerous?” She’s slid a pick into the door lock, twisting and turning it. Why the hell does she know how to pick locks?

“Only to his wife, every time I’ve dealt with him, he’s no worse than a drunk toddler.”

“Hmm,” she nods in understanding, “go around back and see if there’s a back door or something, we can’t take anyone out this way. I’ll head in.”

“Since when do you give the orders, probie?”

“Pratt,” she says his name like a warning, just as the door clicks open. She’s right and he Staci knows that, but that doesn’t mean he has to like being bossed around by the probie he’s supposed to be teaching the ropes.

He waves her off and goes walking around the house, all this trouble and splinters in his shin over some damn drunk who should have been locked away years ago. There’s a set of concrete stairs up to the backdoor, not attached, but sturdier than forty-year-old rotted wood. He shakes the backdoor and finds it’s locked, because of course it is.

Staci slams his shoulder against the door as he hard as he can, putting all of his weight into it. The lock and frame give out from the force, a boom and splintering sound ringing out.

“Fuck!”

It’s Rook’s voice, no mistaking it, a groan of pain punctuating the curse. Staci’s blood runs cold and he runs into the house; feet hitting the floor in heavy thuds as he runs to where he heard the sound. Nearly tripping over himself as he enters the living room.

Adrenaline coursing through him, Staci recognizes two figures instantly as he enters. Ben Ramsey standing over a curled up figure dressed in the familiar green of their uniform, blood is on the carpet, soaking it through.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! What’d he do? What did that son of bitch do to her?

From his angle, Ben’s back to him, Pratt can’t make out anything other than her fallen body. He can’t tell if she’s breathing, if she’s moving, where the blood is coming from, if she’s even alive.

Words stick in his throat and his mind only spins curses, his hand pauses, body frozen. Only a moment in reality, but in eternity to Staci; just enough time for the old drunk to pull his leg back and slam a boot into the young deputy on the ground. A sickening crack and curse from the young woman.

And for the first in his career, Staci pulls his gun out. It may be too quick of a move and maybe in the hours after he’ll think of how he should have gone for the baton or taser, but his hand is on his gun. Pointed at another human being. There’s a shake to his hands.

“Ben Ramsey, you’re under, under arrest! Put your hands up!” His words stall for a moment and he curses himself for the way fear seeps into his voice at the worst times.

“Fuck you-“

His words are cut off by a yell, Ben’s body convulsing for a second before he hits the ground with a heavy thud. Rook taser in hand moving as it happens, quickly cuffing him, and Staci can breathe again. He’s not going back to the station alone. The side of her head is stained with blood, hair matted in it, her left eye shut and that half of her face red. Her nose and lip are busted open, blood streaking down her chin. She’s hurt, but she’s alive. His head is swimming, drops his grip on his weapon, his shoulder aching and making him realize just how tense he was. He’s not even certain his finger was on the trigger, he realizes as he holsters the thankfully unused gun. Her lips move over and over again, but the words don’t cut through the fog of his brain until another moment passes.

“Pratt, radio backup, now!” Her hands are on the man’s cuffed wrists, keeping him in place on the ground, subdued for the moment as the man’s thankfully still dazed from the shock.

He’s hesitated, his delay to grab his radio no doubt wasting precious seconds. Why does he always fucking hesitate? He’s tripping over his words as he talks, because of course he is.

“Officer Pratt, we need backup and, and emergency services to the Ramsey house, immediately. Officer injured, suspect is belligra-belligerent and dangerous.”

“Suspect’s wife is injured as well.”

There’s more than three people in the room, Julie Ramsey curled up in a ball beside the couch, sobbing desperately at the entire scene. He didn’t even notice, fuck, he fucking hell. He gives the exact address and gets confirmation that someone is coming. Staci crouches down, closer to Rook’s level where she’s kneeling next to the suspect, he’s able to get a better look at Rook’s injury. He can smell beer, both from the suspect and from her head, shards of brown glass clinging to the blood-soaked skin. He bashed a beer bottle over her head, then kicked her in the face while she was down.

He needs to get something to hold against her head, to help stop the bleeding. Staci’s starts to move to get his overshirt off, thinking it’d be better than nothing, but then sirens screech at them. Police officers for the station and EMTS coming through the house. It’s going to be okay.

No thanks to him. He did nothing. He wants to pull his hair out, scream at himself, why the hell is he this fucking pathetic?

Ben Ramsey is arrested and charged, taken to one of the officer’s police car. Meanwhile Julie and Rook are assessed before being taken to the back of ambulance. Staci follows them, moving on instinct to follow and make sure Rook is okay.

He doesn’t speak the entire way, just grateful to be allowed in the ambulance, he listens as they access her. Lacerations, contusions, possible skull fracture; the words swim around his head as they look her over in the ambulance. He watches as the EMT forces Rook’s left eye open, seeing why it’s been shut, blood vessels damaged across part of the white, red irritation in the other half that goes into the brown, blurring the edge of the iris.

Ideas of her losing vision in that eye flood through his mind, how severe is the damage, could it impact her career? Is she going to be out of here before she’s even finished probationary hire? He was supposed to be looking out for her.

He sits outside her room at the Hope County Clinic, privacy or some sort of doctor crap, he can barely even remember the rest of the ride there. His back against the wall as he sits on the floor, ringing his hands, mind racing through a million possibilities.

“What the hell happened?” Whitehorse’s voice is what ends the frenetic mess in his head, if only for a second. The presence of the sheriff easing some of his nerves, knowing the older man will be able to handle this, whatever the situation may be.

He scrambles to his feet and explains everything that happened; from the porch falling in, him pulling his weapon but not firing, and an injured Rook having to subdue the suspect. Each word of it making him feel just a bit more pathetic, a bit weaker, he really fucked this up.

Whitehorse squeezes his shoulder, a warm heavy hand to comfort him.

“It’s okay, Pratt. Everything is gonna be fine, Rook’s made of tougher stuff than this.”

He sighs, unsure of how he feels by the statement. It’s meant to comfort him, and it does some part of him. He wants Rook to be okay, fuck does he need her to be okay. But, Whitehorse’s unwavering faith in her strength, makes him feel all the more pathetic in comparison.

The hospital room door opens, a doctor walking out, looking over at Whitehorse and Staci.

“You can come in now, if you’d like.”

Staci follows behind Whitehorse as they walk into the little clinic room, off white walls and floors greeting them. Rook’s sitting on the side of the white sheeted bed; seeing her cleaned up and moving is instant relief for Staci’s frayed nerves. Her face is bruised, her eye still messed up, but she’s no longer painted red with her own blood. His hands twitch, he realizes he wants to hug her, to pull her close and feel that she’s truly okay. But he can’t find the nerve to do it, unsure of how the young woman would react.

“So, what’re you dealing with?” Whitehorse asks her and she sighs.

“Needed some stitches, some glass scratched my cornea so vision in this eye is gonna be a little blurry, but it will heal. Minor skull fracture.”

“Skull fracture?” Staci can’t help but blurt out, that’s bad, isn’t it? Skulls are kind of important, being the thing that protects your brain. Why the hell is she just shrugging it off?

“It’s not bad, they don’t do anything for it. My head is gonna hurt like hell for a bit,” she shrugs, “if spinal fluid starts coming out my ears and nose, call 911, though I think that’s the rule for everyone.”

“Alright,” Whitehorse speaks up, “there’s gonna be some paperwork to take care of with your injury and your time off.”

“I’m not taking time off.” She’s emphatic, shaking her head like the sheriff is ridiculous to even suggest something like that.

“I’m not sending you out like this, Rookie, you need to worry about healing up.”

“You want me to take time off, during my probationary hire, that’s ridiculous.”

“Don’t stress, it’s not going to affect anything, just take two weeks off-”

“One week, max.”

“Fine, one week," Whitehorse gives him with a hefty sigh, "just take it easy. And actually take it easy, not doing anything to hurt yourself in the meantime.”

“Pfff,” she huffs out a breath and rolls her eyes, hopping up from the bed.

“We’ll go back to the station and take care of the paperwork.”

Whitehorse puts a hand on Staci’s back; the other on Rook’s as he walks them out the door. Staci feels exhausted as he gets into Whitehorse’s truck with them, someone having taken the cruiser back to the station for them. His body slackening into dead weight as he leans against the door; his nerves are shot to hell and back, he just wants to collapse after everything. She’s okay and that’s what matters most; his own insecurities be damned.

They arrive at the station; since it’s regarding just her injury and leave, Staci isn’t needed for the paperwork on this one. He instead waits outside, he’s not sure why, but he doesn’t feel ready to just go home yet. It’s after shift and usually he’d be at The Spread Eagle by now, sipping cheap beer and shooting the shit with Joey.

Speak of the devil, the older deputy is coming down the hall, nearly jogging towards him. And he’s wondering if she’s felt the way he did when he heard something happened to Danny, before they told him about the former deputy’s death. That anxiety of knowing something is wrong but not knowing the details, fear building ideas of what could have happened.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Rook got hurt, she’s gonna be okay, but, uh, Whitehorse is giving her the week off.”

“Thank god,” Joey lets out a sigh of relief, tension noticeably leaving her body, “I thought, jesus, I don’t know what I thought.”

“Yeah, uh, been a rough day…”

“How you holding up?”

“I fucking choked, Joey. The asshole was trying to kick her damn brains in and I choked.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” she tells him, a faraway look in her eye, “I get it, I do, but you can’t blame anyone but the asshole who hurt her.”

“It's not just that…” He sighs; is he really going to have this conversation? It feels so damn pathetic.

“So, what is it?”

“I...don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I’m certainly not gonna complain about skipping the feely talks. But, uh, for what it’s worth, hindsight is twenty-twenty. Beating yourself up over what you should have done, what you wish you’d have done, is pointless. You do your best in the moment and it’s all you can do.”

“I guess…”

“So...how this affect your little crush on Rook?” She asks after a beat of silence, trying to turn the conversation light-hearted.

“Ugh, don’t call it that. The only crush around here is Rook’s on you.”

“Yeah, right. You got it bad and we both know it.”

“I might have asked her if she’s gay.”

“Seriously, Pratt?”

“What,” he says halfway through a laugh, “she always follow you around like a puppy dog, I had to make sure I even had a chance.”

“Well, do you?”

“Maybe…if she stops crushing on you.”

“Eh, that’s nothing, she’ll be over it before you know it.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“The only reason she’s like that with me is ‘cause she thinks I’m pretty, it’s completely superficial, like a little kid.”

“Well, do me a favor and stop being pretty?”

“No can do, you just gotta sack up and ask her out.”

“‘Cause the F.A.N.G Center went so well.”

“Okay, so ask her out and this time, be specific and talk slow.”

“She’s oblivious, not brain damaged.”

“Ehhh, debatable.”

He thinks for a moment, he likes Rook, he does. She’s cute and spending time with her is nice; being able to tease each other has made his job way less mind numbing. Relationships that go beyond the bedroom have never been his forte; it’s honestly been a while since he’s been on an actual date. But, he thinks it could be nice with her. There’s no telling if they’d actually click romantically, that’s not something you find out until you try it. It could be worth a shot.

But he thinks about today and thinks about the future for a moment, something he’s not fond of doing. Rook is still on probationary hire; who’s to say she’ll be here after the six month period. He doubts Whitehorse will get rid of her, maybe due to her age, he handles her with kid gloves and he’s always been a bit soft as far as sheriffs go anyway. But, it’s always a possibility if she crosses too big of a line or does something unforgivable.

Hell, she might decide she wants to leave, might realize Hope County is just not the place for her and head back to Louisiana.

At the moment he just likes her, nothing intense, nothing he can’t deal with losing. If he found out tomorrow she was fired and leaving, he’d be bummed sure, but he’d recover relatively quickly. But if they started dating, if it worked out and one date led to another. If they hit it off, meshed as well as he thinks they could and that ‘like’ grew into something more and then she had to leave...

“Once her probationary hire is over, I’ll do it,” he says out loud, committing himself to the action in front of Joey. Once that threshold has been crossed, once he has a little more reassurance that he can pursue Rook without fear of her leaving, he’ll go for it.

“You sure you can hold out that long?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You tell me, Mister asked her out on the first day.”

“Shut up.”

Dahlia signs the last of the paperwork, her hand cramping, all of this fuss because someone hit her with a beer bottle. She’s still sick from the idea of having to take off a week, better than two, but she’d rather just do her job. So, her vision in one eye is a little blurry and her head hurts like crazy, big deal.

“There’s something else to address.”

“What’s that?” She raises an eyebrow at Whitehorse, let her out of paperwork hell, please.

“It’s up to you if you want us to press charges against him for assaulting you.”

“Oh.”

“If it matters, we’ve dealt with Ben a lot, he’s been beating his wife black and blue for years. But, she’s never willing to press charges and nothing’s been severe enough to bring him up on charges from the state.”

“Let’s do it, then.” She’s not sure how much it will help, without counseling and after care, who knows if the cycle can break. But, if she can get the guy put away, it will at least give her a chance to get out without fear of repercussions.

There’s some more paperwork associated with that, filling out a statement and the like. But, that’s more than worth it. She finishes it up and is massaging her hand to help alleviate the muscles that are cramping in distress.

“Also-”

“If I have to sign one more piece of paper, I’m gonna kill you.” She cuts him off and earns a chuckle in response.

“No, I just wanted to tell you, hell of a job, today.”

“All I did was get beat up.”

“You were in a high stress situation and you resolved it as best you could, you subdued him without deadly force, and showed you know how to handle yourself.”

“The standards are low, aren’t they?”

“You did good, be proud of yourself for a moment,” he tells her, squeezing her shoulder as he passes by. Her heart warms at the gesture, he thinks she did good. Despite being stuck taking a week off, he still thinks she did well.

Hands in her pockets, she’s grinning as she leaves the office, Hudson and Pratt are just outside; talking about who knows what. They’re usually off drinking right now, but he seemed freaked out about her injury, maybe he’s trying to make sure she’s okay. She’d appreciate it if that were the case.

“Hey, Rook,” Hudson greets her, bright smile, and Dahlia gives a small nod of her head. Unable to force words out of her throat.

“Everything taken care of?”

“Yeah...guess I’ll get to see you guys in a week,” she grumbles, still upset about it.

“Hey,” Hudson stops her before she can leave, “why don’t you come out to The Spread Eagle with us?”

“You know I can’t drink, right?”

“They serve water and pop,” Hudson says, shrugging.

“Um, okay…” Dahlia scratches sheepishly at the back of her neck, she gets to go out with them, her heart is warm. Between Whitehorse’s praise and being invited out with the other deputies, this is a pretty good night.

