#it was so over for me. that information WRECKED me. christ.

[player1064]

February 2004

WIP asks but it's just the various sections of my happy (???) beville (/angsty carraville) WIP

ohohoho I loooove this section tbh. not sure WHY i love it but I do it's got it all it's got angst it's got fluff it's got gary being pathetic.... beautiful

---

February, 2004.

“Are you at Old Trafford yet?”

“Still in the car, we’re not due out on pitch for warm-up for another hour still.”

On the other side of the car’s back seat, Scholesy is sat slumped against the window, staring out with a bored expression. There’s no music playing – they can never agree on what radio station to tune to, and Gary spends most drives to matches on the phone with Becks anyway. He feels a bit guilty, though, ignoring him the whole drive, even if they have spent all morning together.

“Tell me when you get there, yeah?”

“Becks, I swear, you’re worse than my dad. I’ve only been doin’ this ten years, haven’t I? I’ll give the finger to one of the cameras just for you, how’s that sound?”

Next to him, Scholesy groans.

“Don’t, Gaz,” he says, “you’ll get fined.”

At the same time, down the phone Becks is saying “not sure that’s worth the fine, babe.”

“The two ‘a yous are always ganging up on me, it’s not fair.”

“Tell Scholesy I’m giving him a big wet kiss next time I see him.”

“I’m not tellin’ him that.”

“Is he threatenin’ to kiss me again? Tell him I’ll drop out of England squad next week if he does that.”

“Scholesy says he can’t wait to give you a nice big snog when we get to London on Monday.”

David laughs, pretty and perfect and it makes Gary’s chest ache just hearing it, makes him wish they could just skip the stupid match and get to Monday already.

“Good luck today, Gaz,” he says warmly, “you’ll smash ‘em, I know you will. I love you.”

Gary pulls a face at that, aware that Scholesy is watching him, that he can see his blush creeping up and know exactly what David’s saying to him. These things have always seemed to come so easily to David, it’s baffling. The first time he’d told Gary he loved him, a million years ago, Gary had blinked and said ‘do you fuck’, then spent the next ten minutes scrambling to assure him that he knows, that he knows, that there’s been no lack of affection on David’s part to make him doubt it. That he loves him too.

“Yeah,” he says now, darting his eyes towards Scholesy who looks away, pretends not to be listening. He clears his throat. “You too.”

*

When they walk into Old Trafford, the receptionist at the staff entrance calls for him to wait a second before going through to the dressing room. In the blink of an eye, Gary finds his arms being loaded up with chocolates, and roses, and a stupid little teddy bear with the Manchester United crest on it.

He shuffles into the dressing room awkwardly, struggling to see around the giant bouquet, and just as he’d expected (dreaded) he’s met with teasing cheers and wolf-whistles when he walks in and drops them into his locker.

He snaps his phone open and texts David ‘you are horrible <3’, before looking around the room with a glare and saying “not a fucking word”.

“Look at you, Nev,” Butty says with a grin, because he never just keeps his mouth shut. “You’re more popular than Giggsy, who’d’ve thought?”

Giggsy raises an eyebrow. “Is he fuck, those are obviously just long-distance guilt gifts. I’m the one who actually has a chance of getting laid tonight.”

Gary looks down at the floor, scratches at his head awkwardly. “I think he jus’ doesn’t want me feelin’ bad that we can’t do any of the Valentines nonsense this year.”

He swear he sees Roy lean towards John and mutter “he’s feeling guilty about something, that’s for sure”. But what would that even mean?

*

He should be focused on the game. He’s always focused on the game. Single-minded, that’s him.

Today, though, he can’t stop thinking about what Roy had said, about the concerned look he’d given Becks’ stupid flowers.

Surely, surely he hadn’t meant –

Because why would he even think that?

There’s still a game to win, though, and Gary does try to get on with it. Except that when he dives (yes, he dives, he’s in the penalty box – of course he dives, anyone would) and the City players start yelling at him, he feels everything bubbling up inside him and oh god, the Boss is going to kill him.

He storms back to the dressing room and is tugging off his shirt to go shower when his phone starts ringing, because of course it does. Because, if he was thinking clearly, he’d’ve been worried if it didn’t.

“I was provoked, Becks,” he says when he picks it up, skipping the greeting.

“You silly cow,” Becks replies softly, like he’s not disappointed. Like Gary’s not just put the cup at risk. “No you weren’t. What’d you go and do that for?”

“He –”

“Gaz, that’s a three match suspension.”

Gary’s been a professional footballer for ten years now, he knows perfectly well that he’s going to get a three match suspension, so he’s not sure why Becks feels the need to remind him of it. It’s not the sort of thing he’d rub in his face, when he knows that Gary’ll be getting the hairdryer treatment any minute now. When he knows it’ll mean –

Oh, god.

International break starts on Monday.

“Becks,” he says desperately, apologetically. “Becks, I forgot – I weren’t thinkin’, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, it doesn’t have to mean – I can still come down, with the lads. I know I can’t train, but – but I can still come. We can still –”

“Gaz.” David sighs. “D’you really think the Boss would let you do that?”

Fuck.

*

“Boss,” he says, voice wobbly, “Boss, please. Double my fine, or – or bench me, but please. Just one day, not even that – half a day, and I’d be back for the next morning’s training.”

It feels a similar situation to the one he’d been in last summer, stood alone in front of Sir Alex’s desk with tears streaming down his face and a snotty nose, begging please, Boss, you know how stubborn he can be. He is sorry, it’s been eatin’ him up, he just doesn’t want to look stupid if he apologises and you sell ‘im anyway. You know how much he respects you. This is all he’s ever wanted. Boss, please.

“Gary,” the Boss says slowly, “actions must have consequences.”

I don’t – I can’t do this without him, I’m not good enough. You know I’m not good enough. I’ll do anything. Please, Boss, please.

He remembers the way Sir Alex had looked at him over his glasses, that long calculating stare of his. You assured me this… attachment of yours wouldn’t get in the way of your game.

“Okay,” he says now with a grim nod. “You’re right.” His voice cracks as he talks, so he blinks a few times and repeats “you’re right, I know. I jeopardised the match. I’m sorry.”

Sir Alex nods, and looks down at the papers on his desk, starts shuffling through them. This, Gary knows, is his cue to leave. They’re done here.

I know you don’t owe me anything, but it’s – it’s not just for me. It’s the team, we need him. He’s special, don’t – I know it’s been difficult between you two, but can’t you fix it? If anyone can fix it, surely you –

– You only get this one favour, Gary. Do you understand?

I’ll do anything, just – please. Please don’t sell him.

A one season loan. It’s an excellent opportunity, the chance to experience a new league, a new style of play. Gives our less senior players a chance to earn more minutes. Then he’ll come back, and we’ll all be stronger for it.

And you promise he’ll come back?

I promise he will be given the option. That’s my only offer, lad, not many people could get away with asking this of me.

#when i learnt that after becks went to madrid he and gary would talk on the phone before and after EVERY utd match #it was so over for me. that information WRECKED me. christ. #beville #wip asks

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Promptober: Day Twenty Five

Eddie Munson x fem!reader 997 words.

Eddie only brought his bike out when the summer left Hawkins and the heat wasn’t as intense. You’d been surprised, that first fall, as he took you to Wayne’s garage, beaming with pride as he pulled away a piece of tarp to reveal a motorbike. 

It was hardly new, a little rough around the edges and less than shiny, but it was all black and silver, a little dangerous looking, exactly like the boy. 

You’d asked him why he kept it hidden away over the hottest months, a pout on your lips ‘cause Eddie was caressing the chrome like it was his most prized possession and you couldn’t believe he’d kept it a secret. But then he’d pulled out his leathers, a black helmet and piles of gloves. 

“I ain’t wearing this shit when it’s eighty and above, sweetheart,” he’d explained, “ it’d be way too hot for both of us to be comfortable together. And I wanna take you way out to the lakes, yeah?”

You’d baulked, eyes wide and a hand on the front of the bike, all smooth, cold silver that wrapped around the handlebars. “You want me to get on this thing?”

Eddie had merely nodded and grinned. 

Which is how you found yourself straddling the seat, toes barely brushing the ground but Eddie promised it wouldn’t fall. Your skirt was hiked up around your thighs to allow more movement and as you got more comfortable, stretching out to grab at the handles, you could feel Eddie’s eyes on you. 

“Perv,” you commented mildly, not really caring in the slightest that his gaze was hot on you, where your legs were spread, where your thighs met the leather of the seat. 

Your comment only made him grin wider, and in the dull, orange light of the garage, you could see the way he gripped the edge of the worktop he was leaning against. 

“You look hot, sweetheart,” he told you, “real fuckin’ hot.”

Your eyes flickered to his, gaze coy, lips curling into a smile. “Yeah?”

Eddie furrowed his brows, all mock seriousness despite the grin that still stayed on his lips and he was slow as he walked towards you. Teasing. “Oh yeah, suits you, babe.”

You knew what he was up to just by the tone of his voice, all sticky sweet and a little rough. He sighed at the sight of you as he stood by the bike, the front of his legs pressed to the cool metal and he cupped your chin with one hand, a thumb pressed to the soft of your cheek. Eddie dropped his voice a little lower, looked at you with those big, brown eyes and asked:

“Gimmie a kiss, huh?”

How tempting. 

You grinned, let Eddie manhandle you, his palm large on the side of your face, his thumb moving to push over the curve of your bottom lip. You nipped at the tip, kissed it better when he tsked. 

“Ask nicely.”

“Me? Nice?” Eddie scoffed, rolled his eyes and tried to hide his smile. 

He couldn’t. It was there, warm and soft and dimples too. Despite the messy curls, the leather, the ink, the rings and chains, Eddie Munson was the nicest boy you’d ever met. 

So you nodded, took his hand from your face and dragged it to your bare thigh, coaxing his fingers up and up and up until-

“Christ baby, you gotta give a guy some warning,” he groaned, jaw slackening as he thumbed over the cotton that covered your cunt, digit pushed to the wet spot that was already forming. 

Eddie looked down at you, eyes darker than usual, lips parted and he looked a little wrecked, just the way you liked him. He ducked his head, bumped his nose against your cheek when you turned and he groaned again, pouting. His fingers kept moving, slow, lazy circles that made you sigh prettily. 

“You still haven’t asked nicely,” you informed him. 

“Please,” he murmured to your cheek, lips dancing across the apple of it as he spoke. “Please, sweetheart, gotta give me a kiss, huh? I’m dyin’ over here.”

You laughed as he pushed into you, hand moving to grab your waist so he could attack you with kisses, smothering your laughter as he finally got what he wanted. 