“Is that why you weren’t tagging along with us?” Pratt asks as they start to head towards the door.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to tag along…”

“Oh my god, you awkward little disaster.” Pratt ruffles her hair as he insults her and she playfully smacks his side, happy to see him joking around again.

The neon sign of The Spread Eagle flickers above Dahlia’s head as they walk to the old bar. It’s cheesy and ridiculous the logo of a scantily clad woman with she assumes eagle wings.

“So, I'm gonna live my life like it's my last damn night.”

“Cause when the clock strikes twelve, we're all gonna go to hell”

The jukebox and lowlight greet them, people spread around drinking at the bar and cozied up over the wooden tables. A little stage in the corner for those nights when they have live music. Behind the bar, Mary May works away at getting people their drinks, honey blonde hair tied up in a bun and her flannel’s sleeves pushed up to her elbows. A window behind her shows a glimmer of the kitchen, an older man with dark hair slaving over the orders.

“You’re late,” Mary May teases Hudson and Pratt as the deputies all grab seats at the bar, Dahlia between the two of them.

She’s never sat at a bar before and something about it feels decidedly mature to the young officer. That is until she can barely climb up there and unlike her two coworkers, her legs aren’t long enough for her feet to comfortable rest on the ground or even part of the stool. Her legs left to swing like a child’s.

“You can blame the probie for that one.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll try not to get my ass kicked in the future.”

“You finally gonna get your round of free drinks, hero?” Mary May asks her, a slight smile on her face and dear god, why must the women in this county be so pretty? The apples of Dahlia’s cheeks are growing warm.

“‘Fraid I can’t, still got a year before that’s legal,” she says, never mind if it’s maybe a bit closer to a year and three months.

“Well, a free meal it is then.”

“No, no, I can’t do that,” She quickly dismisses the idea, local businesses tend to need every dime they can get, she’s not letting Mary May cut herself short just because Dahlia did her job.

“Seriously, if it weren’t for you, I’d be shut down for the month, it is the least I can do.”

“Give it up, Rook, she’s not gonna budge,” Pratt tells her.

“She’s stubborn as a mule,” Hudson warns.

“You heard them, cowboy, your money’s no good here.” The cowboy nickname is a new one, but Dahlia doesn’t mind it, or the way it makes her smile.

“Fine, free meal, but I’m tipping.”

“Okay, okay, I can work with that.”

Hudson and Pratt get cheap weak beers and Dahlia gets a pop as they look over the food options. Everything makes her stomach growl; desperate for something more than convenience store food or microwave meals. There’s a sign below the window into the kitchen, saying they deliver, she wonders if the trailer park is too far away for it.

She decides to try something she’s never eaten before, a burger with huckleberry barbecue sauce, never having heard of the condiment before. Orders in, she can’t help but look around the room, taking in the decorations. Newspaper clippings beneath a neon blinking sign for Lease Lager, a little flag for Hope County Cougars, and a smaller flyer advertising something she’s seen billboards for all over; the Testicle Festival, advertised with a little screaming cartoon bull.

“The fuck is a Testicle Festival?”

“Pffff,” Pratt laughs and chokes on his beer, pulling it away and licking the beer away from his lips. Hudson cracks a big grin, pressing a hand to her mouth to hold back chuckles.

“I mean, it’s basically exactly what you sound like,” the older woman says, shrugging her shoulders.

“People get together and eat bull balls,” Pratt adds.

“Willingly?”

They both laugh as Dahlia looks at them wide eyed, that’s so fucking gross, why the fuck would someone eat that? She’s never been one to turn her nose up at any meal, but that so disgusting, her stomach churning at the very idea.

��Yeah, it’s a thing, I, don’t know what to tell you.”

“Montana is gross…”

“Oh, shut up, I’m sure they eat gross shit in Louisiana too.”

“Not really,” she shakes her head at Pratt, trying to think of the weirdest food she’s ate, well weird to them, “I mean, I’ve had alligator before.”

“You’ve ate alligator?”

“Yeah.”

“And you don’t think that’s weird?”

“I didn’t eat it’s balls!”

They cackle and laugh at her outburst, she’s joining along before she knows it, face flushing as she cracks up. She barely can remember the ache in her head or the blur in her vision, the more painful moments of the day forgotten as she loses herself in dumb banter and jokes. The burger is incredible, she’d lick the plate clean if she wasn’t in public. Hell, that fact is barely holding her back. She’s not sure how many colas she’s drank her way through, but at some point, her bladder is screaming at her.

“Let me guess, you gotta piss,” Pratt taunts her, reminding her of their little bickering match this evening, she’s an adult she’s allowed to piss.

“Fuck off.” She grabs a grimy fry off the ground andt she drops it down into his beer as she walks by.

She uses the bathroom and washes her hands, catching her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she does so. It’s the first time she’s got a proper look at herself since she was beat up. Stitches over the laceration under her eye, the skin bruised, the white of her eye purple with busted blood vessel with the brown of her eye blurring into it. An absolute mess and she grins.

There’s something fulfilling about getting in a fight, not starting but, making it through one. Having the marks to show it, knowing she held her own. Whether it was fights in school or when she’d fight back against her step-father, no matter how it ended up, she’d feel proud of herself. Whether because she fought back or simply because she survived. The aftermath was nothing more than a badge of honor marking what she went through. She’d take a thousand more stitches and bruises over the week off, if she’s being completely honest. Dahlia leaves the bathroom once her hands dry, shoving them in her pocket as she goes.

Oooh, oooh, ooh~

If I told you a lie, you could smile, my love.

You’d never understand.

The jukebox hums and Dahlia finds her eyes looking around the room, taking in the faces of the patrons. A shift of a door and the step of boots draws her eyes towards the door. Her breath catches in her throat, what the hell is a Seed doing here?

John Seed, the youngest of the brothers, is walking through the door. All of the siblings make her uncomfortable in some fashion, largely to do with their religiosity, but then they each have their own unique brand of unsettling. John reminds her of a sleazy car salesman, too sharp smiles that don’t reach his eyes. Even when he shook her hand at the church, something about him felt off, like he’s wearing a mask but she can’t quite tell what’s under it.

If I told you a tale, you’d cry, my love.

You’d never hold my hand.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Mary May yells over the bar, when she sees him.

There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes when he looks at her, not unlike a cat finding a mouse to tear apart. He strides to the bar with purposeful steps and he smirks, but unlike those salesman smiles, it reaches his eyes.

“I just thought I’d check in,” his eyes lazily scan the room, looking at the beer bottles and glasses of whiskey in patron’s hands, “do we really need to have this conversation again?”

“It’s a bar, the hell you expect me to serve?”

“I expect,” John puts his hand on the bar with a sharp sound, “you to listen to reason and start to understand your position.”

“Is something wrong?” Dahlia’s question escapes her without another thought, everything about John’s body language putting her on edge.

When it all bleeds out, you don’t know.”

When it all bleeds out.

John’s eyes leave Mary May and land on Dahlia, those piercing blue eyes cutting through to her core. He looks her up and down, as if she’s the mouse now. But she doesn’t shrink away or avoid his gaze, unwilling to show any signs of backing down in the face of his intensity.

Wake up, little man.

Don’t you break her heart.

“Dep-yoo-tee,” John speaks in a low drawn out way, emphasizing every syllable with the slow drag of his gaze on her.

“Stay out of it, Rook,” Pratt warns her as she walks past him and Hudson at the bar. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, why the fuck would she stay out of it? Supposedly, John already tried to get members of Eden’s Gate to steal Mary May’s alcohol shipment and now he’s showing up to push her around; fuck that shit.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Oh c’mon, little man.

Don’t you fall apart.

“I was just trying to have a little talk with Mary May, though she’s never been one for civility. More importantly, what happened here?”

He reaches out towards her face and she flinches out of reflex, John’s fingers grazing her bruised cheek before she smacks his hand away. Not sharp enough to truly hurt, but enough to force him away.

When the devil’s got you, but only by the hand.

“Hazard of the job and, please, don’t touch me.”

John’s eyebrows furrow, eyes growing dark and face scrunching for a moment in anger before he forces a soft smile. It doesn’t touch the stormy look in his eyes; another little mask hiding whatever’s lurking beneath the surface.

Let go, little man.

“Ah, you poor thing, you” his voice deepens with concern, but it feels more like pity. He fidgets with his sleeves and lets out a sigh, irritation seeping through the false concern. She has to resist the urge to smile, something satisfying in seeing his true emotions bubbling up.

“It is what it is, are you done with your ‘little talk’ now?”

His nostrils flare and he bites his lip, it feels like poking a bear, but she’s having fun with it. He gives another fake smile and she wants to wipe it off his face.

“With Mary May, yes, but I was hoping to speak with you more. Though,” he looks around, “this is hardly an ideal setting. Have you given any more thought to tomorrow?”

“Like, I said before, I have to work,” she says the white lie and dismisses him with a shrug, hopeful it will appease the Gucci wearing gremlin in front of her.

“You know, it’s not often The Father goes to the trouble of inviting someone himself,” he tells her, as if it’s meant to entice her. Instead the title ‘The Father’ just makes her skin crawl, not unlike the title her step-father took on with his own church. As if she needed more reasons to avoid these people.

“What are you talking about, Rook? You got a week off for your injury, remember?” Pratt pipes up and Dahlia’s blood runs cold, why the fuck would he do that to her? Why would he do that? John’s eyes go bright and a sly smile stretches across his face.

“Wonderful, I’ll see you there, dep-yoo-ty, service begins at nine in the morning.” John gives her arm a hard squeeze before he leaves, Dahlia’s skin crawling beneath his touch. Empty air where he once was within the next moment.

Yeah, I vow to the moon, yeah, I howl at the wind.

I’m bleeding and I can’t stay clean.

She’s expected to come to the service, dear god. The air is punched out of her lungs. Even being outside of a church put her nerves on edge, she’s not sure if she could step foot in one without getting sick. She moves behind Pratt and puts her hand on his shoulders.

“Hey, Rook, what are you-uuck-” Pratt’s words cut off as she moves and wraps her hands on either side around his throat. Not hard enough to genuinely hurt him, but enough to feel it as she shakes him and pretends to wring his neck .

“Why the fuck would you do that?!”

“It was funny,” he defends himself when she lets go and throws herself onto her chair, bringing one foot up into the seat as she leans back. Her body going slack with exasperation, she’s seriously going to have to go church?

“I fucking hate you, I actually fucking hate you.”

“God, you’re dramatic. It’s church, not like I volunteered you for a root canal.”

“I’d rather have the root canal.” She tosses her head back with a sigh, staring at the ceiling. Pratt doesn’t know her issue with religion, she knows that, so she can’t truly be angry at him. But, fuck, would it have killed him to keep his mouth shut?

“Well, I think I should probably get out of here before Rook kills me,” Pratt says as he pays for his meal and drink, standing up from his seat.

“I’m gonna head home too,” Hudson stands up and ruffles Dahlia’s hair, “cheer up, Rookie.”

Dahlia doesn’t even have the energy to get worked up about Hudson’s touch, peacefully letting the casual touch come and go with a mere blush. Then the two have left and Dahlia is trying to gather the energy to get up, with the looming reality that she’s expected to go to church in the morning, she no longer wants this night to end.

“Deputy,” Mary May says after a moment, baby blues watching Dahlia sigh and rub a hand down her face.

“Hmm?” Dahlia straightens her posture enough to look at Mary May properly, realizing how somber the bartender’s expression and posture really is. The blonde chews her lip, looking away, visibly searching for her words.

“Eden’s Gate has been in this county for a long time, hell, I was in high school when they moved in on us. They started buying places out left and right, they own half the damn county, now.”

“They have that much money?” Dahlia can’t help but ask, aren’t churches relatively low profit ventures, assuming you aren’t selling snake oil or asking people to donate money for Jesus.

“Got that much money, that much power, and they know how to twist the law to suit their needs. They want the entire county and everyone in it under their thumb…”

Her knuckles whiten as she grips the edge of the bar, a far away look in her soft blue eyes. Dahlia puts her hand over Mary May’s, hoping the warmth of her touch can help ease the sting, even if she’s not sure what’s hurting the blonde. It’s enough in the moment, it seems, Mary May looking up at her and giving a soft smile, speaking again after a beat of silence.

“You’re one of the few people around here who’s not rolling over and letting them do whatever the hell they want. I don’t wanna see that change. Just do me a favor, don’t drink the Kool-Aid.”

“Look at me,” Dahlia looks directly into Mary May’s eyes, “I’d rather play jump rope with my own intestines than join a church.”

“Good.”

Mary May is satisfied with that answer, smiling as she’s called away to get someone else a drink. Dahlia’s not sure what the history is there with her and John, but clearly something has happened. Other than the Eden’s Gate members stealing alcohol and Lonny’s asshole behavior, there’s not conclusive evidence that they’ve done anything more than petty theft. John’s opinion on Mary May selling alcohol, supporting that he might ask them to do that. Otherwise, anything else is just bad feelings and hearsay. She wants to trust they’re good people, just staunch in their beliefs and a little strange, always wanting the believe the best of people. But, she’s going to be sure to keep an ear to the ground and stay wary of them, knowing she’s apparently not the only one concerned about their shit.

Dahlia shakes her head and gets out her wallet, getting out enough for the meal and then some, calling it all a tip for the sake of getting past Mary May’s generosity. She puts it down on the bar under her plate, letting the bartender know she’s taking off for the night.

The night air chills her skin as she leaves the bar before she’s caught. She pulls a cigarette out as she loiters outside the bar, leaning back against the building’s porch. Dahlia takes a deep inhale looking off into the distance.

Even in the valley, the statue of Joseph Seed is looming in the distance, the tallest thing in the entire county. There must be light around it, setting the statue aglow at night. She lets out the smoke in her lungs as she’s reminded of the real man. It wasn’t long ago she could barely believe he was a real living person. The statue makes him seem too large, too imposing, too important to be tangible. Meeting him and his family still feels like a fever dream.

Faith is like a living fairy, floating along in a white dress with flowers in her hair. An ethereal being with long dirty blonde hair and bright green eyes. Dahlia’s dream or perhaps exhaustion induced hallucinations of chasing after her still making the woman feel like a specter.

John feels like someone pretending to be human or maybe it’s just how out of place he seems in the rustic little county. Dark slicked back hair, designer shades always on top of his head, silk shirts, and tailored vests; he looks like a Ken doll someone drew tattoos on.

The brother who didn’t bother to offer his name cuts possibly the most intimidating figure of them. He seemed larger than life. At least six foot six and wider than a door, dressed in army attire with his ginger hair shaved at the sides. The man could snap her spine in half if he had a half a mind to.

Then there’s Joseph, The Father, goosebumps raise on her skin when she thinks of his title. It’s bias, projections of her trauma that bring up those gross feelings when in reality he’s done nothing to her. His statue is true to his likeness in some ways, dark hair pulled back in a small bun and the full beard that seems standard for all men in Eden’s Gate. But at the end of it all, the statue is a composed sterilized version of the intense man who stood in front of her. The concrete can’t capture the intensity of his blue eyes, the way they cut through her, the way his choice of sunglasses turn them green. His unblinking stare as he stood out in the cold of night, shirtless with ink and scars marring his skin, sweat still sticking to him and strands of hair falling into his face.

But despite the wild appearance, he spoke calmly, he spoke deliberately and with devotion. He’s intense and he’s all encompassing, everything about him is too much, from his stare to the way his touch lingered for a moment more than it should have. His presences like a raging fire that can’t be ignored.

She has no real reason to dislike him, he’s done nothing cruel, he hasn’t wronged her. But every fiber of her being screams at her to stay away, that he’s everything she doesn’t want near her. A forest fire that her body is urging her to run away, lest she be burned to ashes.

It may be paranoia and experience perverting her feelings; and it may be gut instinct trying to save her.

But regardless, it seems she’ll be burned alive come morning.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #staci pratt #john seed #mary may fairgrave #dahlia hale #this is love

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noccalula-writes · 5 years

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Can you give us your detailed thoughts on Avengers: Endgame?

SPOILERY THOUGHTS ARE COMING.

The basis of most of my gripes are: if Age of Ultron hadn’t been so shittily written, a lot of this could have been avoided. Not all of it, but a lot of it. But I’ll go line item by line item outside of that thought.

First off, Steve. Y'all already know I’m a Stucky shipper, but even outside of the context of the ship - and I fully support people who feel their relationship is platonic but very intimate as long as they have been supportive of how emotional their story is, let’s do that more with male friendships please - you have to admit that there has been no greater, longer standing or fucking emotional relationship arc through the entire goddamn MCU than Steve and Bucky. Platonic, nonplatonic, whatever. We literally watch Steve tear down a branch of the goddamn government to get Bucky back, and since the first movie, Bucky has been his emotional touchstone. Steve’s singular dedication to rescuing and protecting Bucky has driven him to the heights of recklessness and has made him nearly sacrifice himself a dozen times.

But he ditches out on him, after he’s been dead for five years no less, to go back to the fucking fifties and derail Peggy’s entire well-lived life.

I don’t buy it. I think this was purposeful diversion to avoid appearing “too gay”, and it fucking infuriates me. There is an article on The Daily Dot that explores this better than I even thought to and you should definitely read it.

The idea of Steve getting to live a full life and be happy? Wonderful. But the way this was executed felt cold, clinical. We’ve spent more time developing emotional bonds with Steve than any other character in the MCU except maybe Tony, and yet we the audience were completely shut out of his feelings for the entire last half of the very last film. It felt like a door had been closed on us. There was none of the warmth of Steve, only the resolve of Captain America, and a very rash decision that felt so poorly planned after he said barely two things to the man who has been the axis of most of his decisions in this entire series.

Sam is absolutely the right choice for Captain America, though. That was what I was hoping for, and he deserves the mantel.

Tony Stark, love of my life, was set up to make the martyr play from the very first Avengers film. This is where it was always meant to go, and I have spent every movie since AoU waiting for it to happen. Honestly, I feel like Tony’s arc was the one arena where everything was done right (except, I’ll be honest, I don’t know how I feel about him having had a kid - I’m not mad at it, though). If you follow me you know I don’t think he and Pepper had real staying power no matter how much they love each other, but I also never anticipated that he’d be with anyone else, so this wasn’t a disappointment (I love Pepper, to be clear). I was proud of him. I was sorry he wouldn’t get to see Morgan grow up, but I was proud of my man saving the world.

I love him with all my heart. He’s made dumb decisions but when the metaphorical knife was against his throat, he came correct with absolute resolution.

Wanda might as well have been a cardboard cutout, which on one hand was fine because she had way more screen time in Infinity War than she’s had anywhere else since AoU (shudder), but she’s been reduced to this background character who got shipped off with Vision just so she’d have something to do (and yes, I know it’s comic canon, but it was so out of left field in the MCU that there was no way this wasn’t a factor in). Wanda is a wealth of possibility for a storyteller - think about the grief this character has endured (consider my consider, Wanda Maximoff diatribe from yesterday) and how she’s learned to use her power. Think about the evolution of going from a volunteer for a program to literally become a mutant to fight the Avengers and then becoming one and losing your fucking twin brother, the only constant in your life. Think about having to kill the only person you could try to put a life together with. Think about all of that and tell me she hasn’t been wasted in the background.

(Also - how in the fuck is Steve gonna tell his black best friend Sam that he preferred the fifties? Really? )

This brings me to what I think is easily the most egregious of all the fuck-ups in this movie - Clint and Natasha. This is where we can draw a direct line back to the problem in AoU, when Joss “Feminist Icon” Whedon decided that dropping a house, wife and 2.5 cardboard-ass kids we got zero development time on was a better answer than, oh, actually developing Clint as a character. Partially this was to promote Brucetasha, which as we all know went so fucking well through the rest of the movies, but subverting what he felt was the “obvious” ship for Nat (the irony of this being he said something along the lines of “well, Bruce and Nat made so much more sense to me” and pulled some lame ass Beauty and The Beast allegory out during an Entertainment Weekly interview about AoU and it’s ended up becoming one of the most hated creative decisions in the MCU as of yet.

Listen, if you want Clint and Natasha’s deep and intimate and formative relationship to be platonic-only, I’m cool with that. I ship ‘em but I also love male-female friendships that mean the entire world to the involved characters and are not romantic. But we were given a decision in AoU that was eliminated so many future possibilities and put us on the path we’re on now.

If you know Clint as a character, you know that he’s a loveable fuckup. THat’s kind of his schtick. I have no idea how they plan to make that work in the supposedly-happening Hawkeye series based on Matt Fraction’s run given that now we’ve got Clint married with kids and Natasha dead, but okay. Endgame takes Clint’s grief and weaponizes it, but naturally, we only ever see him killing people of color (they mention he killed a Mexican cartel, we see him going after Yakuza) ((if you couple this with the shaved haircut and the shitty Japanese-inspired sleeve, you start venturing dangerously close to white supremacist territory)).

Clint is dark and broken, and Natasha saves him - just like how Natasha was dark and broken, and Clint saved her. By not dying. So. I mean.

As I’ve said in another ask, here’s the thing: I would have been okay with Natasha making the sacrifice play if there had been no Bartons to bring back. I still would have been furious if they hadn’t loophole’d her ass back - What happens when Steve returns the soul stone? Do you get back what you paid for it? - but the idea that we had to trade the original female member of the team - the closest thing to diversity they had being a white woman is terrible but here we are - for one of the shittiest, most sloppily written things that Joss Whedon plunked down on a page? My blood boils.

It’s been like 4 days and I am still just beside myself angry about Natasha Romanoff. Furious. I love her and Clint and I don’t undersell the strength of their relationship but at the end of the day, she died so a man could go back to his family, because nuclear families are more important and Natasha has no one. I guess. I don’t know. I’m so fucking mad.

That pandering-ass “we’re doin’ us a feminism” scene of all the women fighting together, even though it made zero logistical battlefield sense and most of them didn’t even know each other, felt even more gross and cheesy and self-congratulatory considering what had just been done to one of the most important women in the series. But hey. We got a shot of a lot of women fighting. Hashtag feminism.

Thor’s ending was okay. Thor’s arc was pretty good. The fat jokes were shit but I loved the idea of Thor still being worthy even when he’s not who he used to be. I nearly came when Cap caught Mjolnir. Conceding New Asgard to Valkyrie was super smart, and I like that he’s going to go figure himself out with the Guardians.

Speaking of, Gamora’s whole story has made me feel gross. As the daughter of an abusive stepfather who also loved me a lot when he wasn’t being a monster, it def made me squirm. But the reality is I don’t give enough of a shit about any of the Guardians to care about what happens to them other than Thor, so. Chris Pratt can eat my entire ass.

The things it got right - pacing an insane amount of action in a way that never stalled, executing a beautifully woven and inlaid sacrifice arc for Tony, Paul Rudd in general - are so much smaller than the things that were just… gapingly terrible.

Did Bruce even get an ending? Did anyone remember what the hell he said he was gonna do? He got lost somewhere in the shuffle and I legit have no idea what his ending was.

Ugh. I need some ibuprofen and a nap. I’m gonna go back to writing my Natasha sex-shop au in which SHE WILL NEVER EVER EVER DIE FOR CLINT’S STORY DEVELOPMENT and wish I still drank.

#spoilers #endgame spoilers #i'm so goddamn mad #ask and ye shall receive

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my-insanity-is-an-artform · 6 years

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✩

So this one is about Tempest Skywalker (OC) and Commander Cody. I love Tempest. She really lives up to her name. (The sex stuff is moved to under the cut.)

Send me a ✩ and a pairing and I’ll do this!

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice? Tempest. She’s emotional and not afraid to show it.Who threatens to leave but never actually does? Tempest again. She’s not really the type to just leave in the middle of a fight.Who actually keeps their word and leaves? Cody. Just to give them both space to calm down.Who trashes the house? Neither. Do either of them get physical? Only to the point of gentle touches. Tempest will often reach out and Cody isn’t going to deny her even in the middle of an argument.How often do they argue/disagree? Not often but it’s usually about Tempest being reckless.Who is the first to apologise? Usually, Tempest since it’s typically her reckless stunts that start them.

Sex:

Who is on top? Since Tempest has huge ass wings, it’s usually her but she does like it when they manage to manoeuvre themselves so she’s comfortable underneath. Who is on the bottom? Cody.Who has the strangest desires? Neither of them have anything I would term strange.Any kinks? Outside sex (in a private place) is one of Tempest’s favourites because she can spread her wings and feel the wind. Cody likes it because of the wind and the bliss on Tempest’s face. Cody does like to do it up against a wall because he can crowd her that way without her wings hurting. ‘Sir’ and Commander make it’s appearance in bed more than a few times.Who’s dominant in bed? Cody. Is head ever in the equation? Yes, head is always in the equation.If so, who is better at performing it? It’s about equal. Tempest likes driving Cody to distraction and Cody likes making Tempest a blissful mess.Ever had sex in public? No. Who moans the most? Tempest. Like I said, very vocal about her feelings.Who leaves the most marks? Cody.Who screams the loudest? Tempest.Who is the more experienced of the two? Cody. Tempest is the Demi-est Demi to have ever Demi’d and never really saw the point in sex before Cody.Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? Usually, make love but that depends on mood and how stupid Tempest’s latest stunt was.Rough or soft? Rough. Softness only happens on occasion.How long do they usually last? They can go a few rounds. (Force bless, clone stamina and Jedi stamina.)Is protection used? Yes. Both of them have taken shots to prevent pregnancy and diseases. (Space!Condoms are used more often than not.)Does it ever get boring? Tempest? Boring? No. With these two, it’s never boring. (Either because they are driving each other crazy or because they’re too into each other to make it boring.)Where is the strangest place they’d have sex? Tempest found a cavern behind a waterfall on a planet once while swimming during downtime. She says she’s not quite sure how it ended up like that but Cody wants to know who the hell could resist a half-naked wet Tempest with mischief in her eyes.

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children? Yes, they sort of planned on kids. More in the ‘if it happens, it happens’ kind of way. The number of children was a surprise though.If so, how many children do your muses want/have? They have five. Triplets and a pair of twins. They were not expecting the triplets. (Tempest forgot to mention multiples run the family until they went home with one extra baby than they thought they were having.)Who is the favourite parent? It’s equal.Who is the authoritative parent? Cody a bit more than Tempest but both put their foot down with certain things. Who is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? Neither unless there is a good reason and both of them agreed.Who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? Surprisingly, Cody. Tempest tries to regulate the junk food thing because it’s not good for their wings but, turns a blind eye when Cody (and Anakin and Lucas) slip them sweets. She knows all about the junk food though and Cody knows when to cut them off. (He just likes giving them things he didn’t have growing up.)Who turns up to extracurricular activities to support their children? Both. Cody will make sure anything he needs to be present for is scheduled around the kids. Tempest will flat out just leave for the kids. Who goes to parent teacher interviews? Again, both. This is very much Team Mom and Buir. Who changes the diapers? Both. They trade-off. (Along with the rest of the clan/flock. It takes a village to raise a baby after all.)Who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? Whoever gets their first. They live with quite a few other people who are more than happy to help (but Cody likes getting up to spend time with them. He never thought he’d have this.)Who spends the most time with the children? Both of them try to spend as much time as possible with them.Who packs their lunch boxes? Both again.Who gives their children ‘the talk’? Both give the kids the ‘Consent and Feelings’ talk but for mechanics, Uncle Lu and Uncle Kix give it. (And to the rest of their cousins.)Who cleans up after the kids? Both again. (They have a big family and lots of adults are around so it’s not like it’s messy for long.)Who worries the most? Cody.Who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from? Tempest. She tries but the occasional curse word still escapes her.

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle? Tempest. Tempest LIVES for cuddles.Who is the little spoon? Cody purely because it’s hard to curl around Tempest with her wings in the way.Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? Probably Tempest but only if they’re in private.Who struggles to keep their hands to themselves? Cody. Tempest can be a little oblivious but she gives affectionate touches freely. How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? Depending on the position, these two can go for a while. Who gives the most kisses? Tempest. Touch is basically her love language.What is their favourite non-sexual activity? Preening. Tempest’s wings need preening and it’s a great bonding activity. They also like Sabacc and reading while curled up together.Where is their favourite place to cuddle? In the family nest.Who is more likely to playfully grope the other? Tempest. Even if it’s just by accident. How often do they get time to themselves? Not a lot with the number of people around, both in their home and at the barracks turned homebase for clones but both of them make time.