Eddie’s lips were still hovering over your own as he asked, “you gonna let me take you for a ride?”

You blinked, bit back a grin and pushed his curls out of his eyes. “Eddie Munson, is that a line or do you actually wanna take me out on this thing?”

He beamed, shrugged as if he didn’t already have a plan, his hand trailing back up under your skirt. His lips twisted and his were too bright, playful and excited. 

“Both?”

So he bent you over the side of the bike, breaths huffing hot in the cold, empty garage, your hands slick on the leather of the seat. Eddie was smooth with it, pushing your skirt up over your ass, two fingers pulling your underwear to the side before sliding into you, his jeans pushed messily down his hips, the cold metal of his jacket zip hitting your ass over and over again. 

And when he’d made you come once, twice, you both laughed into a kiss, breathless and dizzy, and then he was pushing a helmet into your hands, sniggering as he pulled a pair of his too long bike trousers up your bare legs. 

“You look adorable,” he told you, knocking a fist gently against the top of your head. It echoed inside of the helmet and you scowled, cheeks pushed together from the cushion inside and Eddie gave you another quick kiss before pushing his own over his curls. 

And then you were outside, leaving Hawkins, heading towards the space between the towns where old quarries hid pretty lakes, the cold wind whipping at your ankles, orange and red leaves a hurricane on the road behind you. 

#eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #stranger things fic #upsidedownwithsteve's promptober

[bizarre-blorbo-bracket]

Round 1 poll 23: Judas Iscariot from the Bible vs Reynard the Fox from mideaval European Folklore

Propaganda under the cut:

Judas Iscariot

so i've always been sort of fascinated with the judas kiss as a thing in the bible. i was just always like dang it's wild that that exists. i would attempt to draw/paint/sketch it constantly in high school and i didn't really know why. the way i learned the name of the garden of gethsemane properly was one time i was feeling extremely faint as one does and as i was gripping my head on the floor of the bathroom, face a few inches from the tile, i just heard gethsemane, gethsemane, gethsemane repeating in my head over and over again. and i was like what the fuck is gethsemane and i looked it up and i was like OH. so fast forward a little little bit and i watch the last days of judas iscariot at a formative teenage year of my life and i am WOWED. i watch that last scene with jesus and judas MANY MANY TIMES. i'm OBSESSED i want to carve it out and eat it. after watching the play in full i show it to my actually catholic friend. she enjoys it. something about judas in that play clicks for me, and suddenly there's this whole context for my relationship with judas that makes a lot of sense to me, a traumatized former catholic. i become a HOUND for all media with judas in it. i am like a connoisseur and archive. i am just obsessed with it. i listen to clown bible in full. it makes me cry every time i listen to it. JUDAS by the reverent marigold WRECKS me because it's explicitly about judas as a scapegoat as an allegory for the trans experience with religion and it is a BANGER. like it's so good. i buy a copy of the script of the last days, of corpus christi by terrence mcnally, of judas by jeff loveness. i listen to several versions of jesus christ superstar in full and i am WOWED i did not expect it to be that good. someone on tiktok says that trans men's vocal chords thicken like cis men's on testosterone but don't lengthen, and that these shorter vocal chords make it easier for us to sing in a strong, natural falsetto. and i think about how jcs is full of really high tenors and briefly i start drawing red lines all over my life like, BOY HAS VISION OF GETHSEMANE AND IS TRANS BECAUSE THE UNIVERSE WANTS HIM TO PLAY A PRINCIPLE ROLE IN JCS??? and it's a brief lapse in sanity that i don't take seriously but one of my favorite jcs jesuses also had a weirdly prophetic vision of himself playing the part in jcs (i'm obsessed with him), and i'm like okay. i don't know what to do with all that information. anyway. i haven't played anyone in jcs and likely never will but i am still very attached to judas as like a mythological figure and symbol. i wrote an essay about him for an essay class that ended up being 19 pages unspaced. prof was warned beforehand that it was going to be long and she was very nice and encouraging about it um so thank god for that. yeah i have the absolute weirdest relationship with judas. and it has only been magnified with each new media and seeing people's various takes on judas as either redemptive/antihero/tragic figure/scapegoat/etc etc etc. currently obsessed with the parallels between him and jesus and him and mary magdalene in jcs. jcs ended up kind of extending the obsession to the three of them. i have a bust of jesus looking so so forlorn in my room. impulse buy. anyway. love him deeply obsessed with him turned me insane i think

Reynard the Fox

I feel like a mega weirdo for finding this medieval archetypal creature so endearing, especially considering the atrocities he commits in the stories he’s a part of. There’s just something so fun about a really old story about a bunch of morally grey animals engaging in shenanigans meant to satirize and mirror our society.

#judas iscarot #bible #reynard the fox #folklore

[lestatslestits]

You May Have My Precious Bones On My Return

Finishing @flashfictionfridayofficial with literally one minute to spare. I cannot overemphasize how un-proofread this is.

The prayer is taken from the Anglican Book of Prayer

Anyways.

After having Jocelyn Knight make up his will for him, Alec Hardy makes one more stop before going home.

Prompt:

By the time he reaches the vicarage he is so short of breath that he has to lean against the doorframe while he waits for his knock to be answered. Reverend Paul Coates is still hastily tying the belt on his robe when he opens the door. His hair is a nearly-blond cloud atop his head. He’s clearly been asleep.

To be fair, it’s two in the morning.

“Alec! What are you—bloody hell, you look wrecked.”

“Language,” Alec Hardy breathes the word out, unable to keep a hint of amusement from his voice. His knees start to give way underneath him and he feels his face tighten into an involuntary grimace. He’s dizzy, astoundingly so, but he hopes he’s got enough proprioception to keep from banging his head against the floor when he goes down.

Instead of hitting the ground, he’s caught in an ungainly manner by a pair of arms around his ribcage. This doesn’t make it easier to breathe.

“I’ve got you,” says a voice that sounds far too close. He feels the arms that are keeping him upright renegotiate their grip on him. Then he doesn’t feel anything.

*

He feels something cool against his left temple. When Alec forces his eyelids open, there’s a solemn and worried face peering down at him. Paul is sponging his face down with a damp cloth. “Are you with me again?”

“How long was I out?” Alec asks. He’s lying on a sofa inside of the vicarage. He makes an attempt to sit up but is forced back down with a hand on his shoulder.

“About three minutes. I’m going to ring for an ambulance.”

“No!” This tiny outburst is enough to leave him gasping for breath. He’s not making a strong argument for himself, he knows. “No ambulances. No hospital. I’m going in soon enough either way, but not tonight.”

“I think you ought to get checked over. Has this happened before?”

‘All the time’ is not an encouraging answer, so instead Alec says, “It’s chronic, yeah. Heart’s gone bad. Got an operation scheduled, got loose ends to tie up first.”

“Loose ends?” Paul is clearly unimpressed. Then he seems to process the intent behind those words and frowns. “You mean—“

“Will’s sorted. I’ve given evidence at the trial, said my piece. Couple more things to take care of, and then it won’t matter what happens.”

Paul looks like he wants to argue, but can’t think of anything to say. So instead he asks, “Does Ellie know?”

“I can’t tell her now. Not with the trial ongoing. She’ll worry, or worse: want to be there. She’s got enough on as it is.”

The reverend heaves an enormous sigh, but seems to understand that his hands are tied: he’ll have to hold this in strict confidence, whether he likes it or not. Alec thinks maybe it’s why he’s come all this way—the walk from Jocelyn’s house had felt like a death march, even with frequent stops in order to try to fill his lungs with enough air to keep up the pace. But Paul will feel obligated not to pass the information on, and he needs someone to know.

This probably isn’t what they mean by “confession.”

“Have you—um—“ the reverend trips over an inquiry that he has no tactful way to voice, “Have you come for absolution before…?”

He considers the question, unasked though it is. “Not really. With luck I’ll have absolved myself of my only regret by the time I go in. Suppose I just needed to say it all out loud. Jocelyn Knight’s done my will. She doesn’t know why. If something—well, just thought somebody ought to know.”

“Ellie ought to know.”

“She’ll find out afterwards. If not from me, then from someone.”

“Christ, you’re stubborn.”

“Are you allowed to say that?”

“I think the Almighty will make an exception when it comes to dealing with you,” Paul says. But he says it with the barest hint of a kind smile, then adds, “Listen, can I pray for you?”

Now it’s Alec’s turn to sigh. “Not sure I believe in it.”

“You don’t have to: I’m good at believing.”

“Alright then.” He watches as Paul bows his head and closes his eyes. He does not mirror the action, just studies the reverend with curiosity as he prays out loud, a supplication he’s clearly committed to memory.

“Almighty God, our heavenly Father, graciously comfort your servant Alec in his suffering, and bless the means used for his cure. Though at times he may be afraid, fill his heart with confidence that he may yet put his trust in you; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” Alec repeats without really meaning to. He bobs his head in silent gratitude as Paul looks up at him. “I should be on my way,” he says, and tries again to rise.

“Absolutely not. If you won’t let me call an ambulance, the least you can do is rest here until daylight. Then I’ll drive you back. I can’t let you wander off, it will keep me from sleeping. And as you know, I’ve already got insomnia.”

Alec agrees to these terms. Paul fetches him a blanket and a glass of water. He says to give a shout if he needs anything. Left alone in the dark and silence, the words of the reverend’s prayer ricochet in his brain and make him uneasy. When he can’t lie still any longer he gets up and paces the floor like a caged animal as minutes tick into hours.

*

When Reverend Paul Coates awakens several hours later, he finds that Alec Hardy has already slipped out of the vicarage and towards whatever awaits him in the coming days. He sighs, lifts another prayer up to Heaven, and prepares to begin his day.

#flashfictionfridayofficial #flash fiction friday #broadchurch #alec hardy #paul coates

[the-firebird69]

Some people said my last oil change I left the drain plug loose, I made ...

This is what the trumpsters are telling each other to do and they're telling it globally and they've been doing it same with hospital stuff all over the world every single one of them is incompetent they're seeing it through our son and I send it with them and they started dying they don't seem to care now the world is getting up on them

Thor Freya

Olympus

I don't want to post what you're saying Trump so I'm not going to and you're a Deadman Trump I'm putting a hit on you you're the lamest person I've ever seen I've never seen the person your age act like this ever as Jerry Chasse senior you are a huge huge thing you couldn't even talk to you and really Mom and Dad could talk to anybody they're very smart that you're an ass you're mean to Mom nobody is mean to Mom that deserves an explanation why you would do that to someone who's not hurting anybody and is valuable or is it just that you're stupid and don't know that she's valuable to your realm and yeah okay

Zues Hera

Olympus

No you're not valuable you're just going around wrecking stuff taking things and losing it to the wrong people causing everyone to fight including your own and you don't have any robot computer that's worth s*** the robots are going

Mac daddy

We see them Eastern hemisphere he's down to about 20% and that's across the board he's been losing his robots the whole time and the Western hemisphere is 25% and he's been losing the robots across the board and the whole time each Funko system has 20% into it and then every time they go there they pull a bunch of robots out too and a d programmed them they have your programs all of them and they go in there and take the robots over and you're trying to rig it all the time and they're killing you Trump and yours furthermore they are reading your facilities and it's a pseudo empire and it's about damn time they're going after all of your basis and bunkers and places of work areas of interest and whenever you call it and the your areas and of influence and they're pulling your people out and they're getting information on you all over the place they've had it and they want to figure out what it is finally in Jesus Christ people are so slow don't you want to ask one question each one of these guys probably knows for Christ's sake it's terribly so stupid even the max are a bunch of lazy s**** they have to stop them it's a lot of work and we have to recruit and I'm going to put this into a legible format

Thor Freya

It sounds very condescending yeah it is it's meant to be you people are really dumb and you're tough to handle cuz you're so stupid doesn't mean you're doing anything to bother us for real you're just bothering her son mostly his wife has to listen to me a bunch of f****** pricks and your knees and your nitpicks and your losers and your f*** sissies and suicidal freaking maniacs you dying all the time cuz we're just saying tomorrow why are you freaking losers so he gets up in the morning and goes out there and gets you killed just like driving around doesn't have to do anything he says it's true cuz we do the killing and we know she's dying for me. Oh you're turning it around okay so your errors are being attacked we expect you to lose 1% of your Force but that's part that would be of the entire populace it'll be 1% out of your 4% off island or so is it giant number I guess we wouldn't be on your knees he has to be down to like one person but really the empire has like this number they're shooting for to get rid of you at it's probably figure out what it is before you keep tossing your own into the fire Trump they know what the percentages and we're pretty close to what it really is they have a percentage

Nuada Arrianna

[leonbloder]

Would Jesus Be Welcome In Our Churches?

As a youth director in various churches early in my career, I did my best to listen to as much Christian music as possible to share some of the better stuff with my students. 

There was a lot of schlocky Christian music then (there still is, to be fair), but I have to say that for the most part, the Christian music scene back in the mid-90s to mid-2000s was far edgier, theologically open, and better sounding than the stuff on Christian radio today. 

Artists like the Newsboys, Audio Adrenaline, Supertones, Jars of Clay, Relient K, and Switchfoot were always on my playlist, as well as serious hard rock bands like Skillet, Chevelle, Demon Hunter, Haste The Day, P.O.D., and As I Lay Dying.  

Sadly, Christian music today has been ground down by the dominant Christian culture to the point that pretty much everything sounds the same. The lyrics are maudlin, sappy, and forgettable. 

I sound like an old fuddy-duddy at this point, I know.   But I thought about all of this today after I saw a song by an artist I've always liked named Todd Agnew.  Todd wrote a song called "My Jesus" that I doubt very seriously would get a lot of airplay on Christian radio in our current culture.  

This line alone would probably keep it off the air: 

'Cause my Jesus would never be accepted in my church The blood and dirt on His feet might stain the carpet But He reaches for the hurting and despises the proud And I think He'd prefer Beale St. to the stained glass crowd And I know that He can hear me if I cry out loud

I must confess when I first heard this song, I wept like a baby.  

I wept partly because I'd spent so much time and energy trying to get the churches where I worked to loosen up and be more welcoming to youth and young adults and partly because I was convicted of my pride and unwillingness to truly love everybody as Jesus did.  

My life in ministry has always been informed by the vision of the church I currently serve: To Love God and Love Everybody.  

I have only sometimes done it well, and I'm still learning what it means, to be fair.  But as I look back on the years I've spent in ministry; I can see how that vision has shaped, prodded, guided, and, at times, completely wrecked me--in a good way.  

As I listened to that Todd Agnew song today, I felt myself tearing up, just like I did the first time.  It brought me back to that wide-eyed, hopeful, hair-on-fire young guy who wanted to change the Church with a bigger vision of what it could be.    

A wise mentor from those days once told me that being able to draw a big crowd wasn't as important to God as making a difference in the lives of a handful of students who knew you loved them and came to know that God loved them more.  

It's easy to forget that sometimes.  And it's also easy for each of us to get stuck in the ruts of our comfortable religion and forget that Jesus never wanted his followers to choose comfort over compassion or traditions over true love.  

Bob Goff once wrote: 

When love has an agenda, it isn't love any more.  It's just another program.  We choose to give away love for no other reason than our recognition that people are worth it.

May those of us who call ourselves followers of Jesus have the courage to do so without any agenda except for Jesus' own, which he related this way: "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength and love your neighbor as yourself."  

May the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you now and always. Amen.  

[holisticsoulhealer]

Flashback Friday - Putting Your Best Foot Forward - A Spiritual Story

From JUNE 8, 2021

I have a couple of foot stories involving healing. They came out of great discomfort for the wearers of the feet. One of them was my mum, who was walking with me on a retail therapy trip and her ankle suddenly gave way. She sprained it quite badly and couldn't walk any more that day. She limped to the car and we got her limping into the house.

She sat and her throbbing ankle was already swelling up quite badly. I placed cooling gel on it, raised it and began performing energy work on it. I simply held it and called in all the guides, ArchAngels, Angels and Beings of Light and Only the Light, Masters of the Universe and became very still.  The swelling began to subside under my hands and the soreness left within a few moments.

I encouraged her to sit a while so that the healing could permeate further.

After some time she was able to walk around as though nothing had occurred. She had experienced sprains before, but they hadn’t healed as quickly by far. They usually took a few days for her. I was happy she had received work from Source energy.

The second story was through a loyal client’s daughter who had a huge healing.

She was an athlete, in her last year in high school, seeking the scholarship in college she had been offered. There was a big game coming up and she had broken her ankle. It had been x-rayed and wrapped. A cast was booked to go on within 48 hours, and she was a wreck. She feared losing her scholarship and her mum brought her to me to see if we could do anything.

She lay down on my massage table and I was first guided to cup her head in my hands, inviting her to let go of any fears or expectations. She began dropping into a more relaxed, slightly meditative state, even though she was still fully in the room and on the table receiving the work.

I was taken to her feet and the ankle that was wrapped. I simply placed my hands over it, called in Christ Consciousness and the whole room filled with white light. She felt it too.

I was asked to invite her to see gold bands wrapped gently around her ankle like strands of gold light. The bands felt warm and healing, the gold felt alchemistic in its reason for being there. She worked with me and Christ to allow the gold bands to do what they were there to do, and I saw the break coming together. I asked her to visualize healing bringing the bone together while the bands pulled it back into balance. We both breathed and visualized it doing its best for her.

When we were finished she wasn’t struggling with walking, although I suggested she stay off it until she saw the Dr to find out if there was anything still left to do.

When she returned to the Dr, he x-rayed again at her prompting and the foot was clear. There was no break or need for a cast. She was able to play her game within a few days instead of several weeks.

She placed her best foot forward with a little more proof that there’s more than we know.

As always, please share this post with anyone that you feel can benefit from it! Please like us on your social media channels and subscribe to our mailing list if you haven't already done so! We are mailing out a monthly newsletter and a recap each week of our blog posts and interesting tidbits! This is how you can stay informed with what is new in the world of The Holistic Soul Healer!!

Love & Blessings,

Ruth

Get personal with your Angels!! Connect with me and see what they have to say!!

BOOK NOW!!

#inspirational #motivational #life coaching #The Holistic Soul Healer #psychic #Ruth Kramer #intuitive guidance #intuitive healing #guided meditation #going within #inner guidance #spiritual teacher #universal consciousness #reiki master #healthy life style #Shamanic Sound Healing #Shamanic Heart Ceremonies #Crystal Grid Healing #Intuitive Birth Chart Reading #Animal Intuitive #Past Life Regression #Entity Detachment Therapy #Spiritual Advocacy #Medical intuitive #Clairvoyance

[agaypanic]

The Fella Part 3 (James Maguire X Quinn!Reader)

Main Masterlist

The Fella Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: The girls found themselves in a bigger mess than they expected, involving exams, a dog, and a priest.

***

“I just can’t get my head around it. The fact that he’s gone.” Erin sniffled as she gazed down at a framed picture of her grandpa and a dog on his lap. “Forever.”

“It’s so sad, it really is. It’s so, so sad, but at the same time, what’s done is done, so let’s crack on.” Clare chugged an energy drink and focused back in on her history book. The girls and James were at the Quinn’s house to study for an exam that was coming up very soon.

“Oh, so sorry, Clare.” Y/n looked up from her book. “Has his sudden, tragic death interrupted your studies?”

“It has a bit, actually.”

“How can you be so heartless?” The girl sniffled. James patted Y/n’s shoulder.

“Don’t cry, Y/n. He’s in a better place now.”

“Unless he’s not.” Michelle paused, looking at her friend before continuing. “Unless he’s gone to hell.”

“Oh, god.”

“You know what, can we talk about something else? This is wrecking my head.”

Y/n looked closer at Michelle, noticing something was off.

“Have you been drinking?”

“My question exactly.” Erin added on.

“Yes, I have.” Michelle declared. “And for future reference, if any of you invite me to a study sleepover again and I’m desperate enough to accept that invitation, there’s a good chance I have a bottle of Pernod in my bag.”

“Jesus, Michelle, it’s like you’re wishing for death.” Y/n sighed before trying to read more text.

“We shouldn’t even have to sit the exam.” Erin stated, still staring at the picture. “On, you know, compassionate grounds.”

“He was a dog, Erin!” Clare shouted.

“Toto was more than a dog, Clare!” Y/n shouted in response. “He was our best friend! They call dogs a man’s best friend for a reason and he was the best of the best!”

“Christ, I feel a bit boak-y.” Michelle groaned as Clare stood up. She made her way to the window and opened the curtains. The girls and James were instantly blinded by bright sunlight.

“Sweet sufferin’ Jesus, it’s the morning already!” Clare paced around the room. “What are we gonna do?”

“Well, maybe we could start with calming the fuck down.” Michelle hissed.

“Calm down? We’re still on William of Orange, Michelle! We haven’t so much looked at the famine!”

“They ran out of spuds, everyone was going ballistic.” Y/n started flipping through pages. “There! We looked at it.”

“Well, I can’t tell my rebellions from my risings.” James commented.

“And who’s fault is that?” Michelle asked. James looked confused. “If your lot had stopped invading us for five fucking minutes, there’d be a lot less to wade through! English prick.”