Sleeping:

Who snores? Cody because that thought amuses me. Tempest does make little murmurs and sighs though.If both do, who snores the loudest? Cody.Do they share a bed or sleep separately? They share a nest with a few others like Anakin and his partners and Lucas. This is very much a community sleeping area.If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? They cosy up. Tempest often sleeps on top of Cody. It’s comforting for both of them.Who talks in their sleep? Cody occasionally.What do they wear to bed? Usally a light shirt and pants. Are either of your muses insomniacs? Nope.Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? Nope.Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? The limbs typically go around each other.Who wakes up with bed hair? Tempest. It’s hilarious.Who wakes up first? CodyWho prepares breakfast in bed for the other? They switch off but it’s only on occation because a/ nest has lots of blankets and b/ other will want breakfast too.What is their favourite sleeping position? Cody likes to be flat on his back and Tempest curls into his side with an arm over his waist.Who hogs the sheets? Probably one of the kids or Anakin.Do they set an alarm each night? No need. Not with like twenty other people in the huge nest they’ve got going.Can a television be found in their bedroom? Yes, but it gets turned off before the kids go to bed.Who has nightmares? Both but Cody has them more often.Who has ridiculous dreams? Tempest but she has like five other minds attached to her’s so the weird dreams are more of a mutal thingWho sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? One of the kids.Who makes the bed? Tempest and Anakin often rearrange the blankets and sheets every week to keep them clean and comfortable.What time is bedtime? Some time before midnight. Tempest will drag Cody away from the paperwork if she has too.Any routines/rituals before bed? Cody will help give her wings a quick once over and braid her hair. (It never works.)Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? Cody. It’s why he’s usually greeted with caff every morning.

Work:

Who is the busiest? Probably Cody who is dealing with the post-war resettlement of the clones.Who rakes in the highest income? Both of them work for the jedi but probably Cody.Are any of your muses unemployed? Both work for the Jedi.Who takes the most sick days? Proably Tempest since she pulls dumb stunts that requires a stint in the Healing Halls.Who is more likely to turn up late to work? Neither.Who sucks up to their boss? Cody, but only because he has too when dealing with politicians.What are their jobs? Cody: something to do with getting clones their right and helping them be an actual people in the eyes of the Senate. Tempest: Basically Jedi knight on mayhem control. Who stresses the most? Cody.Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? Both of them like their jobs.Are your muses financially stable? I’d say so yes.

Home:

Who does the washing? DroidsWho takes out the trash? Droids.Who does the ironing? Droids.Who does the cooking? depends who’s in but Tempest can cook.Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? Cody. He just hasn’t had the time to learn yet.Who is messier? Tempest but she’s pretty good at cleaning up after herself.Who leaves the toilet roll empty? Neither.Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? Both but only before fun times.Who forgets to flush the toilet? Neither.Who is the prankster around the house? Tempest or one of the kids.Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? Neither.Who mows the lawn? They don’t have a lawn or a droid does it.Who answers the telephone? Depends whose’ comm link it is.Who does the vacuuming? DroidWho does the groceries? Droid.Who takes the longest to shower? Cody. Mostly because he likes indulging in having water showers and also because Tempest will sometimes join him.Who spends the most time in the bathroom? Tempest. She has wings and more hair to deal with.

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem? NopeHow many cars do they own? None.Do they own their home or do they rent? They live in the Naboo Senatorial Appartments or in a home on Naboo.Do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside? On Naboo, near a lake.Do they live in the city or in the country? On Coruscant before they moveDo they enjoy their surroundings? For the most part, yes.What’s their song? Probably something with a steady beat.What do they do when they’re away from each other? Do their jobs. And call every so often.Where did they first meet? After a huge battle.How did they first meet? Tempest was introduced to Cody, Rex, Anakin and Obi-wan by Lucas.It was a pretty short meeting.Who spends the most money when out shopping? Both are about equal.Who’s more likely to flash their assets? Neither.Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? Both.Any mental issues? Cody has PTSD and nightmares from fighting in the war and Tempest is liable for a mental breakdown if she doesn’t have her mental Force Bonds with her family.Who’s terrified of bugs? NeitherWho kills the spiders around the house? Who ever gets there first.Their favourite place? Probably lakeside with the waterfalls.Who pays the bills? Neither.Do they have any fears for their future? Not particularlyWho’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? Cody. Who uses up all of the hot water? It would be Cody.Who’s the tallest? Tempest but only because of her wings.Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? Tempest.Who wanders around in their underwear? Neither (but in privacy Tempest would.) Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? TempestWhat do they tease each other about? Tempest will take nearly anything. Cody prefers to tease her when she’s flusteredWho is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? Neither.Do they have mutual friends? They met through mutal friends and basically merged families.Who crushed first? Cody. Tempest was in denial for a while.Any alcohol or substance-related problems? NopeWho is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? Probably Tempest but only rarely.Who swears the most? Tempest.

#Kenobi-Skywalker^2 #Tempest Skywalker #Commander Cody #Wingfic au #Star Wars #Clone Wars #lylilunapotter

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callistawolf · 6 years

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my thoughts on Arrow 6x18

I was excited for this episode and it turns out there was good reason. I might just start trusting Steve when he gets hyped over episodes now, he’s building quite a track record. So let’s dive in. I literally took these notes while I was watching so I apologize if they’re a bit scattered.

Okay, Oliver is clearly off the rails. S1-2 suit and all. The man is a wrecking ball.

Wait…where’d he get the old suit? Did he break into evidence lockup? Is that why he’s at the precinct? I HAVE QUESTIONS.

Wait, the lockup didn’t blow up when Siren blew up the previous place did it? I HAVE QUESTIONS, DAMMIT.

Ten hours earlier. Okay. So we learn why he’s nuts. Is it the Vertigo? I bet it the Vertigo.

If anyone can find rock solid proof of crooked city employees, its Felicity.

BAD COP CASTLE. LOL. Felicity is right. He can’t go in alone. Cuz that’s just INSANE.

LOLOLOL. “I parent trapped you” BLESS YOU FELICITY. Yes, boys, get over your damn egos already.

“You keep that attitude you’re gonna end up all alone” LISTEN, don’t feed this boy’s fears, Dig!

Felicity KNOWS that Oliver is trying, DIGGLE. C’mon, man. FEEDING HIS FEARS. Stoppit!

“If I get impeached, you get promoted” OH SHIT, yeah if Oliver is impeached, Quentin is DEAD. You know what happens to mayors who aren’t Oliver in this town.

God bless Quentin being on his side. Saying all these nice things... Oh yeah the man is dead.

SHE HACKED NAPSTER FOR HER SCIENCE FAIR PROJECT LOL

RAISA AND FELICITY INTERACTED. There is a god! It’s been 84 years!

See I told y’all Felicity would have proof. Oh… but its implicating him. WAIT. STOP YELLING AT YOUR WIFE FOR HELPING YOU. Duuuuude.

Oh this scene. Yeah, he’s totally hallucinating this.

The best part is that the writers have done such a MASTER JOB of writing characters OOC this season that we honestly can’t tell if Oliver is hallucinating or if this is something Felicity is REALLY saying

That said we SAW the Vertigo last ep folks. This isn’t rocket science.

What is that tapping noise he keeps hearing? Is that the Vertigo? The heralding of a hallucination?

“My wife wants a separation” DONT MAKE ME SOB, OLIVER. Also she so doesn’t. It’s so sad that he believes this, he EXPECTED this.

I find it touching that he chooses Quentin to confide in here. His subconscious is kinda beautiful sometimes.

So he thinks he hasn’t changed at all? Or he doesn’t. Cuz Quentin is pep talking him but its HIM thinking this up… SHE LOVES YOU. YES SHE DOES. LISTEN TO YOUR FUCKED UP BRAIN, MAN.

Going to the council meeting hopped up on Vertigo seems a bad idea. So is this a hallucination? Or not? HELP. I HAVE CONFUSION.

THERES THAT NOISE AGAIN

YEAH PROMETHEUS!! But… Oliver… SEE. HE’S DEAD. Get a clue here.

Damn Oliver’s subconscious is kicking his ass. LOL this is such a metaphor. I can’t deal.

So he kills Chase in his subconscious, something he’d evolved past before. But he wants to protect his family. LORD, Oliver you are fucked up.

THERES THAT NOISE AGAIN. Duuuuude I’m starting to wonder if *I’m* losing it. And Adrian. OK, Ollie. This is your clue here that you’re on Vertigo.

DING DING DING give the boy a cookie!

Chase trolling him is classic. I missed this guy so much. (And dude, you couldn’t manage to take ANYONE from him… Sam so doesn’t count)

I have to keep reminding myself this is Oliver’s subconscious.

“Felicity, William and I will be fine.” Of course you will. You’re family.

Interesting… “you’re a better Oliver Queen. But a worse hero.” HERE is the base of his worries. “You’re the one enemy you can’t defeat” Damn your brain is clever, Oliver. But also wrong. STOP HATING YOURSELF.

I MISS THE QUEEN MANSION. This living room isn’t QUITE right though. And fuckouttahere LL.You don’t even look REMOTELY like pre-island LL.

I love Chase literally listing all the reasons LL as BC was a Dumb Thing.

So this is just convincing him he has to do go alone. If people fight with him, they get hurt. They die. Sometimes I think his protective instinct is too strong.

Awww hallucinating Raisa being killed by Dragon… that’s rough. Let’s not go there, show, okay?

SEE yes he wants to do it alone. Don’t listen to Vertigo!Hood, Oliver. The man is off his nut.

For a second there I thought Quentin said “We need to retweet” and I didn’t even think that was an off thing to say. I NEED A NAP.

Okay so the s1-2 suit itself is a hallucination. And it symbolizes his need to do it alone. GOTCHA. I’m all caught up now. Very clever.

Awww cute Felicity and William! She helped him put his project back together. But ohhhh no, she knows Oliver gone of the rails. “He said you kicked him out?” “No! I would never!” I KNEW IT.

LOL at William knowing exactly what Felicity is up to and bringing her sneakers. And holy cow he IS as tall as she is now!

OH NO DID YOU JUST HIT QUENTIN. I HOPE THAT WAS A HALLUCINATION.

RUN FELICITY RUN. Hey, that’s the backlot of the studios. LOL. Oh it WAS QUENTIN, not a hallucination. Oliver, you’re in big trouble.

She’s very brave, going after him when he’s like this. And awww at her talking him down. “What happens to William?” “William has you.” “What happens to ME?” BLESS.

“I’m glue, baby.” SHE CALLED HIM BABY. IM DYING.

Yes, listen to your wife. She’s your life partner. You can’t get rid of her. “Listen to your heart.” AWWW THIS IS SO SWEET.

YAY OLICITY STUNT! ITS BEEN 84 YEARS. Yep, I’m watching this whole thing again tomorrow (today, when this is posted)

Felicity went to raves. Felicity did drugs. ITS CANON. WRITE THE FICS, FANDOM. FELICITY MEETS OLIVER AT A RAVE.

So the suit is REAL? I have my questions again!! WHERE DID IT COME FROM.

I don’t like him going alone, but I DO like him saying that he’s not giving up on Felicity and William.

WELP there we go. Impeached. Saw that coming. Buncha boogers. Quentin is mayor! He’s toast.

Firing Overwatch. AWW. I mean I get why he’s doing it but… fighting Diaz alone is the opposite of what he needs to do. But I’m glad he’s apologizing to William.

AWW Felicity and William are most important to him! More than ANYTHING. I love this family.

Siren wants Diaz to kill Oliver… hows that redemption working for y’all? I can’t believe loliver is less toxic than Siren/Oliver. 😂

Okay, I have some more thoughts, especially now that I’ve had all night to think about this. So I’m throwing in a cut.

While I’m not fond of Oliver choosing to go alone, I get why he’s doing it. It’s a plot point they’ve been angling towards, to be sure. But also I think they outlined why in this episode. Because what Dig said to him about being a poor leader has gotten to him and he really is wondering if it’s true. Things are piling up and what is falling by the wayside? What can he let fall by the wayside? One thing was made clear in this episode, what he cannot let fail is his family. Felicity, William... they are his priority above pretty much everything. He needs to save the city, absolutely, but not at the cost of his family. Oliver sees going alone as a way to save his family. Now, he’s wrong, of course.

Remember all those interviews that have hinted at Oliver learning how to ask for help? How Emily herself has mentioned that? I think thats the big lesson here. He’s having a hard time juggling all his responsibilities, which means he has to learn how to relinquish control to others, to trust them to help him, to trust them to do what needs to be done to help him, to help the city. I’m willing to wager that in the weeks ahead, given what we’ve learned about the final eps of the season, the court case and all of that... that Felicity might be instrumental in organizing some help for Oliver. I think she might be the one to call in Human Target. But we shall see.

But something else... Diaz wanted Oliver to fall for the trap but Felicity thwarted that. Felicity said that their identities are safe but LOL... There’s zero chance that Diaz won’t find out that she’s the one, the ONLY ONE who can pull Oliver back. So what happens to Felicity when Diaz realizes she the barrier between him and what he wants?

What’s important here is that Oliver will do whatever he has to save his family, to keep William and Felicity safe. I think Felicity focuses on her company next week because she has to help, the mission is a part of her now, but I think eventually she’s going to push her way back onto Oliver’s team. Because he needs her. And maybe she’ll bring the rest of the team back together. But that’s all *~*later*~* because for now, things are gonna start getting sooooo very real in the weeks ahead and I’m really really really ready for it.

#olicity #arrow recap #Arrow 6x18 #6x18: Fundamentals #arrow spoilers #my recap #ship: Olicity #character: Oliver Queen #character: Felicity Smoak #show: Arrow

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shazyloren · 7 years

Text

The Dragon Club: Chapter 15: Life and Death

Summary: Jon Snow is an online blogger who gets an interview with the sort after Daenerys Targaryen, the Editor of Valyrian, a multi-million dollar fashion magazine. He’d heard so much about the silver-haired and silver-tongued woman and the running of her business; he would have to be smart to get anything more than five minutes. Will he be safe walking into the Dragon’s lair or will he get thrown to the Lions?

Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12018519/chapters/27571629

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Jon arrived at the hospital with his mind racing.Talisa was still not dilated enough to go to the Delivery room so they were sat in the waiting room counting down until it was time. It meant he had time in his head to think over what happened. Did they kiss? No they hadn't, but they nearly had. He'd wanted to; and she may have done also. He was unsure of her feelings on that part.

Curse you, Daenerys Targaryen, he thought bitterly as his head became fuzzy. Why had she affected him in such a manner? Her violet eyes were in his mind; bright and glistening as they danced like flames while they looked at him. He lips were plump and uttering things to him; things he wished he could hear them say in real time. But for all the panic that had set inside him and the longing which growled like a wolf chasing a lamb; he was shocked more than anything.

Shocked that he'd allowed himself to not keep his feelings in check. He should've never gone to that party; should never gone to the interview. He was in over his head with a woman who he found to be selfish and sometimes desperate to hold control. He knew there was more to her than that; he knew she was compassionate when it suited and that she was full of grit and determination. But she was not his type; he liked wild, free spirited women. And she was controlled and uptight. So why was he feeling this way about her? Why was he playing everything over in his mind?

"How was your dinner?" Arya mumbled as she tried to get comfy on one of the chairs as they waited. She was tired; they'd been there nearly three hours now and Arya didn't like doing nothing. But there it was; the loaded question Jon had still been trying to figure out for himself. How had the dinner gone?"