“As if he could fucking control that, Michelle. How ‘bout you take another sip of Pernod and calm down.” Y/n groaned.

“Way ahead of you.”

“What’s happening to me?” Attention was brought back to Clare who was staring at her shaking hand that couldn’t properly hold her pencil. She finished her energy drink and threw it over her shoulder into a pile of previous cans that she had drank.

“There’s quite a lot of caffeine in those, Clare.” James stated, looking at the pile. Y/n leaned over and grabbed a can.

“Over seventy milligrams per can…” The girl trailed off as she looked up worryingly at her friend. “I’m not exactly sure what a milligram is, but I think you’ve had a lot of ‘em.”

“How many have you had?” James asked. Clare’s eyes darted around the room.

“I don’t know. Five? Twenty three?”

A short silence fell over the room. Y/n looked at the scrambled notes she had taken during the night.

“We’re so fucked.”

The kids packed up, realizing there was no use studying any longer. They retained no information and weren’t even halfway done with the text that was supposed to be covered. The girls and James got dressed and went downstairs into the kitchen, where the Quinn family ate and fought. The fighting mainly came from Y/n’s dad and grandpa.

The fighting stopped as the the kids made themselves known. Grandpa Joe looked at James, who was looking to grab a piece of toast.

“You stay over too, son?” 

James looked up, a little surprised that someone was actually talking to him.

“Yes, I did. That’s correct, sir.” He responded nervously.

“What, in your room?” The question was directed at Erin who was busy eating toast.

“We studied in my room, actually.” Y/n mumbled. The look that Joe had on his face made it seem like he was going to have a heart attack.

“Have you nothing to say about this?” He slightly yelled at Y/n’s father before turning back to her. “Look, love, I know the fella’s gay-”

“I’m not gay.” James interjected.

“Gay or not-”

“Who said he was gay?” Y/n asked.

“He’s still a fella. There’s still a good chance that he’s a rapist. No offence, son.”

Y/n laughed a bit, but stopped when she noticed the looks from bother her grandfather and James.

“Thanks for the concern Granda, but I think I’ll be fine.” She patted James on the shoulder before going to the coffee maker. “If anything, James is probably a fella you can trust the most. He’s not like most fellas, if I’m being honest.”

Y/n’s mum and aunt came into the kitchen, talking about the family dog that had passed. James walked next to Y/n, feeling slightly awkward in the overcrowded kitchen.

“Poor Tonto.” Aunt Sarah sighed.

“Toto.” Y/n corrected as she handed a mug of coffee to James. “His name was Toto, Aunt Sarah.”

“Aye. Nightmare, so it is. The pets are getting it left, right and center at the minute. Maureen Malarkey’s Tigger just passed.”

“We do not utter that woman’s name in this house.” Joe hissed.

“Da, not the bingo thing, still!” Y/n’s mum groaned.

“She’s a cheating old bitch!”

“How can ya cheat at bingo, Granda?” Y/n asked before taking a sip of her coffee.

“Her nephew brought her this pen back from New Jersey, it changes the numbers. I’m telling ya! It’s witchcraft!”

“I’ll hear no more about the magic pen!” Y/n’s mum pointed her spatula at her dad, who sat down with a grumble. She turned her attention to the kids.

“Now, come on, girls, eat up. You’ll need all your energy for the big exam.”

“We’ll need a miracle for the big exam!” Clare whimpered. She was the most bothered about this whole situation.

“Maybe you should drink some water, love.” Y/n said from the her place at the counter. She turned to James. “How many cans did we pick up from that pile?”

“Too many.”

“Mammy.” Erin started sniffling. “What happened to Toto. It’s just hit me so hard. I’m worried it might affect my performance.”

Mary had a sympathetic look for her child.

“Oh, come here, love.” Erin had a sly smile as she got out of her chair and made way to her mother. Mary put an arm around her. “Look, if you fail the exam, I promise you, there’ll be a nice wee plot out there with your name on it.”

***

“It’s abuse! That’s what it is, it’s abuse!” Erin said as she and the girls walked to the bus stop. “I’m ringin’ ChildLine.”

“You can’t ring ChildLine every time Ma threatens to kill you.” Y/n laughed. She was used to her sister’s exaggerated behavior.

“And you’re not alone.” Michelle added. “We’re all going to fail. We’re all going to get our holes kicked and we’re all in the same boat.”

“I don’t wanna be in that boat!” Clare squealed. “I wanna be in a different boat, sailing down a totally different river!”

“It’s not like we wanna be in this boat Clare.” Y/n sighed. James patted her shoulder.

“Guys, all we can do is try our best.”

“Ugh, don’t be such a fruit, James!” Michelle said.

“Oh, my God!” Erin yelled, pointing ahead of the group. There was a familiar dog running down the street. “Look!”

“That looks like Toto.” Y/n pointed out. Her eyes widened in realization. “Oh, my God, he looks like Toto!” She started running after the dog as her friends kept debating whether or  not it did look like him.

“Y/n! Where are you going?!” James yelled after her.

“I’m going after him!”

She heard arguing behind her in the distance. Her friends were worried about being late and how it was just a dog who looked like Toto. As she neared the chapel, her friends started running after her. Y/n opened the door and waited for everyone to catch up.

“Where did he go?” She asked herself as they walked into the chapel. A woman walked towards the group.

“Listen, you!” She startled them with a loud voice and a pointed finger. It was Maureen Malarkey.

“Yes, Mrs. Malarkey?” Erin responded nervously.

“You give that grandfather of yours a message from me. You tell him to keep his bloody mouth shut about my pen!”

“Yes, ma’am.” Y/n nodded.

“And I want my baking tray back!” The old woman hollered as she broke the group apart to leave the chapel.

“Of course.” As she left, Clare sped to the front of the chapel and kneeled in front of a statue of Mary.

“Trying to butter up the big woman.” Michelle muttered as she and the group followed Clare.

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou-” Clare prayed and Michelle groaned.

“Oh, now you’ll definitely pass!”

“It’s worth a try!”

That was all that the girls needed to kneel beside Clare and pray as well. Michelle said her prayer but was soon interrupted by Clare exclaiming that she saw the statue smirk.

“Big M?” Y/n asked.

“Aye. She just smirked at me.”

“That caffeine is really doing it to you.”

“Jesus, me too!” Michelle yelped. “She just smirked at me, too!”

“Why isn’t she smirking at me?” James asked.

“She’s not smirking at anyone, James.” 

“I just saw it, too!” Orla egged on. “The holy smirk, thanks be to God!”

“You’re imagining it.” Erin rolled her eyes.

“Three of us saw it, Erin. How do you explain that?” Erin pointed at each girl and gave a simple reason for why they were seeing this smirk.

“Sleep deprivation, Pernod, delusional personality disorder.” Y/n gasped. “Not you too, Y/n.”

“No, no, no, not that. The dog.” The girl pointed upstairs where she heard the pitter patter of fast and small feet. The sisters got up and raced to the stairs. When they reached the dog, they laughed.

“It’s just uncanny, it really is.” Y/n commented. “He looks exactly like Toto.”

“Aye, he really does.” 

The dog looked at the girls who looked straight back at him. Then he started to do something unspeakable.

“No, no, no, no!” Y/n and Erin whispered as the Toto clone started to do his business.

“Have a bit of respect, God.” Y/n hissed.

“No way!” One of the girls yelled from down below. Y/n and Erin leaned over the balcony to look at their friends.

“What is it now?” They groaned.

“She’s crying!”

“She’s crying real tears!”

The sisters looked at each other worryingly.

“Shit.” Erin hissed as they raced back down the stairs and to the statue. Something was definitely running down Mary’s face, but it wasn’t tears.

“Oh, no, this is so bad.” Y/n whispered.

“I said we needed a miracle and, behold! We have been given one!” Clare laughed lightheartedly.

“This isn’t a miracle, Clare.” Erin responded.

“Far from it.” Y/n added on.

“The exam!”

“Fuck the exam.” Michelle said before giving a quick apology to the weeping statue.

“Listen…” Erin started.

“This is huge, Clare…” Michelle said.

“The thing is…” Y/n spoke.

“Do you really think they’re gonna make us sit an exam after seeing this?”

“You may have a point.” Clare responded.

“Of course I have a point! We are the motherfucking children of Fatima, people!”

***

The girls and James sat in Sister Michael's office. She was on the phone talking about the apparition that the children had seen that morning. Y/n and Erin felt nervous, for they knew the truth about this “apparition” and just didn’t know how to tell the others.

“Sister, priest is here.” A woman came in briefly to notify Sister Michael about the priest who was called to talk to the girls about what they had seen.

“Just a moment, ladies.” Sister Michael stood from her desk and went through the door to get the priest. Erin got the group’s attention as soon as she left.

“Listen, girls, before this goes any further, before we talk to this priest. There’s something Y/n and I think you all need to know.”

“Come in, Father.” Sister Michael held the door open for the priest she had called. Erin paused, seemingly in a daze.

“Should I tell them, Erin?” Y/n asked in a whisper.

“Fuck me.” Michelle said. It seemed everyone except Y/n, Clare, and Sister Michael was enamoured with the man who walked into the room.

“I like his shiny hair.” Orla said.

“So do I.” James nodded. “I really like his shiny hair.”

“What was she gonna say, Y/n?” Clare asked the girl. Erin spun around quickly.

“Nothing. Ignore me. Forget it.”

“Hello, children.” The man finally spoke, sitting on Sister Michael’s desk.

“Hello, Father.” The children responded. The priest gave out a short laugh.

“Please, call me Peter.” He and everyone else ignored the eye roll from Sister Michael. “Now, this is just going to be a very relaxed, informal chat. And I don’t want you to think of me as a priest, think of me as a friend. So, before we begin, do you guys have any questions for me?”

“Is that your real eye color or are they contacts?” A girl asked.

“These are my real eyes. Anyone else?” James raised his hand. “Yes, James.”

“Is that a firm hold gel you’re using there?”

“It’s a mousse.”

“And where do you-”

“Hair and Flair.”

“Oh! I didn’t realize!”

“They do a men’s range, yes.”

“What is happening?” Y/n whispered to Clare as the other girls tried to ask Peter more questions. Peter soon silenced them and rephrased his question.

“Ok, does anyone have any questions about what happened in the chapel this morning?” Everyone said no. “Ok then. So you claim you saw our blessed lady’s features change, is that right?”

“The Virgin Mother smirked at us, Peter, that is correct.” Michelle nodded.

“I see. And after that, the statue, well, you claim it started weeping.”

“You’re saying ‘claim’ a lot, aren’t ya, Peter?” Y/n narrowed her eyes at the man standing in front of her. She acted as if she didn’t know for a fact that it was a false claim.

“I’m not here to make any judgments. I’m just trying to get the truth, that’s all.”

“You think we’re lying, don’t you?” Erin asked.

“Of course not.”

“I do.” Sister Michael said from her chair.

“But sometimes, we want to believe in something so much that we willingly deceive ourselves.” Peter continued. “I mean, I know I’ve been guilty of that in the past. I wanted a sign so badly that it drove me to distraction, because it is the question we all want the answer to, isn’t it? I mean, does God exist?” Peter started to stare off into the distance in thought. He started talking to himself.

“I mean, does he exist? Does he? Or is your whole world built on a lie, Peter?”

“Peter?” Sister Michael brought back the man’s attention. He nodded in understanding and continued.

“Directly before the weeping, can you remember what you were doing? What you were talking about?”

“I remember that James was being a dick.” Michelle answered. Sister Michael scolded her and she shrugged. “I don’t like to use that word, Sister-”

“Oh, sure you don’t.” Y/n commented.

“But it’s so hard to describe James any other way, ‘cause he’s just such a dick.”

“James isn’t a dick.” Y/n said.

“Really?” James asked, in somewhat disbelief.

“I don’t think you’re a dick, James.” Peter said.

“Really?” He asked again, in even more disbelief.

“Really. And you know who else doesn’t think you’re a dick?” Peter pointed upwards. “Our Lord.”

“How do you know Our Lord doesn’t think he’s a dick?” Michelle asked.

“Our lord doesn’t think anyone’s a dick.”

“I very much doubt that.”

“But it’s the truth.”

This started a somewhat long debate between some of the girls and Peter. They named of people who were definitely dicks and Peter did nothing but deny. Eventually, he got tired of this discussion and got everyone back on track.

“Ok!” the six of you attending chapel, praying together, would that be a typical morning?”

Michelle laughed.

“Very good.”

“He’s not joking, Michelle.” Clare said. Michelle scoffed.

“Oh, Christ, fuck no. We were just following that stupid dog.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The dog has nothing to do with it.” Y/n spoke quickly.

“Y/n and Erin’s dog died recently and Y/n saw one that sort of looked like him a bit.”

“The dog’s irrelevant.” Erin said.

“She followed after him and we followed after her.” Michelle continued, getting occasional interruptions from Erin.

“The dog and the statue are unrelated.”

“And he led us to the chapel.”

“The dog led you to the chapel, Y/n?”

“The dog isn’t important!” Erin yelled.

“Maybe it is.” Peter turned back to Y/n. “What if this dog you saw, Y/n, what if it didn’t simply look like your dog? What if it actually was your dog?” Y/n laughed nervously as Peter got closer to her.

“Ok, sure, maybe. But as we mentioned earlier, he’s dead. Toto’s dead. Ma saw him get hit by an army Land Rover and buried him in our back garden, so it probably wasn’t Toto that we followed.”

“A beloved animal returning from the dead, now, we’ve seen this before.” Peter said as he grabbed his bible and started flipping through it.

“Where the heck have we seen that before?” Y/n asked.

“Ghost dog.” Orla commented.

“No, not ghost dog. Resurrected dog!” Peter put down the bible and got close to Y/n again. “Don’t you see? Toto was sent back to lead you to that chapel! To that statue!”

“Why would he do that?” Y/n asked.

“Because you’re special, Y/n. You have been chosen.”

***

It was weird how quick things had escalated. Y/n, Erin, and Orla were brought to the Quinn’s house to talk to the family about the resurrected dog. Y/n’s mum and Sister Michael felt like they were lying, but Peter had a very easy, logical, and sane solution to this.

Dig up Toto’s grave.

Erin immediately volunteered herself, her sister, and her cousin. She knew Toto was still in his grave and didn’t want to think about the consequences from this realization. The girls were digging in the ground as Michelle, James, and Clare came to them through the gate.

“It is mental out there.” Michelle laughed. “Everybody’s talking about it! We’re basically celebrities now.”

“This is getting to be too much, Erin. I think I might crack soon.” Y/n was going to continue but paused after getting a good look at James. “What are you wearing?” 

“What did I say? You look like a fucking ball bag.” Michelle scolded. James looked he tried to become Peter, but it didn’t work out too well.

“Your hair’s all funny.” Y/n commented.

“I just put a bit too much mousse in it, that’s all.” James blushed in embarrassment.

“It was piss.” Erin said out of no where. Everyone paused, except Y/n who kept digging.

“What was?” Clare asked.

“The tears on the statue. I actually have good reason to believe they were… actually dog piss.”

“No! You’re not serious!”

“Deadly serious.” Y/n confirmed.

“Sweet and gentle Jesus!” Michelle groaned.

“I mean, that sort of makes sense.” Clare realized. “I’m not even sure I saw her smirk anymore. I’ve had a lot of caffeine.”

“Aye, you definitely did, Clare.” Y/n laughed nervously.

“I definitely didn’t see her smirk. I was lying, so…” Michelle trailed off with a shrug.

“Excellent.” Erin said with an eyeroll.

“We were gonna tell you all later, but then Peter showed up.” Y/n stopped digging and looked at her friends. “And I’m gonna be honest, he kinda scares me. I felt weird when he called me special.”

“I wish he said I was special.” Erin sighed.

“He also said Toto had been resurrected, so we should take his shit with a pinch of salt.” Y/n said with a shrug.

“Aye.” Erin got back on track. “And now he’s talking about digging him up, and when he does, he’ll realize that Toto has not in fact been resurrected.”

“He’ll realize that Toto is just dead. Very, very dead, and we’ve all been talking shite.” Y/n sighed. “I think we should tell the truth.”

“I agree.” Clare nodded.

“No fucking way!” Michelle said. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And this is only the beginning. The Derry Journal are on their way round. They say we can make page five.”

“Erin, tell her!” Clare demanded.

“We could tell the truth, but I sort of like have Peter around, so…”

“James!” Y/n yelled. 

“I have a slight concern.” He said. “The truth might affect my friendship with Peter.” Y/n stood up in frustration.

“You don’t have a friendship with Peter.” She said.

“Yes, I do! We have a lot in common, Y/n?”

“Like what? Apart from the fact that apparently you two now share a closet!”

“Like the fact that we’re both very spiritual. But mainly the fact that he doesn’t think I’m a dick, and neither do I.”

“God, you’re really starting to act like a dick right now.” Y/n got back down and started digging again.

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

Y/n soon reached the box that Toto’s body was put it. She picked it out of the ground and started to stand. 

“Right, me and Erin will go stash him somewhere and the rest of you fill the hole.”

“Open, the box, Y/n!” Peter’s sudden shout startled the group.

“Jesus!” She yelped, hugging the dirty box close to her.

“Yes, he is with us. Do not be afraid, child.”

Y/n sighed and sat back down, putting the box on her lap. She knew the truth would come out eventually. She pulled off the top of the box and heard everyone around her gasp.

“Listen, we can e-” Y/n looked down at the empty box. Strange, it was empty. “Oh… Actually, I can’t. I can’t explain that at all.”

Peter laughed in relief.

“Thanks be to God!” He fist pumped the air and looked to the sky. James repeated the action and the phrase.

Everyone moved into the house, still in disbelief about the empty box Y/n had pulled from the ground. As Peter urged everyone to pray, Mary excused herself and went into the hall. Feeling suspicious about her mother’s behavior, Y/n followed quietly. She pressed her ear up to the door and heard her mother’s slightly muffled voice.

“It is vital you keep a low profile for a bit. Do you hear me, Malarkey?” Y/n opened the door and saw her mum hang up the phone, obviously startled. “It was nobody.” She said quickly.

“You could’ve waited until I asked.”

“How can I get peace, Y/n? Get back inside.” Y/n closed the door behind her as she stepped into the hall.

“Why are you calling Maureen Malarkey? Granda says we’re not allowed to speak to her.”

“Oh, that… That’s all blown over now.” Mary waved off. Y/n opened the door a smidge and called out to the living room, still maintaining eye contact with her mother.

“Maureen Malarkey!”

“Don’t you mention that lowdown, deceitful, cheating old witch!” Joe yelled as Y/n slowly closed the door. She stepped closer to the phone.

“Mammy, why were you ringing her?”

“It’s none of your business.”

Y/n shrugged, grabbing the phone.

“Fine. I’ll ask her myself. I can just redial.”

“It was only her answering machine, she won’t answer you!” Y/n shushed her mother and pressed the phone to her ear. As the answering machine played, Mary tried to get Y/n to hang up.

“Hello, I’m sorry to miss your call. If you’d like to leave a message for Maureen-” Maureen was cut off by some barking in the background. “And Toto, we’ll get back to you as soon as we can.”

Y/n was in disbelief as she put the phone down. She looked at her mother.

“You gave away Toto? To Maureen Malarkey?”

“Wee Tigger had just passed. She was lonely.” Mary tried to reason, but Y/n had realized something.

“She was there. Maureen Malarkey was at the chapel. That dog I followed was Toto.”

“It’s all for the best, honey.”

“You staged his death. Erin and I thought we’d lost him.”

“Well, you did. We’re not taking him back.”

“What?”

“Ah, come on. He’s a shit dog.”

“Toto was not a shit dog. And do not bring up Gypsy. You can’t compare every animal that comes across ya to the dog you had when you were five.”

“I can, and I will.”

The hall was silent for a moment.

“You’re not gonna tell your granda, are you?” Mary asked her daughter. Y/n shrugged.

“I’m gonna need some time to think about that.”

***

Y/n didn’t tell Joe, but she told Erin the first chance she got. They both couldn’t believe what their mum had done. Y/n knew that she wouldn’t tell anyone else, but she knew Erin would spill to someone.

When the Derry Journal came by, Y/n stayed out of frame. She didn’t want to be part of the lie anymore after finding out the whole truth. Erin wasn’t the same, as she was posing front and center for the camera.

After a while Erin ran to Peter, who was hanging out a bit down the street. Y/n watched as Peter talked on and on before being interrupted by Erin. By the look of shock on his face, Erin told him the truth about Toto and Mother Mary’s tears. Peter started walking down the street and Y/n and James followed. Y/n went to Erin to comfort while James went after Peter. The sisters could hear him in the distance.

“Peter, wait. I’ve got the most amazing news. I’ve had a calling. I’ve decided to follow in your footsteps. I’ve decided to serve God.”

“Don’t be such a dick, James.” That was the last thing Peter said before leaving. James stood in shock for a bit before turning back. When he reached Y/n and Erin, he turned back around and the three watched as the man disappeared from view.