He's made wrong impressions by winding Daenerys' keys to the point she broke and divulged the information on Doreah. He'd grumbled his way through dinner after being badgered about his family life; Daenerys had got one back on him for that. He'd subtly flirted with her and was taken on a tour in which they flirted some more. He'd eaten good food and joined in with good conversation. It was an eventful evening but still marred by the strange ending in the corridor. The part he kept playing over and over in his mind. She'd been right there, her lips had been puckered and Jon didn't kiss them, he didn't give them what they wanted, or what he believed they wanted.

What could he even say to Arya? He couldn't say much of the dinner without giving his true feelings away, could he? "It was... interesting"

"Interesting... Is that it?" She raised and eyebrow. Shit, Jon muttered, why does she read me so well?

"Er... yes, why?" Jon said coolly, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.

"You look like a frightened rabbit" Arya chuckled. Jon could feel his face heat up; was he blushing? No, Jon Snow didn't blush! He brooded and tried to look as mysterious as possible. Arya's eyes went wide as they surveyed him. What was happening to him? Why was he acting like a school boy seeing his first crush in the playground? "did something happen?"

"No, it was just... odd" Jon tried to keep collected. Arya squinted as she didn't quite believe him. "The company that she keeps; her friends, all employees"

"You mean she has no friends outside of work?" Arya was playing along and Jon was grateful, there was no need for her to know everything that happened, especially the hallway part. "That's sucky"

"What's sucky?" Gendry had come back and was holding some brown paper bags. He'd gone to the local store and gotten everyone sandwiches and drinks to eat; no one wanted hospital food. "Here"

"Thanks, Gendry" Jon muttered as he opened to see and egg and cress sandwich with a banana and some crisps inside. There was a bottle of water too. "Just talking about the dinner this evening"

"I was wondering why you were dressed so formal" Gendry sat down next to Arya who chowed down her Ham and Tomato sandwich. She was obviously hungry and Jon dare thought they'd be here a little while longer. "So it wasn't the best then?"

"Oh no the dinner was fine" Jon sunk into his chair to get comfy. "Just... she doesn't have any friends that doesn't work for her, it was a little strange. They were nice people, very nice, but there was just something so formal about it. When we all hang out, us three, Sam, Hotpie and Lommy... It's always informal; we go out and get drunk; we go out for dinner or we slob in our clothes and watch movies until 3am. They have a formal dinner once a week and that's... it"

"She's a busy woman; she works 14 hours a day Sansa told me" Arya shrugged. Jon wondered what she was thinking, if she suspected Jon's feelings, his inner thoughts. "Just like you Jon. When did you last see Sam?"

"He's not in the country, Arya" Gendry laughed. "Dumb Ass"

"Don't call me a Dumb Ass, Mr. I don't know how to cook eggs properly" Jon rolled his eyes. Knowing they'd now be bickering for ten minutes or so he decided to eat the Sandwich Gendry had provided. He was still relatively full from the dinner he'd had five hours ago so he knew he wouldn't eat much of it. But it was necessary to ignore them and go back to the thoughts in his mind.

I've seen your limit pushed many times; it's fun. Maybe one day I could push your limits in a different way

Why did he say that? Why had he shamelessly flirted in such a bold way, it had just complicated everything and now as he sat on a small hospital chair waiting for news on his niece or nephew, it was all he thought about. I'd like that, she'd said back. Why she being serious? was she teasing? or was she playing him; making him fall for her charms and didn't actually feel that way.

No, she did feel something, he knew so. She'd gasped when their hands had slightly touched in the Guest room. She'd felt the Jolt and Zap of the electricity running through their hands when they brushed together. In the hallway he'd felt it; that's why they'd nearly kissed. KISSED. He had nearly kissed Daenerys Targaryen and he was certain she wanted it too. But she'd stopped herself; she'd tried to regain control and made Jon look like the simpering fool.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a doctors arrival. He jolted his father awake who'd fallen asleep and eventually everyone woke up. Robb had stayed with Talisa up until now. Everyone gathered and listened to the Doctor, Jon was having to push Dany back and it was hard to focus. The Doctor spoke. "She'd fully dilated; we're going to move her to the delivery room"

Everyone sighed and they all became excited. It would be an hour tops now and people were so happy to finally meet the baby. They all sat back down again as the Doctor disappeared and left them to their thoughts. Meera spoke first "It's so exciting the miracle of life"

"We're not having a baby" Bran said getting nervous sweats.

"Don't be an idiot" Meera rolled her eyes. "We will once you're a psychology professor and I'm performing experiments on the human condition in like 5 years or so"

"S-sure" Bran had a look of terror on his face; only Jon found it funny. "Brother dear, last chance to back out of the bet. $50 is a lot of money to lose"

"No, it's going to be a boy" Rickon said defiantly. "I don't have $50 on me though"

"Since when do you ever have pocket money that amounts to $50?" Sansa asked incredulously.

"One of the old ladies I deliver a newspaper too tipped me $200 for always doing a good job!" Rickon exclaimed. "I've been saving my money, $50 is nothing to me"

"Perhaps you can pay my bills then, Rickon" Gendry laughed. Rickon just scowled. Everyone quietened down then, the hospital TV could only be heard as it had the news channel on. Jon was suppressing the urge to think about Daenerys; it was hard but he was trying to think of other things. He got his phone out and started to scroll through his facebook when suddenly he had a notification from twitter.

'@thedragonclub has mentioned you in a tweet'

Jon's eyes widened. He opened the tweet and stared as he read it. 'Another successful dinner evening, thanks to @TheWolfOnline for giving a second change. #I'mNotAHotHeadAllTheTime'. Jon's mind swarmed with thoughts of Daenerys. Why had she wrote this? Had she done this off her own back or had perhaps Tyrion encouraged her to do so? Had she wanted to use this as a way to make him come to her dinner again? Jon didn't know. "Oh drat"

"What is it?" Sansa asked sleepily as she leant on her father's shoulder.

"Daenerys has tweeted me again" He mumbled. Arya and Sansa shot up in excitement.

"OOOH! WHAT DID SHE SAY?" Sansa clapped a little too loudly. Catelyn glared at her until she sank back into her chair. "Never mind I'll look myself"

"Jon... She likes you, I'm sorry but she enjoyed your company this evening!" Jon knew this, but coming from his sisters there seemed an air of disbelief to it. "People need to stop using Hashtags it's really annoying"

"You're annoying" Gendry grumbled. Arya just kicked him. "But I agree; she does seem interested in you. She's probably trying to rub you up the right way so you don't make anymore horrible articles on you"

"We're way past that now, Gendry" Sansa said. "She could've come out and publically apologised for her behaviour and the nail would've been put into that coffin. But they keep running into each other and she invited him to dinner; that's not behaviour of someone who just wants a resolved conflict"

Jon retweeted it but before he could reply, their chatter was interrupted abruptly.

"IT'S A GIRL! IT'S A GIRL!" Robb came running out with such excitement and enthusiasm a nurse who was writing some paperwork nearly fell off her chair. The other's in the waiting room clapped in excitement as the Starks too cheered. Robb's curly mop was stuck to his face with sweat. Jon noticed a bruise on his hand. Talisa must've punched him once or twice; nothing's changed then.

"Dang it!" Rickon moaned. Bran just smirked at him.

"What can I say brother I have a sixth sense about this stuff!" Bran gloated.

"Or you just got lucky" Rickon grumbled. "Congrats Robb!"

"Thank you, thank you!" He was exuberant. "I think we're going to call her Lyanna, in honour of Auntie Lee-Lee"

Eddard teared up and hugged his son; it would still be a while before they could see the baby; they needed recovery before any visitors were allowed. Arya spoke excitedly as she jumped up and down. "Get ready to be inundated with tweets from me posing her in sunglasses and hats!"

"Seven hells it's started already!" Gendry moaned.

"I've already tweeted congrats!" Meera was jumping in sync with Arya. Jon decided to get his phone out and tweet. 'Welcome to the world, Lyanna Stark, I can't wait to see you! #ProudUncle' He added the hashtag just to annoy Arya.

It was a blur, the rest of the evening but it was capped off by one final notification. '@thedragonclub replied to your tweet: 'Congratulations, pass on our regards from us here at the Dragon Club'. Jon blinked. He did not know what was happening, but before he knew it he was replying. '@thewolfonline: Thank you, but please, stop calling the dinner that. It really isn't a good name!'

Ding.

'@thedragonclub: It's the best name, sweet dreams Number One fan. X'

He thought on it.

'@thewolfonline: Goodnight, Hotheaded Editor-in-chief ;)'

Oh man what would the paper's say.

#jon snow #daenerys targaryen #jon x daenerys #jon x dany #jon x dany fanfic #jonerys #jonerys fanfic #jonerysfanfic #the dragon club #au #modern au #modern setting

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elfnerdherder · 7 years

Text

Magnum Opus: Chapter 9

You can read on Ao3 Here

Chapter 9:

Abigail wasn’t at school the next day, but Marissa assured him without looking up from her textbook that she and her father often took the train about to go and see potential universities. When Will went to thank her, her head ducked farther, although she peeked up at him when he sighed and looked away. It seemed that that bridge would take farther to cross, and that was perfectly fine with him.

He used the library during study hall to apply to a few more jobs, tabs opened to as many as the school would allow. Some job links were blocked by the school codes, but he didn’t let that stop him. There were plenty that he could apply to, and it was only when he heard the hushed, secretive sounds of whispering that he even looked up from his work. He caught the eye of two poorly hidden students watching him, and he grimaced.

“I’m pretty sure that’s him.”

“Why don’t you go and ask him?”

“Dumb ass, you don’t just go up and ask if it’s true his friend murdered someone!”

“Ten bucks if you go and ask-”

“You go and ask!”

What had they called the newspaper? Tattle Crime? It wasn’t blocked by the school, and he clicked the link to the page, surprised when the photo of a murdered girl popped into view. He choked on his tongue and looked around, checking to make sure that someone wouldn’t pop up behind him to scold him. He scrolled past the photo and read the article, something about a girl disappearing the week before, then found back in her bed within a few days, dead. Antler velvet had been placed in wounds that looked like she’d been mounted somewhere. The words were colorful, the imagery grim, and he gave a start when he saw the name at the bottom. Freddie Lounds. The girl that chased him towards his truck at the funeral flashed into view, and he scowled. That’s who’d written about him?

The next page held another article, though this one centered on a man that dressed as a clown to stalk people at night. After that, there was an interview with a man that claimed dissociative identity disorder who’d murdered ten families, then Will was startled when he stumbled upon a photo of himself at a rather familiar graveside.

“What…?” he murmured, mouse hovering over the photo. He stood beside Jared Freeman’s father, and if he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn that he looked to be grieving. Did he truly look so haggard? Did his eyes really give the impression of a whipped dog? Will scratched the sparse stubble on his cheek, the sad attempts of an eighteen-year-old’s scruff, and he grunted. The suit didn’t look as dingy in the picture as it did in real life, and he was grateful.

“I attempted to reach out to Jared Freeman’s close friend, Will Graham, but he wasn’t inclined to speak on the matter. He fended me off, tears in his eyes, and he begged that I just let the situation go.

“Can’t you just let him rest in peace?” Will Graham asked.

“We deserve to know the truth of the matter,” I said to him. “And we want to know if you knew anything about his attack on your teacher before he ever attacked her.”

He refused to answer, and we’re left to wonder if there was any way that this could have been prevented. Was Will Graham aware of his friend’s motives before the shooting? Did no one notice the signs that led a seventeen-year-old boy to commit a heinous act of murder-homicide before the eyes of special needs students? The FBI agents that were at the scene of the crime refused to comment as well, but as we know they’re inclined to pretend that all is well when it’s, in fact, not. I intend to get to the bottom of this, readers, and see what can be done to prevent further horrific acts against good, innocent people.”

Will read the portion mentioning him once, then twice. He stared at the part where it claimed that he’d had tears in his eyes, and he savagely exited from the browser, logging off of the computer, pulse pounding. He’d had a gut instinct to not talk to Freddie Lounds, and he’d been right. The gall –the absolute nerve! Without acknowledging the librarian who called out to him, he stormed from the school and hopped into his truck, driving home while he drummed his fingers along the steering wheel, trying to expel the fury that churned inside. Rain spat along his windowshield, and he jammed a napkin into the leak at the very bottom that sometimes let in water.

His father wasn’t home –it was early, even by Will’s standards. He took the map he’d gotten from the Wolf Trap Art Center and took to the forest, needing to get rid of the energy building, his lungs hot and his muscles begging release. Will tore through the forest, leaping over fallen trees and slipping under low-hanging branches, delving farther and farther into the mess until he lost track of time, until time ceased to be anything more than an idea, and a faint one at that.

He wasn’t sure when it felt right to stop –at some point, his body had had enough. Will leaned over, hands on his knees as he focused on inhaling deeply, holding, and exhaling, his face hot and his hair matted to his forehead. It felt nice, though. When he got his breath back, he stretched and looked around, the faint sound of rain above a gentle reminder of the elements outside of the canopy of hardwoods surrounding him. Within the woods, everything was muffled, a soft place to fall if one had the misfortune of stumbling.

He found a stump and sat down on it, stretching his legs out and rubbing his calves that twitched occasionally from the exercise. By his guess, he was a few miles into the forest, out of touch of anything that could reach its greedy, grasping fingers to hurt him. Freddie Lounds didn’t exist in the forest. Jared Freeman didn’t exist in the forest. Miss Avery didn’t exist in the forest. Jack Crawford didn’t exist in the forest. He wiped sweat from his forehead and leaned against the trunk of the tree behind him, smiling savagely. Release felt nice. It was the closest to peace he’d felt since Jared Freeman had first walked into their classroom and revealed the gun he’d tucked into his jacket.

Vines, moss, and dead leaves spread like a thick, welcoming blanket over the forest floor, and Will slid his shoe over it, wondering when blisters would begin to rub. Dockers weren’t the sort of shoes to run in, but they were all that he had. Maybe when he got a job he’d get proper hiking boots? Sometimes you could find those things at Good Will or Ross, if such a place existed in or around Wolf Trap. He nudged a stick, then kicked it, watching it turn end over end before it paused to lay still beside a hand.

A hand.

Will froze; his breath hitched, and he stared, sitting rod-straight on the stump as his eyes grabbed and held onto every detail, every curve. A series of tubes connected and led up towards the trees, but the hand appeared to have sprouted from the ground, at home among the foliage and small plants.