“I’m not a dick.” James looked down at Y/n. “Right?”

Y/n put an arm around his waist and her other around Erin’s shoulders. James put his arm on Y/n’s shoulders and Erin slumped into her sister.

“Only a little.”

~~~

TAG LIST: @mistahjsfunnygirl @etherealdisneyvillainness @siriuslysmokin @raggedyoldwitch @drrygirls @regretthatsme @neenieweenie @allexiiisss @drmeghanjones @eli-com @winterwidow27 @ilovespideyyy @maurensandlulligan

DM ME OR SEND IN AN ASK IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED OR REMOVED FROM THE FELLA TAG LIST!

#derry girls #derry girls x reader #james maguire #james maguire x reader #agaypanic

[sweetbitterimpossiblecreature]

A Brief And Concise Summary Of Is Wrong With The ACOTAR Series

I think we can agree that a lot of ACOTAR is pretty iffy. Consider this a very brief refresher.

What's Wrong With Feyre/Rhysand (juxtaposed against Feyre/Tamlin)

Rhysand drugs and sexually assaults her in Book 1

This is "for her own good". Because he "has no choice". Despite the fact that, from what we know of the plot, Amarantha thinks that Clare Beddor was the one Rhysand was diddling, and is only interested in Feyre because Rhysand, "her" man male, has taken an interest in her.

If we extrapolate from this we can figure that Rhysand is the one directly putting her into danger.

Now, let's be clear: drugging someone is bad. Sexually assaulting someone is bad. One could argue there were extenuating circumstances. But if, in such a situation, what your mind goes to is "I know, I should assault this person... for their safety" I have questions about your moral qualities. There were a million things he could have done. He could have done whatever he did to Clare - that is, remove her ability to feel any pain - easily. He could have helped her escape. Under The Mountain, he - while still there unwillingly - has a lot of power, as Amarantha's side piece. Maybe this would have resulted in him being punished- however, he is hundreds of years old and a badass motherfucker, and she is a nineteen year old human girl.

Now, onto Tamlin. Obviously not a lot of people really ship F/T anymore after ACOMAF, because compared to F/R, it's boring. I read another person's post about it, which was very enlightening: they said that Feyre's personality is essentially a mirror. When she is with Rhysand, she's snarky and malicious- because she is "bouncing off" his energy. When she's with Mor she's super feminist and "in awe of her strength". On the other hand, Tamlin is kind of an empty character. He's a pretty boy with anger issues, which should be more interesting than it is. SJM manages to make him bland. Because Feyre has nothing to bounce off of, (a lot of this is from the person's post), she and Tamlin together is mainly just him introducing her to his world.

What Tamlin Does: prevents a skinny twenty year old from going on dangerous missions with him and combat-trained soldiers, accidentally blows up a room with her in it, and, at the end, prevents her from leaving the house.

This is not a Tamlin apologist post. Obviously it was really fucking gross of him to do that, and their relationship was toxic. However, a lot of his abuse stems from their inability to communicate, as well as own negligence. He does not knowingly and purposefully sexually assault her or rape her mind. And tbh, leaving a girl without combat training at home while he goes on missions with a bunch of muscled sentries is... kind of reasonable?

Again: not a Tamlin apologist post. It was abuse. However, if Rhysand is "allowed" to sexually assault, mind-rape, and drug Feyre "for her own safety", why is Tamlin demonized for preventing her from leaving his mansion "for her own safety"?

Another pertinent point: Rhys is never punished for sexually assaulting her. It is brushed off as part of his "mask" or that his hand was forced. Jesus Christ my dudes, his hand was not forced under her skirt. If he has to maintain his gross rapist abuser tyrant oppressor mask... why? Who did that benefit beside him? None of his actions remotely helped Prythian. They were done solely for his buddies - five people safe in a rich hidden city - and no one else, which is explicitly stated.

Finally, the power dynamic is fucked up. Feyre is less than twenty five years old. Rhysand is 500. There is a tendency in fantasy romance to romanticize a centuries year old man with a young girl, because the man does not show symptoms of age, and so it is easily ignorable. However, can we just briefly acknowledge how fucked up it is? Rhys is over five times older than Donald Trump, Harvey Weinstein, Jeffrey Epstein, and other known predators/abusers. She is twenty. That is really fucking gross. She is in a vulnerable position and he takes rampant advantage of that.

If he had wrinkles, liver problems, and erectile dysfunction, more people would acknowledge it.

Let's be clear: I'm not saying writing a book with an uneven power dynamic is automatically bad. For example, in The Locked Tomb series, which is in my opinion THE BEST FANTASY SERIES THAT HAS GRACED THIS EARTH (lol i'm starting fires), one main character Harrowhark Nonagesimus is in a position of power over Gideon Nav, the other main character. However, this is not glossed over or romanticized. Gideon resents Harrow for this- there is a relationship of mutual antagonism, fraught with unwilling familiarity and intimacy from growing up together. They are roughly the same age. While there is a certain power dynamic (in that world, there is a dynamic of necromancer and cavalier, i.e. sorcerer and sword) the "empowered" character (Harrow) emphatically respects her and does not abuse this power, although both would of course deny this, and she does make a show of threatening and being aloof. In short, while Gideon obeys her, Gideon also has power over Harrow, and the idea of what is essentially slavery is not romanticized.

Feyre Doesn't Face Any Consequences For Her Own Actions

Let me present a radical notion: a guy preventing you from leaving his house does not justify completely fucking ruining his country and harming the people inside it.

In other words: Tamlin does not deserve what she did to him.

I know that sounds iffy. We're conditioned to think that if someone is an abuser, then they are the scum of the earth, they deserve to die, torturing/murdering/doing anything to them is completely A-OK. However, here's another radical notion: someone harming you does not justify you doing worse.

Obviously, the effects of psychological abuse can cause you to hurt other people (see: Nesta), but Feyre deliberately and maliciously (oh, God, that insufferable POV of her in Spring Court; she reads like a cartoonish Disney villain) dismantles his country. She uses sexual manipulation (Lucien), torture (causing the sentry to be whipped), and mind-rape (who didn't she do this to? lol).

A summary of the entire first half of ACOWAR: "It smelled like roses. I hated roses. For this capital offense against my olfactory system, Tamlin and the entire Spring Court deserved to burn in hell. I knew exactly what I was doing. I smiled at him sweetly: no longer a doe, but a wolf. He didn't see my fangs.............." *aesthetic noises*

Man. I'm starting to think SJM had a horrible experience at a Bath & Body Works and took it out on the rest of us. Don't do it, Sarah!! I know Pink Chiffon and Triple Berry Martini are way too strong, but don't take it out on an innocent population!!

She steals from Summer Court (there are, yk, other solutions to theft. Like maybe asking politely) and ruins Spring Court. Her boyfriend - yeesh sorry, MATE - does nothing while a dozen Winter Court children are murdered.

Now: moral ambiguity is not automatically bad. Again using The Locked Tomb as an example, in the second book (spoiler alert), Harrowhark has a sort of moral ambiguity. She was raised from the beginning to worship the King Undying as God, and so she obeys him without question. Because of this, she commits a lot of crimes in His name: she "flips" - i.e. kills - the life force of planets, and she plots murder (albeit the murder of someone who tried to kill her first). There is no attempt to justify this. There is also no attempt to paint her as a virtuous and yet also badass Madonna figure. She is desperate, plagued with the "wreck of herself", and the book clearly displays her moral pitfalls. While her POV is of course colored by her mindset, it also is limited by her lack of information, and we as readers can acknowledge that.

BACK TO ACOTAR: Feyre is seen by everyone as gorgeous, formidable, and essentially perfect. Rhys sees her as flawless, "made for him", wonderful, beautiful, blah blah blah. (THEY ARE SO BAD FOR EACH OTHER; THEY EXCUSE AND GLORIFY EACH OTHER'S CRIMES, IT'S SO BAD, GUYYYS). Tamlin is insanely batshit in love with her, or whatever. To the Night Court she's the High Lady. In this way she personifies the Mary Sue character. (Excerpt from the TV Tropes page on Mary Sues: "She's exotically beautiful, often having an unusual hair or eye color, and has a similarly cool and exotic name. She's exceptionally talented in an implausibly wide variety of areas, and may possess skills that are rare or nonexistent in the canon setting. She also lacks any realistic, or at least story-relevant, character flaws — either that or her "flaws" are obviously meant to be endearing. She has an unusual and dramatic Back Story. The canon protagonists are all overwhelmed with admiration for her beauty, wit, courage and other virtues, and are quick to adopt her as one of their True Companions, even characters who are usually antisocial and untrusting; if any character doesn't love her, that character gets an extremely unsympathetic portrayal." Sound familiar?)

There is the Ourobous scene. And yet, paradoxically, while presented as an acknowledgment of her flaws, it is in fact a rejection of them. She sees her own brutality... and instead of recognizing that she has these deep, deep moral flaws and realizing that she needs to grow and be better, she in fact "accepts" them.

Guys: Self love means: "I'm important to me, so I'm going to get a massage today after work", or "heck, why not splurge on some expensive lotion, you only live once" or "you know what? I had a tough day today. I'm going to get that strawberry cupcake". SELF LOVE DOES NOT MEAN "oh, I accept all the war crimes I have done, I love myself". LOVING YOURSELF DOES NOT MEAN ABSOLVING YOURSELF OF ALL WRONGDOING.

It's this refusal to acknowledge wrongdoing that is so grating about ACOTAR. It's so goddamn one-sided. And you can tell that after Book 1, SJM decided to completely change the trajectory simply because of how jarring Book 2 reads compared to the first one.

Also: Feyre is a very, very young girl (compared to the other ruling fey) who did not know how to read for the majority of her life. She has no experience whatsoever in politics. Her being High Lady is not a win for feminism.

Rhysand: He Sucks

First, he is 500 years old. He should be written as such, not as some 20 year old virile frat boy feminist. Fantasy is all the more compelling for its elements of realism, which is a concept that SJM does not appear to grasp.

Second of all, his morals are absurd. He is written as the Second Coming of Christ, as someone who can do no wrong, ever, and his flaws only serve to make Feyre love him more. Anything shitty he does is written as part of his "mask" and she can See Beneath It and knows that it "hurts" him to maintain this "mask".

Fellas, WHY DOES HE HAVE TO MAINTAIN THIS MASK???? There is no reason for it. If A) he does not give a shit about Court of Nightmares (we'll get back to that), only about Velaris, and B) Velaris is hidden/protected from the world, what is he pretending for?

It would not hurt him politically to be seen as someone who cares about his country.

"Pretending" to be "Amarantha's whore" does not in any way shape or form benefit the macro-world that is Prythian. In Amarantha's name, he commits atrocities. He commits war crimes; he systemically oppresses entire societies. It doesn't even really benefit Velaris, because Velaris is already hidden.

Let me put this in a real-world perspective. This would be like if Donald Trump was suddenly like: "I know I was a shitty president but IT WAS ALL PART OF MY MASK, WHICH WAS TO PROTECT THIS MICROCOSM OF PRIVILEGED PEOPLE THAT I CARE ABOUT". Like: okay? Sorry, or whatever, but I don't actually give a shit. What about the parents of the children who died? What about Clare Beddor? What about the people who were held in slavery, murdered, tortured?

Rhysand: omg it sucks that my cousin Mor was oppressed by this toxic misogynistic culture from the Court of Nightmares.

Also Rhysand: lol whatever, who gives a shit about Court of Nightmares. They all suck. They meanie. Lol what did you say? That there might be other girls just like Mor who are oppressed by this system? Lol whatever. I can't do anything, I gotta maintain my Mask. I gotta sit on this throne and show the entire Court that not respecting women is completely okay.

In summary: by parading Feyre around as his "whore" (!!) he demonstrates by example that it is completely okay for the Court of Nightmares to abuse their women.

A good ruler cares about all his people. Rhysand cares about a tiny tiny fraction of his people: those who were fortunate enough to be born into Velaris.

God, I'm exhausted. Onto Nesta:

The only character who successfully breaks the Mary Sue effect Feyre exerts on her people is Nesta. Her POV for the first half is a joy to read.

Obviously it sucks that Nesta was a huge bitch to Feyre for the beginning of her childhood. However, it was wrong for Rhysand to threaten her- he is a man male with a huge insane amount of power, and it is not okay for him to threaten to bring the brunt of it down on a young girl because she was a bitch to his girlfriend.

I've seen a lot of discourse on the morality of F/R sending her out of Velaris. Here is my two cents:

It was okay for them to cut her off of their money. If they don't want to enable her self-harm, that is their choice. Again, it's their money, even if it wasn't fairly earned (Rhysand born into an enormous fortune).

It was not okay for them to banish her from Velaris with the implication that she was an embarrassment. Let me explain.

If Rhysand and Feyre are talking to her as sister/brother-in-law, then that is that. They have the complete right to express disapproval and try to help. However, they should not be using their royal privilege against her.

If they are talking to her as ruler to subject, then they have the power to banish her from the city. However, a ruler would not give a shit about a random subject getting drunk and having sex. So, they should not be talking her about her problems as a ruler to subject.

I've heard it compared to her being sent to rehab. However, rehab is a system designed to help people with certain problems. It has specialized medical centers and involves therapy. Nesta gets her life threatened multiple times. It is not rehab.

In summary: why did SJM inflict this upon us. Throne of Glass was actually good! GAHHH! After the first few books she completely whipped around and introduced the idea of males and mates and fey and that C is actually A and the quality took a huge nosedive. Sigh.

Final horrible but unmistakable truth: The entire ACOTAR series reads like a bad A/B/O fic. I hate to say it but it's true. We're lucky there were no heat cycles. OH WAIT

#anti sjm #anti rhysand #anti acotar #anti acofas #anti acomaf #anti everything #anti feyre #to some extent #mentioned: the locked tomb #mentioned: gideon the ninth #mentioned: harrowhark nonagesimus #anti #strongly anti #pan-int #that's my ao3 tag! #meta #my post

[mynumberfivethings]

I Heard A Rumor...

They land back in 2019, which is a relief, of course, until it’s not. 

“What the fuck even is the Sparrow Academy?” Diego grouses. “Lame ass bird fucks.” he chucks one of his knives across the cramped motel room they’re currently occupying and watches it get lodged firmly into the tacky wallpaper. 

Allison grabs the second knife Diego’s about to fling out of his hand and glares  daggers at her brother. “We’re staying here for free, because I rumored the motel staff into not noticing we exist, so maybe don’t wreck the place?” 

Luther nods in agreement. “Allison’s right, we need to be as inconspicuous as possible right now.” 

Diego rolls his eyes. “Whatever. So Five, now what?” the siblings all go to turn to Five for the answers they’re so desperately seeking, only to be met with the sight of the pseudo thirteen year old laid curled up on one of the beds, sound asleep. 

Luther frowns. “How in the hell can he seriously sleep at a time like this?” 

Allison leans over Fives still form and not so gently shakes his shoulder, jarring him awake. She feels a little guilt upon seeing the initially panicked look on his face as he comes to awareness once again, but damn it, she just wants to see her kid again, is that too much to ask? 

“We need to figure out a way to get back to our timeline.” she tells him, arms folded over her chest.

Five scratches the sleep from his eyes, unaware he’d even passed out in the first place, wincing as he sits up fully on the mattress. “This is our timeline.” he informs all of them, his voice coming out scratchy and thin. God, he’s exhausted. And practically everything aches. 

“What do you mean?” Klaus shakes his head. “In our timeline Ben is very much dead-not some weird emo douche who flocks with a crew of birds-so please do explain how the actual hell this makes any sense.” 

Five sighs, “We changed the linear time of events and the order in which they were supposed to originally occur when we were in the sixties and now this is, for all intents and purposes, our timeline.” 

“Screw that. We need to reestablish our actual timeline.” Allison counters. “I’m not staying in this weird alternate bullshit dimension any longer than we have to-we still have the suitcase, right? Let’s go back to the sixties and fix what we broke. Easy.” 

Five looks at her like she’s lost her mind. Which, she very well may have, he thinks briefly. “Look, I know you want to see Claire again, but you need to consider-”

“No.” Allison interrupts angrily, tears starting to fill her eyes. “You don’t understand at all. How the hell could you? You haven’t had anyone for years, but me? I’ve had people, people I care about-which might be a foreign concept to someone like you, but-” 

“Right,” Five cuts her off in turn, unwilling to linger on the sting her words have caused. “I just need time to-” 

“Time? Haven’t you had enough of that, already?” Suddenly the room is engulfed in complete and utter darkness and the Hargreeves go into high alert, trying to figure out where the hell that voice is coming from. 

Could it be one of the Sparrow Academy heroes? Could they have followed them to the outskirts of town? 

“Show yourself, you coward!” Diego shouts, knives at the ready to attack their intruder. 

A flash of thunder illuminates the room for only a split second before the lights come back on and the Hargreeves find themselves frozen in place, unable to move even a muscle, try as they might. 

Save for one: Five. 

“What the hell...” he mutters, as he watches his siblings struggle to try and move from their positions. 

“Now, Allison.” that same disturbing voice commands. 

Allisons eyes go wide as her mouth begins to move without her permission and out come the words, “I heard a rumor you killed your brothers and sisters.” 

They watch with dawning horror as Fives eyes roll to the back of his head and turn an off shade of blue before he seamlessly plucks Diegos knife from where it was embedded in the wall earlier and faces his family, where they stand, helpless. 

“Shit!” Diego curses, trying in vain to move even a single digit. 

Vanya tries to conjure her own powers but finds that she can’t for some reason. “Five...” she calls out, knowing it’s futile. 

Five blinks over to Klaus first, who yelps in surprise, he barely has time to beg Five to reconsider when Five brings the knife down-

There’s boisterous screaming and panicked yelling and general chaos and Klaus is so sure this is it, that Five has plunged the knife straight into his heart and done away with him, until he opens his eyes and realizes nothing is protruding out of him...

Instead, Five has thrust the knife into his own leg. He’s breathing hard, his trembling fingers still hovering over the hilt of the weapon. 

The disembodied voice booms, “Allison!” 

And Allison curses, but she can’t stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth. “I heard a rumor you stabbed me in the jugular.” 

Fives eyes go pale blue for a second time and without even flinching he takes the knife out of his upper thigh and blinks so that he’s facing Allison this time. 

They can all see him struggling, perspiring, fighting against the rumor as he brandishes the knife in one hand, raising it up above his head slowly. 

Allison tries to let out another rumor, a contradicting rumor, perhaps, the way she had done when Five had been in front of Klaus, but again, the words get stuck in her throat. 

Whatever being is in the room is in total control of her powers... 

Allison feels something collide with her neck but it’s not the sharp sting of a knife she’s expecting. It’s Five’s forearm against her, protecting her from his own attack as he shoves the knife directly into his flesh. He’s panting now, with the force that it’s taken him not to obey her mind control. 

“Kill them.” the voice demands angrily. 

“Fuck you.” Five bites out through clenched teeth. 

As if those were the magic words, the voice departs and the Hargreeves can feel their limbs and move about once again, the tense atmosphere dissipating. 

“Holy shit!” Klaus gasps out, “What the fuck, Jesus!” 

Five grunts as he removes the knife from his forearm and wields it threateningly. “Allison,” he practically begs, his voice strained. “Unrumor me. Now.” 

Allison is more than happy to comply, hurriedly saying, “I heard a rumor you didn’t want us dead.” 

The knife clatters as it hits the floor and Five collapses next to it a second later, exhausted and hurting something awful. 

“Shit,” Diego grabs a bunch of hand towels from the bathroom and kneels down. “We gotta stop the bleeding.” He presses two towels against the stab wound on Fives forearm and Vanya grabs the rest to press against the one on his thigh. 

Five tenses up beneath them, his face scrunching up in pain. “Fuck!” 

“I saw a first aid kit in the lobby by the front desk, I’ll go get it!” Allison calls out, already halfway out the door in her haste. 

“Should we move him to the bed?” Luther asks, hovering over his siblings, concern and anxiety eating away at him. 

Diego curses. The hand towels are drenched in blood already. They need to stop the bleeding and soon, or else. “Elevate his leg.” he orders, letting Luther help Vanya try to stem the bleeding there. “Klaus, go get more towels from one of the maids if you can.” Klaus scurries to obey while the others continue to put pressure on Fives multiple injuries. 

Klaus and Allison arrive back at the motel room almost simultaneously, one with a stack of clean towels in their arms and the other with a giant red box in hand. 

With the extra towels and the supplies from the medical kit, they’re somehow able to stop the bleeding long enough to move Five up to the bed. Luther’s extremely gentle as he transfers him from one spot to the other. 

When it’s time to stitch him up, Vanya and Klaus volunteer to do it. Five is too exhausted, both mentally and physically to pretend to be stoic about any of this. He throws his good arm across his face, shielding his eyes from the light. 

“What do you guys think that was?” Luther asks the room at large, when the silence stretches on too long. 

Klaus doesn’t look up from where he’s threading his needle on Fives thigh, replying dryly. “Yet another person place or thing that wants us dead?” 

Diego scoffs. “It’s gotta be one of those Sparrow fuckheads. Who the hell else? I bet it was that goddamn cube-I still can’t believe dad adopted a fucking cube-Christ.” 