“That’s not real,” he said, and he blinked pointedly, trying to dispel the image. He’d just looked at dead bodies, and Hannibal had shown him photos of dead bodies in the forest; it was the only reason he was seeing what he saw. It was no more real, no more tangible than Miss Avery in the park or Jared Freeman in his truck. He blinked again, but still it sat, fingers curled lazily, as though it couldn’t be bothered to make a fist to fight, to escape. Scattered along the ground around it, mushrooms sprouted into the shape of a lopsided rectangle, reaching. Grasping. Searching.

That time, his running was out of fear.

His father got home while Will sat on the edge of an ambulance, a blanket for shock wrapped tightly around him. Although Will tried to explain that it was unnecessary to have one, the paramedic asked Will to humor him, so he did. A light drizzle fell, a steady and wet sludge that added to the bleak atmosphere that clouded his thoughts and left everything smudged. His father pushed through the crowd of police, and he stopped before Will, smelling of beer, cigarettes, and wet dog.

“What the hell happened?” he demanded.

“It’s fine, dad, I-”

“What did you do?” he snapped.

“I didn’t do anything, I just-”

“We just get to this town and I get home to find you surrounded by cops and an ambulance? I can’t leave you alone for five minutes without some shit hitting the fan?”

“Sir, everything’s alright, and your son is unharmed. Do you want to take a walk with me?” An officer stepped over and glanced from Will to Bill, his question not exactly a question. Bill Graham jabbed a finger at Will, as if to say, ‘we’re not done,’ before he followed the officer, adjusting the ball cap he’d won in a poker game.

“Will?” Will looked away from his father that paced before an officer, and dread filled his gut at the sight of Jack Crawford working his way through the crowd. The sun was just beginning to set over the trees in the distance, and a mantle of devilish orange and red sat on the agent’s shoulders.

“Good evening, Agent Crawford,” Will said.

“Why do I have a call from the police saying you found human remains in the woods back there?” he asked.

“Because I found human remains in the woods back there,” Will said. His tongue tasted the dirt the hand had casually lounged in, and he gagged.

“Why were you the one to find it?” he asked.

“Because I went on a hike and that’s where it was,” Will said. He looked down to his shoes caked in mud, and he kicked a large chunk off on the bottom of the ambulance. When the paramedic turned the corner, he tossed the blanket off, stretching his aching muscles as he stood up.

“You went on a five mile hike and found a hand?” Jack asked skeptically.

“I didn’t know that I was five miles in,” Will said. Jack eyed him, and he sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets, as if to prevent him from strangling Will.

“What did you see?” he asked. Will nodded, a small weight lifting from him. He could do answers and questions, a mechanical repetition. Something like that was easy to manage.

“I saw a hand sticking up from the ground, and I saw a series of tubes attached to it,” he said. “Growing over the place where I think the rest of the body is, fungi was everywhere.” He studied Jack’s face as he spoke, watching as the grave, angular expression shifted to recognition. Ah, so he knew of the study Hannibal had shown Will.

“Was there only one?” Jack asked.

“I only saw one, but I showed the police where it was, so they’d know better than I do.” He bit his lip, considering the ground beneath his worn feet. Should he tell Jack that he knew about the other case? Was there a correlation, or was this something new, something different? How had Hannibal gotten his hands on a current investigation? Why hadn’t he told Will that the man wasn’t caught?

“Why you?” Jack murmured, but Will knew that it was a rhetorical question. Why indeed? It seemed the coincidences of coincidences, to move away from a murder just to stumble into a new one. Will wondered if he was cursed.

“If…I can say, Agent Crawford,” Will began. Every inch of his brain screamed for him to stop, to resist speaking, but the sight of the hand in his mind’s eye drew the words from him, a siren’s song. “This is the same as the others, right?”

“And how would you know about the others?” Crawford demanded. At that, Will floundered, gritting his teeth. How indeed?

“Tattlecrime,” he said, and Jack cursed, not bothering to care that he was in the presence of a high schooler.

“That god damn Freddie Lounds,” he snarled, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. Will nodded, relieved. As Hannibal said, the lie had to be a good one if you were going to tell it.

“Do you think it’s the same?” Will asked.

“From what I was told, yes,” Jack said reluctantly. “But that’s not important for you. You did a service, calling it in, but that’s as far as you go, kid.”

“He’s looking for connection,” Will said, and Jack paused. The words fell from him, heavy and dark with implications, but he didn’t let that stop him. He thought of Jared Freeman, standing at the edge of the grave, nothing but the depths of the earth connecting him to Miss Avery. “He’s…he’s searching for that. Fungus, they have…mycelium, and when you enter the area they’re in, they know you are there. He grows it on them, and that’s how he can connect us all.”

Jack Crawford stared down at Will, and Will felt naked. The man’s dark, probing eyes stripped everything that was him down to his core, and Will was back in the counselor’s office, explaining Jared Freeman’s love to room full of skeptics. He inhaled, held it, and exhaled shakily.

“Did you see that the same way you saw Jared Freeman’s love for Miss Avery?” Jack asked.

“Yes,” Will replied. He looked to the side where his father was speaking heatedly with the officer, and he nodded firmly. “He reaches out, and he wants the world to reach back.”

“I see,” Jack said slowly, and he frowned.

“If he’s inducing diabetic comas, he’d be a doctor, I think. He’d have to have that know-how,” Will said.

“That’s what we supposed,” Jack said. He sighed, the sigh of a person that’d witnessed too much for his time, and he looked towards the herd of people milling about. “That’s not something for you to worry about, though.”

“That’s because I don’t have diabetes,” Will muttered darkly.

“I appreciate your input, Will. The FBI will handle it from here, but for you…” He shook his head, at a loss. “What can I do for you?”

“Do you have an aspirin?” Will asked. Jack disappeared around the ambulance, and he returned with an aspirin and a bottle of water. Will took it, reaching up to rub the ache that started above his ear and curled over, diving into his other ear. “Thank you.”

“Stick to your house, alright? Try and stay out of trouble. Tell your dad to stick around this time so that I can find you if we have any questions or concerns.”

“I can do that,” Will said. Jack lifted a hand and clapped it on his shoulder, squeezing it. The contact surprised Will, as though Jack was trying to convey something to him that transcended words. He gripped his shoulder, held it tight before he turned and headed into the mass of government officials, taking control with a loud, engaging voice. Will felt the heavy, stifling presence of his father behind him, and he turned around warily.

“Officer said you stumbled on a body in the woods,” Bill said, frowning.

“It was an accident,” Will replied, as though finding a body in the woods was something someone could purposefully do.

“They said they’re going to search the area, but they’ve got it taken care of. Said you’d handled yourself like a full grown adult.” His father lifted the hat off of his head and scratched it, stuffing the hat into his back pocket.

“Thanks,” Will said. Bill Graham didn’t reach out to squeeze his shoulder, but he didn’t reach out to smack him in the back of the head, either. They stood like that, surrounded by flashing police lights, the murmuring of too many voices, and the footsteps of the harried before Will excused himself and headed down the driveway to the house, locking himself in his bedroom for the rest of the night. After a short while, he heard the door to the front room open and close and knew his father was going to do the same.

I stand before Miss Avery, palm pressed to gentle palm. She makes no move to fight me; she makes no move to run. She inhales, and I can sense it, just as easily as I sense the blood pulsing through her veins, just as easily as I can all but feel her lungs expand.

“I reach out to you, and now you reach back,” I say.

“Whenever you enter this place we have found, I feel you near,” she says, and I sigh. It is the softest sound, the quietest of feelings. It is one thing to reach, extend, and grasp. It is another for someone to finally reach back, to see as one is intended to be seen. As one we lay down together, side by side, our breaths intertwining until there is nothing that separates the you from the me. This is beautiful. This is peace. This is my design.

Will woke, and he wiped tears from his cheeks, his breath hiccupping in quiet, desperate gulps. It was a silent grief, something that swept away all chance of sound to escape as it stifled his voice and gripped his throat. He curled up on his side, blanket pulled close, and he wondered if Jack was going to be able to find such a person whose desperation to connect was so dire it was like trying to hold onto sand. No matter how tight his fist, it would inevitably escape through the cracks.

Mostly, he wondered if one day he’d be the one burying someone in the ground. He wondered who would be the one to find it if he did.

The weekend dragged itself to Monday, a hangman’s noose wrapped around its neck. When Will went to go and apply for jobs on Saturday, his father refused with a stern shake of his head. Instead, he found himself sitting on the couch, watching the football game with Bill Graham whose enthusiasm for UGA hadn’t changed despite changing states. He didn’t have much fight to give, in truth –not with his leg muscles complaining the way that they were. Ten miles was a long run for anyone, even someone in peak physical condition. Although Will was no weakling, peak physical condition didn’t quite fit into his description. He’d stood in the shower for quite some time, allowing the hot water to sooth the blisters that’d rubbed into his ankle and the sides of his feet.

Sunday, his father disappeared to spend a day with his new co-workers, leaving Will to his own devices. He considered going to apply for jobs, but when he saw Jared Freeman in the kitchen, staring down at a Hungry Man meal, he quickly forwent the idea. Instead, he found himself staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom, wondering just how long his father’s concern lasted. Had it been long enough for him to realize they didn’t have much to talk about? Had it been long enough for him to determine that he couldn’t do anything about his odd, troubled son? He wanted to be angry, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be. He rubbed his aching feet and let the clicks of his eyelids count the seconds until darkness fell.

Monday came, and he escaped to school, relieved to have something to divert him. He met with Beverly near the front entrance, who was accompanied by two younger siblings whose hair and eyes gave them away as such.

“Did you hear about those bodies?” Beverly asked by way of greeting.

“No,” Will lied.

“They found five bodies out in the woods!” one boy said.

“They were so gross and decomposing that things were growing up over them,” the girl added, nodding. “Things like fungi and mushrooms and lichen.”

“These are my siblings, if you can’t tell. Henry and Cassandra.” Beverly pointed to them, then herself. “I’m the oldest, and there’s three more after that, if you can believe it.”

“That’s a lot of kids,” Will said.

“They say the more kids there are, the better the character growth,” Cassandra said, grinning.

“Are you an only child?” Henry asked.

“Yes,” Will replied slowly.

“We can tell,” Cassandra said knowingly.

“Oh, come on,” Beverly rounded on them, and they hurried off, laughing as they headed towards their respective classes. “Jeez, sorry about that.”

“No, they’re…well, they’re not wrong,” Will said, and his smile felt savage at the edges. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked about the bustling students, out of place and out of time with them. The rain had continued well into the weekend and gave no sign of stopping, switching periodically between heavy downfall and light mist.

“Well, they’re still jerks. They’re right about the bodies, though. They were in Wolf Trap, deep in the woods, hands sticking up out of the ground like claws.” She walked with him towards his locker, and Will grabbed his books, nodding along.

“That’s bleak,” he said.

“Bleak and creepy. Someone joked that whoever did it was just trying to grow a mushroom garden, but those aren’t the kind of mushrooms you’d want to eat.”

“I’ve never had a mushroom that I liked,” Will said, and Beverly laughed.

“Then I guess you won’t run the risk of biting into one of these guys, right?” The bell rang, and they headed towards first period, Beverly breaking away once she reached the right hall.

“Hopefully,” Will agreed.

He found Abigail at lunch, although it troubled him that he sought her out so persistently. Beverly was nowhere to be seen, so he made his way over without interruption, noting how she sat alone. He sat down in the chair beside her and saw a faint discoloring of purple beneath her eyes from lack of sleep.

“How was your weekend?” he asked.

“Oh, it was good…I went to check out a potential university, then my dad and I went hunting.” Her hair was pulled back, up and away from her fair features, and it wasn’t lost on Will how her mouth quivered before pressing shut. She looked like one sharp exhale would blow her away.

“Did you get anything?”

“Yeah, we found a doe,” she said with a quiet, short laugh. “Did you go fishing?”

“Not with all of the rain, no. The river will rise when it’s all done, then I will. That’s the best time to catch them.” They ate in silence, the air dank with unsaid words. It was the sort of silence that chafed, and if Will hadn’t seen what Abigail had wanted to show him, he’d have said he imagined her ever wanting to be his friend. Abigail yawned, Will yawned, and he looked down, studying the inedible-looking pizza.

“Do you do everything with your dad?” Will asked, hesitant. He flexed and clenched his hands, uncomfortable.

“What do you mean?” Abigail asked slowly.

“Hunt together, go look at universities together…you must be really close.” Off to the side, a couple of kids tossed a football, laughter ensuing as they moved towards the center of the eating hall. The ball was quickly confiscated, and the students booed the teacher away.

“Yeah, I’m pretty close with my dad. Are you?”

“No, not really,” Will said. He wasn’t quite sure why he was so bluntly honest with her; her expression of surprise showed that he hadn’t answered the way that she expected. He looked away and took a bite of pizza.

“Are you close with your mom?” Abigail asked.

“I don’t have a mom to be close to.”

“My dad sad you seemed interesting. Maybe you’ll get to see what the hype is all about.” It was supposed to sound like a joke, but the punchline came out wrong. Will looked at her, and her voice caught in her throat, stifling the laughter that was supposed to follow. She forced a breath and grabbed her water bottle, distracting herself by taking a drink.

“Maybe,” Will said. They ate in silence for the rest of lunch, only the sound of rain tapping gently on the skylight above them to punctuate the thoughts in their heads. When the bell rang, he left her to her own devices, wondering just what had happened over the weekend to make her so afraid again.

#LiaS scribbles #magnum opus #hannibal #hannibal fanfic #Hannibal slowburn #will graham x hannibal #someone help will graham

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recurring-polynya · 3 years

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I haven’t posted any fanfic since April and I am dying, so I dug out this first chapter of this amateur hockey AU fic I started back in my annus mirabilis of 2019, which I am never going to finish. Despite taking place in an ice rink, it was supposed to be a fundamentally summery story and it was 90 degrees here today, so that seems about right.

I’ve always been rather fond of it and I hope you like it, too.

ao3 | ff.net

🏒 💘 ⛸️

The old rink seemed a lot smaller than the first time Rukia had walked through those doors. Smelled the same though, that astringent tang of bleach and wet rubber with just a note of snack bar french fries. Which was strange, because the Ice Society snack bar didn't offer french fries or soggy pizza or any of the usual things served in the snack bars of the hundreds of ice rinks she'd been in over the last ten years. But everything about Ice Society was weird.

For starters, it was called Ice Society. Presumably it was a shitty pun on "High Society," except that the man who owned the rink was a crusty old ex-Marine with one eye who didn't even know what puns were. It was just a mystery.

Rukia half expected Ol' Man Zaraki's asshole son to still be manning the counter of the pro shop, but an orange-haired teen snored at the register instead. She kicked the front of the counter, and he sat up with a start.

“Huh, wha? Won’t get me this time, old man!’

Rukia cleared her throat.

The kid peered down at her from his perch on a high stool. “Uh, you want a sharpening? I am definitely allowed to use the machine without supervision.”

Rukia raised one eyebrow. “Saw an ad. Rink’s looking for a figure skating instructor for the summer?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” the teen scratched his head.

“I...would like to apply?”

“You got a resume or something?”

Rukia narrowed her eyes at him, but passed it over.

The kid made a very serious face as he looked it over. “First Place Overall, Tri State Championships 2015, mmm, very impressive. First Place Regionals 2016, ah ha ha, very tough competition that year.”

“You don’t know a ding-dang thing about competition figure skating, do you, junior?”

“Nope!” he replied cheerfully. “I don’t have any hiring authority either.” He craned his neck around to check the big clock hanging behind him. “Mr. Manager’s out playing hockey with the delinquents, but he should be done in about ten minutes. If you want to talk to him, you can wait around, or I can give this to him assuming I don’t fall asleep again or forget.”

Rukia didn’t really register the second part of this sentence because her heart gave a little leap at the mention of delinquents. “Ol’ Man Zaraki still teaches the kids from juvie how to play hockey?” she asked.

The teen regarded her curiously. “Naw, his back gives him trouble. His son does it now.” He narrowed his eyes. “S’how I learned, y’know.”

Rukia wagged her eyebrows at him. “No shit. Me, too. I’ll wait.”

She wasn’t sure that Ikkaku would even remember her—it’d been ten years and he’d been a surly teen at the time, not too interested in the shouting, angry kids he was trying to teach wrist shots to. Rukia hoped maybe he’d mellowed out a bit, and might be a little more inclined to hire someone with a soft spot in their heart for his dad, who, seriously, had to be about 900 years old by now.

“I’m gonna go out and watch,” Rukia informed the shop kid, snagging her resume back.

“Suit yourself.” He suddenly seemed to remember something. “Wait, you play hockey? Look, my team is lookin’ for—“

Rukia waved a hand dismissively. “It’s been years. I don’t even own equipment.”

“We sell equipment! You’d get an employee discount!” he shouted after her as she headed into the rink proper.

Rukia recognized the drill the kids were doing. They would skate up the ice, the coach would set them up with a pass, and they would take a shot on goal. Most of the kids could barely shoot the puck, but to be fair, the tiny person in net couldn’t really stop anything, either. Nevertheless, Rukia could hear a steady stream of barked encouragement from the coach under the high pitched babble of shouts and shrieks from the other players. These kids didn’t get a whole lot of encouragement in their lives, and she remembered very well the feeling of teammates shouting her name for the first time.

“Great job, great job, everybody! Give your keeper a high five, and go get changed! Awesome hustle today, Ururu, way to hang in there!”

Rukia leaned against the curve of the rink, watching the little hooligans high-five their coach as they piled off the ice.

“You didn’t suck too much yourself today, old man!” one of them squeaked.

Rukia snorted. Some things never changed.

The coach was taking a moment to help the goalie—who turned out to be a tiny girl with dark hair in pigtails—loosen the buckles on her leg pads, before shooing her into the locker room.

Rukia stood up and prepared to re-introduce herself, when he pulled off his helmet, and instead of Ikkaku’s shaved head, a mass of dark red hair spilled out. Most of it was covered with a sweat-soaked bandana, but she would recognize that ponytail anywhere. The words dried up in Rukia’s mouth and she stood stupidly gawping like a fish. The man, who stood close to 6’4” in his skates, stopped short when he realized there was a tiny woman in his way.

“Ah, ‘scuse me, almost didn’t see you there.” He seemed confused by her lack of movement, speech, or any other discernibly human reactions. And then recognition dawned. “Rukia? ‘Zat you?”

Something about the sound of his voice brought her back to herself. Rukia crossed her arms over her chest and smirked at him. “Hey, Renji.”

🏒 💘 ⛸️

“I’ve seen you around, I think,” Rukia mentioned, poking one of the pucks experimentally with her stick while she waited her turn.

“Family court, prob’ly,” Renji suggested. People were always recognizing him. It was the hair. “You in the foster system, too?”

“Uh, yeah,” she admitted.

“Whadja do to get put in juvie?”

“Jacked a car.”

“You stole a car?”

“It was a 1996 Ford Festiva, so maybe ‘car’ is a little generous. How ‘bout you?”

He fidgeted. “Spray painted a dick on the side of the school.”

Rukia laughed. She had the grating laugh of an old grifter, not a little girl’s laugh at all. “Karakura Middle, lime green? Real attention to detail on the ball hairs?”

“That was me.”

“Nice work.”

Renji felt his cheeks color. He’d never actually gotten a compliment on his graffiti before, let alone from a cute girl who had jacked a goddamn car. “Hey, it’s almost my turn here, and I do not know what I am doing, don’t judge me too rough, okay?”

“I would never.”

“Next!”

Renji launched himself down the ice at top speed. He lost his edge after three paces and landed stomach-down on the ice with a shit-ton of momentum. Ikkaku, barking instructions from the blue line, managed to get one hand on the boards and jump high enough to clear the careening child as he skidded by. Renji bounced off the boards a few times and came to a rest deep in the neutral zone.

“Good hustle, Abarai!” Zaraki boomed.

Rukia was laughing her ass off.

🏒 💘 ⛸️

“Yeah, Zaraki took me in a couple years after you moved away,” Renji explained as they sat in the bleachers drinking kombucha from the snack bar and watching Ichigo, the teen from the pro shop, drive the zamboni repeatedly into the boards. “After I got kicked out of the third or fourth foster family. I’m sorry Ichigo confused you.”

As if on cue, the zam hit the boards particularly hard, thoroughly rattling the glass. Renji stood up and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “That’s it, you’re done!” he bellowed. “Go find Ganju and tell him to finish up!”

“Aw, maaaaan!” Ichigo groaned.

Renji plopped back down again. “So what are you doing back in Karakura?”

“Oh,” Rukia said, suddenly remembering that this wasn’t some dumb nostalgia trip. “I’m doing a summer student research program over at the Seireitei U downstate campus. I saw the rink was advertising for a part-time figure skating instructor, and I thought it might be nice to make a few bucks in my free time. Liked the idea of seeing the old place again.” She smoothed out her rumpled resume, and handed it to him.

"Oh, cool! Yeah, both our figure skating instructors just graduated college and moved away." Renji skimmed her resume for a moment, his eyes widening. “I always knew you were a good skater, but…”

“The man who adopted me was a former Olympian,” Rukia said stiffly. “He saw a lot of potential in me.”

“Looks like he saw right,” Renji shrugged. “You sure you don’t got better things to do than teach some teens how to stomp around the ice backward with their arms sticking straight out for fifteen bucks an hour?”

Rukia shrugged back. “The internship’s only ‘sposed to be 20 hours a week. Not like I know anyone down here anymore.”

“Well, you know me.” He handed her the resume back. “The job’s yours if you want it.”

She blinked at him. "That's it?"

He shrugged. "You want an interview with the old man? He'll be by in a few hours to shout at the HVAC unit."

"Is it broken?"

"It's too scared of him to break, that's what the shouting's for. Anyway, he'll just ask me if I want to hire you and I'll say yes."

"But how do you know I'm any good?"

He gave her a strange look, like he wasn't sure if she was trying to pull one over on him or not. Finally, he said, "What, you want a tryout or something?"

"I just don't think you should make hiring decisions based on nostalgia for someone you played hockey with as Squirts."

"Hey, we played together well into Peewees," he joked. He checked something quickly on his phone. "Ice is free for the next hour and a half. You got skates with you?"

"They're out in the car."

"Go get 'em. Hey, Ganju!" He waved to the stocky man climbing onto the zamboni. "Pull that back into the garage, would ya? I'm gonna use that ice."

When Rukia returned with her skates, Renji already had his back on. Rukia studiously tried to ignore him, setting up cones on the ice. Just as she finished the last knot, he hockey-stopped at the door, throwing a spray of ice in her general direction. She ignored him and stepped out onto the ice. “What would you like to see, Mr. Ice Rink Manager, sir?”

“Well, you need to get warmed up, right? Let’s see some circles.”

“Circles.”

“Yeah. You’re some sort of hotshot, right? Switch off forward and backward.”

Smirking, Rukia took off around the first face-off circle, letting her legs stretch out with each crossover. She switched direction for the second, taking it backwards . She stayed in reverse, and instead of skating around the perimeter of the center circle, she launched herself into a double Lutz. She finished the last two circles normally, and came to a neat stop in the corner.

There was the loud blast of a whistle, and Renji skated up to her. “You sure don’t listen to directions too good,” he frowned.

“I got bored,” she shrugged. “Is that whistle really necessary?”

“Yes. Okay, next, see those cones?”

“I am not blind.”

“Skate around ‘em. Like this.” He made a serpentine gesture with his hand.

“I dunno, they’re pretty close together,” she said skeptically. In fact, you could probably drive a zamboni between the cones.

“Eh, just do your best,” he suggested.

Rukia took off and launched into an elaborate sequence of steps, dancing around cones, skipping from one foot to the other, flipping from forward to backward and back again.

“Yeah, that was pretty good, come back and do it again.”

Rukia executed the exact series of steps on the way back.

“Not very original, are you?”

She put her hands on her hips.

He pointed to a series of hockey sticks he had laid out on the other side of the ice. “Skate up that side of the ice, and jump over the sticks.”

Rukia had done this drill many times as a child, of course she knew you were supposed to hop over them one at a time. That seemed inefficient. Rukia took a long starting run, and shot him a shit-eating grin before launching herself into the air. She had managed to break his grinning shithead act for just a second-- his eyes widened in horror as he realized what she was doing.

Rukia sailed through the air, clearing five of the six sticks. Shit. She danced frantically, trying not to trip over the last one, and managed to clear it with a tiny little bunny hop. She spread her arms wide, and bowed, like she was particularly proud of that last bit, and then skated up to him, looking phenomenally smug.

The jackass still couldn’t manage to look impressed. “Okay, last test. Are you ready?”

“What is it?”

He shot her a toothy grin. “Catch me.”

Renji took off, backwards, tweeting his whistle obnoxiously.

Rukia took off after him, taking big, scooping power strokes.

As soon as she started getting close, he flipped forward, putting on a burst of speed. “You used to be able to catch me a lot quicker’n this!”

He was fast, a lot faster than she had expected. But Rukia was faster. Ducking her head down, she put on the jets. As they neared the corner, she cut inside, and passed him, transitioning to backwards, so she was facing him. “Happy?”

With a mischievous look in his eyes, Renji blew on his whistle, and put on another burst of speed, picking her up under the armpits and holding her straight out in front of him, her feet dangling a foot off the ice.

“What are you doing?!” she howled.

“We’re figure skating now, right? That’s how this works?”

In response, she grabbed the whistle hanging around his neck and blew it as hard as she could.

Laughing his ass off, Renji skidded to a stop, and gently deposited Rukia back on her feet before doubling over with laughter, clutching his stomach.

Rukia tried to look angry and impatient, but to be honest, she couldn’t remember the last time she had horsed around on the ice like that. She could almost hear Byakuya’s droning lecture on the importance of protecting her precious ankles, but she pushed it to the back of her head. He wasn’t here, and she was determined to enjoy the break from his clucking.

Renji looked up, wiping tears from his eyes. “Wow, that’s a stoneface. C’mon, don’t tell me that wasn’t at least a little bit fun?”

She crossed her arms across her chest, and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Maybe a tiny bit.”

“Good. I forgot. If you wanna work here, you gotta like having fun. No fuddy-duddies.”

“I will have you know, I am an expert at having fun!”

He bobbed his head in an exaggerated nod. “I can tell.”

“What kind of test was that, anyway? You just made me run a bunch of hockey drills.”

“You think I know anything about figure skating?” he scoffed. “Look, here’s the real test,” he announced. “Are you available on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, from 6 to 9, and Saturday mornings, 9 to noon?”

“Yes,” Rukia replied.

Renji tipped his head to the side. “Please come work for me, Rukia. You are ridiculously overqualified for this, but the Learn to Skate classes start this week, and if I have to teach them myself, I’ll have to drop my summer course. The pay’s not great, but you get a staff discount at the snack bar and I can give you free ice time between the hours of 2 and 4 am, if you want it. You get a couple teen assistants, real nice kids. I don’t mind if you make them run personal errands for you or whatever. Also, you get to hang out with a bunch of sexy guys, like Ichigo and my pop.”

Rukia snorted through her nose. Had he forgotten that she was the one who came in here, looking for a job? “You sound pretty desperate, maybe I should hold out.”

His shoulders slumped. “Aw, shit. You want me to throw in free skate sharpening, too?”

“‘Zat your Camaro parked out front?” It was a beautiful mid-70’s model, a hood the size of a tennis court, bright red with black racing stripes. Rukia was going to be very disappointed if it turned out to belong to the orange-haired Pro Shop teen.

Renji frowned. “You can’t have my wife. You wouldn’t want her anyway, she only runs a quarter of the time.”

“She’s a looker, though.”

“That is true, I am a man who knows how to wash a car.”

Rukia leaned forward. “I want a ride in her.” It had been a long time since she had ridden in a car where you could feel the rumble of the engine in your bones. Byakuya would shit a brick if he found out she was riding around in something without side-impact airbags.

“Really? That’s it?” Renji asked.

“That’s it.”

“You can drive her if you want.”

Rukia stuck out her hand. “You have a figure skating instructor.”

Renji grabbed it and shook it firmly. “Welcome aboard. You, uh, you wanna go driving right now?”

Rukia’s cheeks colored. “Oh. I gotta… I’m ‘sposed to meet up with my new roommate and I gotta unpack and stuff.”

“No problem,” Renji drawled. “We got all summer, right?”

“Yeah,” Rukia agreed with a grin. “We got all summer.”

🏒 💘 ⛸️

In case you’re wondering how the rest of this was supposed to go, Ichigo tricks Rukia into joining his awful hockey team, which is made up of a bunch of teens (Keigo, Mizuiro, Tatsuki and Chad), Renji, Ganju and some drunks (Yoruichi and Kuukaku). Rukia makes her assistant figure skating instructors, Orihime and Uryuu join, too, and I think at some point they recruit Toushirou. Rukia and Renji have a fling and keep insisting it is “just for the summer.” There is a romantic skate-sharpening sequence. They make out in the back of Zaraki’s rusty old pick-up truck which Renji had to borrow because the Camaro broke down. At some point, Byakuya shows up and he and Zaraki get in a fight, which they decide to take down and resolve in a hockey shootout with poor Renji in goal, except that Byakuya doesn’t know how to shoot and Zaraki’s back is just really bad and eventually they get tired. Just be glad I moved on to other things.

#my writing #renruki #sorry it takes me forever to write anything anymore!#i hope this will tide you over for a bit!#i still love you all i really do!

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tortoisesforhire · 5 years

Text

Fic a Day Fic-a-thon

Mike was fully aware that he had a greater than average amount of secrets. He was keeping his past as a failed drug dealer from the rest of the firm. His history as a LSAT cheater from Rachel specifically and everyone else more broadly. He was keeping quite a few things from Trevor and his Grammy and Jenny. He was keeping absolutely everyone in the dark, including Harvey and Donna, concerning his rather dubious past.

In which Mike is a secret ninja, Harvey has secret feelings and Donna while not technically omniscient comes frighteningly close.

Fraudulent FacesChapter Text

The Chilton Hotel, Five Minutes after Rick Sorkin’s Scheduled Interview with Harvey Specter; Attorney at Law

“Rick Sorkin?” Mike was not Rick Sorkin. “Mr. Sorkin you are five minutes late, is there a reason I should let you in.” Mike is also very out of breath.

“Look, I’m just trying to ditch the cops okay, I don’t really care if you let me in.” Mike is an honest person. Mostly.

The red head, because of course she was a redhead, leaned back and winked at whoever was in the room. Probably some hot shot lawyer looking for an associate. It figured. Because Mike...well, Mike did not have good luck. Mike had terrible luck, and the universe loved to laugh at him.

“Mr. Specter will be right with you.” Mike frowned, shoved an extremely inappropriate joke down into the recesses of his brain and tried to gain control of his breathing.

As it has previously been established, Mike’s life is a cosmic joke that constantly plagues him. So of course as soon as he reaches out to shake the unfairly attractive man’s hand his mysterious suitcase of drugs bursts open to rain pot down on the very expensive and fancy looking carpet. Of course. Because this, this is Mike Ross’s life. Hilarious. (Also, the reasons behind the mysterious pot filled suitcase are not actually important beyond the fact that Trevor is a Dick with a capital D. Also you do not need to know who Trevor is beyond the fact that he is the President of Dick Town, three years running.)

“Whoa,” Mr. Specter has no idea the amount of universe guaranteed bullshit that he’d just stepped in. Mike almost feels sorry for him. Almost.

“I, I can explain that.” Mike said, because in spite of everything he still likes to try his best to swim out of the shit pile. Mr. Specter raised his eyebrows at him. “I’m not Rick Sorkin.”

“I figured.”

“I also have a chronically shitty friend who I can’t say no to.”

“Are you really telling me that you’re holding a suitcase of pot for a friend?” Mike winced, why couldn’t he get a dumb unfairly attractive lawyer to bamboozle into letting him out of this hotel room? Why oh why was this his life?

“Not exactly.” Mr. Specter peered at him. Mike had been peered at only on three very special occasions. Two of those had been by his Grammy who was an expert at peering. Mr. Specter came very close.

“Pick up your pot and take a seat.” Mike blinked. He wasn’t being kicked out, handed over to the cops or politely escorted into a police cruiser. Interesting.

“Okay-” he hurried to shove the weed into his suitcase and pulled out the chair across from Mr. Expensive Suit. Seriously, the thing probably cost more than Mike’s rent for a month. Two months, maybe more. Mike didn’t know much about suits.

“Start from the beginning.” Mr. Specter leaned back in his chair to regard him with a smirk and way too much confidence for a man who’d just been blindsided with a briefcase full of drugs.

“Well, like I said my friend makes really shitty decisions.” Mike started, because Grammy had raised him to be honest whenever possible. “We- well we had a sort of falling out last year and it’s been pretty shaky. But he’s basically family and you do stupid shit for family.” Was he cursing too much? Screw it, he’d had a stressful day he’d curse as much as he bloody well wanted to. Fuck. “I knew he was in some deep trouble but I wasn’t sure... anyway. He called me up this morning to tell me he was being held at gunpoint and he needed me to deliver this suitcase to the Chilton Hotel, Room 809.” Mike ran a hand through his hair, feeling irritated and unsettled. Fucking Trevor. “So I did, because I’m a fucking idiot apparently. I get to the room and there are two undercover cops trying to break in. I managed to get by them but only barely. I asked the bellhop what time it was and booked it, which leads me to here...and now.”

“Being mistaken for Rick Sorkin.” Mr. Specter shook his head, incredulous at the fuckup that was Mike Ross. Not that he knew Mike’s name. Yet.

“Yeah.” Now what? Was this the part where Mr. Spector called the cops? Shit Mike didn’t have that much money, he’d never be able to afford bail. Who would take care of Grammy while he was in prison for Fuckupery?

“How the hell did you know they were the police?” Mike shrugged. In for a penny he supposed, and dove into the Mysterious World of Mike’s Memory. Genius kid extraordinaire. Mr. Specter looked suitably impressed.

“Damn, and how much money was Trevor offering you to commit a felony?”

“Twenty grand.” Mike said and Harvey’s eyebrow ticked up.

“Why’d you ask them what time it was?”

“Throw him off, what sort of drug dealer asks a cop what time it is?” Mr. Specter snorted, seemingly in disbelief of Mike’s obvious genius.

“We should hire you, hell I’d give you the twenty thousand as a signing bonus.”

“Wh-seriously?” Mike narrowed his eyes, assessing his previous image of Harvey Specter, attorney at law. Suit Shark indeed.

“Well, unfortunately we only hire from Harvard, and not only have you not attended Harvard Law School- you haven’t even attended any law school.” Mike was quiet for a moment, thinking. Risk assessment. Could be stupid. Could be reckless. Harvey (and when had he become Harvey?) frowned at him. Could be great. “Have you?” Mike grinned.

“Mr. Specter I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” Mike stood, extending a hand. “Mike Ross, Harvard Law class of 09. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Harvey stared at him, gap mouthed. The moment stretched out long enough that it became awkward, what with Mike’s hand just hanging there between them. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope,” he stuck his hand in his pocket.

“You graduated Harvard?”

“You know, the tone of incredulity is a tad uncalled for.” It wasn’t.

“Why are you not working as a lawyer then?” Ah, the Tragic Backstory. How much is too much?

“Eh, I worked as an ADA for a minute.”

“And then you got fired.” Well first off..rude.

“No, not exactly.”

“Then what, exactly? Why would you leave the DA’s office to become a bike messenger?” Ah, so many reasons. So, so many reasons.

“It’s complicated.” Which actually meant that it was a Level Three friendship conversation, and Harvey was not yet at a Level One. Harvey raised an eyebrow at him, looking as though he was thinking about pulling the secrets out by force.

“So you’re a genius lawyer bike messenger who moonlights as a drug dealer to get his delinquent friend out of a jam.” Well when you put it like that.

“Yup.” Here’s the part where Harvey actually kicks him out.

“Unbelievable.” Harvey moved towards his desk. “You know Cameron Dennis?” Here is where Mike gets to raise his eyebrow. Because yes, of course he knows the DA.

“Yeah.” Tentative, you know, like how you answer when you’re not sure what the mood of the room is. Do we like Cameron Dennis? Do we hate him? (Mike hates him, a considerable amount, but that’s also quite complicated and not important at the moment.)

Harvey opened his laptop, and Mike prepared to grab his weed and run. “What are you doing?” he asked, because when faced with jail time it’s best to be blunt.

“I’m e-mailing the firm to tell them I’ve just hired our newest associate.” Mike sat down.

“Oh.” This is the noise Mike makes when surprised. Take note, it doesn’t happen often.

Pearson & Hardman, Mike’s first day, stupid o'clock in the morning

Mike was not impressed. Nope. Not even a little bit. With the fancy offices and the big windows, the shiny sign that read Pearson Hardman in big letters when he walked in.

He was also sure that Pearson Hardman was equally unimpressed with him, what with his messenger bag and scuffed shoes, mud splattered pants and general air of Poverty(TM).

“Mike Ross?” The gorgeous brunette asked, walking into the lobby. Because Pearson Hardman was the sort of place that had beauty standards, really Mike should be flattered he qualified. “I’m Rachel Zane I’ll be giving your orientation.”

“Wow, you’re really pretty.” Mouth, meet foot (who's he kidding they're old friends).

“Great, you’ve hit on me. Now we can get out of the way that I’m not interested.” Ouch, burn.

“Ah no sorry I-I wasn’t-” (I’ll spare you the sorry awkward exchange. Rest assured, it is very awkward. Que fast forward montage of shiny and impressive office orientation, insert appropriate oohing and ahhing here.)

Mike thought he was very impressive. Screw that, he was very impressive. Rachel was totally blown away by his awesome brain powers.

“You know what nobody likes? A show off.” says the girl who’s spent the last hour showing off how smart and pretty and With It she is. (Psst, Mike, nobody say's With it anymore. Psch, dumbass.)

“You used the word ogle!” she spun on her heel. No, literally spun, Mike had no idea that was something girls actually did. “Hey, when am I gonna get to see Harvey!” she did not turn around. Rude.

Well, if she wasn’t going to help him find Harvey then he was just going to have to find him himself. Shouldn’t be too hard, the way Rachel talked about him you’d think the sun shone out of his ass.

He supposed he could just ask someone, it would probably be better than wandering around like a lost puppy. He wasn’t going to do that though, that was boring. Instead he strode around like he owned the place, very purposeful and not pathetic at all. Now Mike had clearly not given the hot redhead enough credit before. I mean, yes, she was Level 10 hot, out of his league and so very, very intimidating. Like he was pretty sure if he got to close he'd cut himself on her eyebrows or lose his soul by proximity to her glare. He inched forward cautiously.

“No,” he blinked, her nameplate read Donna and she was even more intimidating in this, her natural habitat.

“Um,”

“Harvey’s not here.”

“I can see that.”

“Don’t you have puppy lawyer things to go do?” She asked, quirking a deadly and immaculately carved eyebrow at him, her fingers never pausing on her keyboard, moving at blinding speeds.

“No actually, I do not, as I have yet to speak to Harvey. So if I could just-” he gestured towards the empty (lavish and impressive) office. Donna sighed, and pointedly turned away to ignore him. He took this as unofficial permission and slipped inside.

This, this was without a doubt the coolest office he’d ever seen. Not that he’d seen that many offices. Cameron’s office wasn’t this cool. Cameron’s office was boring as shit compared to this. Harvey’s office had a fucking wall of records. It beat the pants off of Cameron’s office.

Mike walked over to the giant ass window to stand and look down at all the New-Yorkers below like a fucking giant. Fear me peasants! I am your overlord! (yes, Mike is a giant dork, in case this was not already self evident.) This was the best. No wonder Harvey was so arrogant, with a view like this how could you not be?

“Mike,” Mike did not jump. Or startle. Or blink in an objectively shocked fashion. “I’m gonna have to let you go.” And we’re back to the universe sucking again. Mike was beginning to wonder if this was still his life.

“What?” Because there had to be an explanation, life couldn’t actually be that cruel.

“I just got reamed for lying to a client, and if they find out I lied about you being an upstanding citizen instead of a pothead they’ll take away my license.”

“You what?” said Donna over the intercom, sounding far too excited for this situation.

Mike, Mike had a decision to make. He liked to be honest, for the most part, but it was always a matter of what level of honesty to deploy...never maximum. Maximum honesty was bad and usually ended with him in the nuthouse. Medium honesty? Honesty abridged?

“Look, I have to put my own interests above yours, it’s nothing personal. You’re fired.” He sat down. Mike stared at him.

Now Mike rarely stared at people, he’d found with his IQ he tended to notice too much, so he avoided heavy eye contact as much as possible. But now he stared at Harvey. Really looked. Harvey’s jaw was clenched, his leg crossed over his knee, his shoulders tense but trying not to be. His eyebrow twitched. Mike came to a conclusion. An interesting, surprising, altogether unexpected conclusion. And that...that changed some things.

“So...you’re telling me you’re going to fire me because if they find out you lied about me you’ll lose your license. But if you fire me I can just tell them you lied and you’ll definitely lose your license.” he leaned back against the turntable, watching. Harvey stood up.

“Are you saying that if I throw you under the bus you’ll drag me down with you?” Mike shrugged.

“Hey, you said you’re putting your needs above mine. This is just me putting my needs up there with yours.” he grinned.

“You’re re-hired.” Harvey said, and walked out.

“Huh, I can’t believe that worked.” Mike mused.

“Me either.” Donna said over the intercom.

“Do you just listen in on all his conversations?”

“Yes.”

“Cool.”

Mike’s shitty apartment, after a long weird day at work, where Trevor the President of Dicktown awaits to employ his Dickery once again

“What are you doing here?” Mike did not need this right now. Mike needed the opposite of this. And a shower.

“Watching sports center. Booya!” Fuck you Trevor. “Also, it’s really fucking weird that you live in an old boxing gym dude.” Seriously fuck you Trevor. “You won’t return my phone calls.”

“Uh, yeah, because you set me up. Remember that?” Deep breaths. Deep calming breaths. In through the nose, think of Buddha. Or Gandhi. The path of non-violence or whatever.

“Did you forget the gun to my head part?” Mike’s mouth twitched. Fucking Trevor.

“Did you forget the part where being a fucking drug dealer gets you shot in the head?” Path of non-violence, path of non-violence. Fucking Trevor

“Oh, come on, how could I have known those guys had guns?”

“Uh, I don’t know Trevor, maybe because they’re fucking drug dealers!” Path of non-violence, path of non-violence.

“Look, I’m sorry okay. Let me make it up to you.” Mike’s mouth twitched again.

“You want to make it up to me? Give me my key back.” he held his hand out for it, chanting a mantra of peace and serenity in his head. Maybe it would work this time. Trevor handed over the key and Mike opened the door for him.

“Michael,” Trevor said, giving him that look. Seriously fuck that look, “you know I don’t wanna live in a world where we’re not tight.” he mimed boxing at him. For real he actually did that. Like a douche.

“Then kill yourself.” Mike said. Because the alternative was Mike killing him, and that was frowned upon in this society. “Get out.” Trevor left looking like a kicked puppy, and Mike let out the biggest breath, trying to shake out all the nerves and tension and fucking Trevor.

Now Mike needed a workout and a shower, in that order. He supposed it was his own fault for indulging him. He should have listened to his Grammy years ago and kicked him to the curb. But he was Trevor, they’d been together forever. Shared a childhood, puberty, a brief and fucked up college career. Mike didn’t have a lot of people, he couldn’t really afford to dump anybody, no matter how shitty and useless they were.

With a weary sigh he dumped his work shit and headed for the salmon ladder. It was going to be a long night.

#I don't know how to write short stories #Waiting for the Thunder #chapter 1 #my writing #mine #don't repost please

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