“Whatever it was, it was in control of my powers.” Allison frowns deeply. “When I tried to unrumor Five nothing came out-even when I tried rumoring one of you into being able to move again, so that at least we would stand a fighting chance against our little serial killer over here, nothing.” 

Vanya nods, “Same here. I tried to use my powers but it was like there was some kind of a block or something? Like when I was still taking those prescription pills.” She looks at Fives pale face-what she can see of it, from underneath his forearm-and risks the question, “Five, how did you manage not to....you know...?” As someone who’s had first hand experience being unwillingly rumored by their sister, she knows it’s not something one can easily brush off. 

Quite frankly, it’s a miracle they’re all still breathing... 

“Yeah, I thought for sure we were dead.” Diego walks over and playfully ruffles the top of Fives messy hair. “Good job not making yourself an only child.” he jokes, freezing entirely when in response to his teasing Five lets out what can only be described as a faint whimper. 

“Five?” 

“I almost killed everyone.” Five struggles to get the full sentence out, his breath hitching. “Fuck.” he curses, unable to stifle a sob. It’s a pathetically sad little noise, but it brings the rest of his siblings to his side immediately. 

“Hey,” Allison kneels down beside the bed and places a careful hand on his knee. She feels him flinch underneath her. “You resisted my rumor-twice. Do you know how rare that is? You saved us.” 

Five scrubs his face with the sleeve of his white button up shirt and finally uncovers his eyes. They’re red and puffy from crying, eyelashes wet with his tears. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.” he admits brokenly. “I can’t lose you guys again.” 

“Shit Five,” Diego leans down and briefly touches their foreheads together, the palm of his hand cupping Fives head. “You’re not alone, we’re right here. Not going anywhere.” 

Vanya nods determinedly. “That’s right. You’re stuck with us.” 

Luther towers over the group with a faint but genuine smile. “You know, I always figured you loved us, but I guess I didn’t realize the extent until today.” 

Five sniffles, wiping away more tears he can’t seem to stop from coming. “I would trade you all up for a decent cup of coffee.” he lies, feeling more exposed than he has in literal years. 

Klaus smirks. “Nuh uh, no take backs, Fivey. You loooooove us.” 

Five rolls his eyes but it doesn’t have quite the same effect it normally would, considering the fact that he is still very much crying. 

Allison clears her throat, squeezes his knee again, this time to get his attention, and says, “And we love you. I’d ask if you know that, but honestly I think the answer would make me too sad.” she sighs. “Five, I’m really sorry about what I said before-I was taking all my frustrations out on you and I spoke carelessly, without thinking.” 

Five shakes his head, overwhelmed. “It’s ok.” 

“It’s not.” Allison insists. “Five, I don’t know if anyone’s said this yet, but I think it’s long overdue. I’m so happy to see you again. I missed you, you know. A ton.” 

Five didn’t think he was childish enough to still need to hear such silly sentimental things. He’s not the type, he’s tried to convince himself. It’s not as though he was expecting some big tearful family reunion upon his arrival, after all. So he wasn’t crushed or anything when his return was met with little more than perhaps confused contemptment. He had things to do, apocalypses to stop and all that jazz. 

That’s what he told himself, of course. 

But it doesn’t ring very true now, not when he can’t help but let out another sob. 

He’s too old for this, he thinks, as Diego pulls him gently to his side and Allison grabs hold of his hand. 

He doesn’t need them to love him back, he thinks, as Klaus finishes taping up his wound with a tenderness only reserved for those he loves, as Vanya wraps gauze around his forearm with care. 

He’s been fine all this time, he thinks, even as Luther says, “Good to have you back, Five.” 

It’s good to be back, he thinks, turning his head so that it’s buried against Diego’s shoulder when he lets out another sob. 

.

#tua #long post #fic #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #number five #the boy #hurt/comfort #five gets rumored #hargreeves family #hargreeves siblings

[deadinside-butstill-horny]

The Night We Met

Part Two - Some Of You

Pairing: Javier Peña/ Female Murphy!Reader

Words: 5.3k - again; das pretty spooky.

Summary: Y/N’s and Javier’s actions on the couch are confronted. 

Content Warnings: No smut just yet... Slow burn? Uh 18+ still though cause Javier’s got a filthy mouth and Y/N can’t stop saying fuck.  Angst. Jealousy. Reference to declining mental health. 

A/N: Sorry this took me so long to get out. I’ve rewritten this three times because I just didn’t enjoy the direction it took. It was way too serious and stuffy, so I’ve gone a little playful with it and I’m kinda into it. Anyway, enjoy!

MASTERLIST

AO3

Part One 

You and Steve spent your first night in Colombia talking about everything and anything. Well, to be more accurate Steve did. For the most part your job was to listen and absorb. If Javier minded the Murphy reunion playing out in his living room he was kind enough not to say anything and stay safely behind his bedroom door. 

By 7am your mind was melted, you had already been going on 24 hours without sleep but taking on this amount of information, man, your brain hurt. They’d hung his cat, he’d beat the shit out of some coke head at the airport and to top it all off he’d saved the Colombian president from a terrorist attack. 

"This place is a real resort, huh?"  You mumbled, rubbing your eyes in disbelief.

"It's definitely something alright," Steve lit what you believed to be his seventh cigarette in four hours, it seemed the stress of Escobar had made his chain smoking worse. "You can't stay here, it's not… it's not a good place to be. It makes you different, harder. Paranoid."  Steve didn’t look good at all, his knuckles were bruised and oozing yellow and his eyes had dark rings of purple no doubt from the sleepless nights he’d had recently.

"I'm not leaving until you look like you're not gonna' blow over at the slightest goddamn breeze. I'm a big girl Stevie, I make my own choices." 

He didn't look impressed but he had no response, you knew that the conversation was far from over but with a shrug and a shake of his head he tabled it for a later date. The two of you sat in silence for a moment as you searched for what to say next.

"I need some sleep and a shower. I figured you wouldn't mind me camping on your couch." 

"Uh, my place…" Steve scratched his neck uncomfortable "is a bit of a wreck. I lost my shit after Con, and I haven't tidied in a while-" 

"A shower please and at least 12 hours of sleep then we'll sort it all out," you stood up and wrapped your arms around his shoulders you towered over him from where he sat.

Javier's bedroom door opened and Steve shot up out of your embrace. He rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment at being caught feeling his feelings.

"Javi, I can't thank you enough man... Thanks for looking out for her." Steve clapped his partner on the shoulder.  "Sorry if we kept you up,”

"Nah, I passed out after you got here,” Javier supplied kindly and whilst you knew it probably wasn’t true, you thought it was nice that he tried. “I’m about to head out, got a lead on Escobar to look into, got some concrete info from my informant. But you’re welcome to crash here, shower and rest… last I saw it, looked like a bomb went off in his place.” He snarked with a smoke hanging out of his mouth and buttoning up his fresh orange shirt. 

“Thanks man,” Steve muttered for the third time this morning though this one was laced with sarcasm. “He’s right though, you should get some sleep here and give me some time to fix it up.”

“Don’t be silly. If Javier really doesn’t mind I’ll rest up here and help you clean it after. I’m here to help Steve, so let me.”  

“Makes no odds to me,” Javi drawled with a shrug whilst pulling on his boots. After a quick tour of the bedroom and shower, you thanked him before turning to your suitcase and pulling out a fresh pair of pyjamas and your toiletries.

The two men were talking about the ‘concrete info’ Javier had gotten from his informant the night before, when you stood up and spotted the towel Javi had placed upon the table. When you got close they both clammed up, making you narrow your eyes in suspicion, though Steve ignored it completely. 

“I’ll get some shut-eye too, come and knock when you’re up,” Your  brother announced whilst stretching with a groan as he turned towards the door.

“Make yourself at home,” Javier smirked. His tone was full on innuendo even if he didn’t say anything inherently sexual. You turned quickly and clutched your toiletries closer, flustered by his words.  You hadn’t known quite how he was going to interact with you this morning, part of you had been scared he’d ignore you completely so you were quite happy with the easy going kindness.

You closed the door and sighed, feminism was really taking a hit at your hands. Jesus Christ you were pulling the whole female race back a couple of centuries as you could barely look a man in the eyes with flushing a bright red and losing your ability to manufacture sentences. 

You turned on the faucet of the shower just as Javier showed you. Whilst it was heating you up you turned to look in the mirror, your hair was a shade darker than it should’ve been coated in a disgusting cocktail of what you could only imagine was grease and sweat. Pulling your hair back, you noticed you had a bruise forming between the curve of your jaw and behind your ear.  Was this guy secretly a 17 year old boy? leaving you with a goddamn hickey.

You peeled your fragrant clothes all while cursing Javier's name. You stepped into the shower and washed away the stress of the past night. All had ended well you supposed, better than well really. You’d made it here safe, found Steve and made out with a gorgeous man. The only downside was now you were here you saw how awful your brother looked. 

Sighing, you decided to compartmentalise these complex thoughts until you had at least 8 hours of sleep under your belt. So you washed both your hair and your body quickly, reaching beyond the shower curtain for your toothbrush. You spent longer than was really necessary brushing your somewhat fluffy teeth before dropping the instrument back on the counter. 

When you were finally done, you rinsed off and turned off the tap, exhaustion hitting hard now you were finally in the end zone. You looked around for your towel only to realise it was still on the dining table, you’d been distracted by the mens hushed whispers and Javiers teasing remarks.

“For fuck sakes,” you huffed under your breath out of the frustration of yet another task being between you and sleep. So after wringing out your hair you opened the bathroom door and peeped your head out.  

The coast was clear, or at least it appeared that way. 

As you rounded the corner, Javier was sitting with a coffee cup in his hand, and the towel resting in front of him with a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

“You forget something?”

You let out a dignity killing squeak and dove for the blanket that lay on the back of the sofa. You couldn’t believe the gall of this man.

“I could ask you the same thing! I thought you were going!” You proclaimed, gasping at the audacity of this man. 

“Wanted a cup of coffee, y’know, start my day off right,” his face held absolutely no remorse and there was something distinctly challenging that dwelled there. 

"You're a fucking perv, you do realise that spying on unsuspecting women as they get out of the shower isn't very cop-like." You growl at the man. 

"Whose spying? I'm just sitting here enjoying my morning coffee, whilst you waltz around my apartment naked." He smirked holding his hand up "If anything I'm the injured party, what with you throwing yourself at me."

Your instant reaction was outrage, a huff left your body before you could restrain your response, that shit eating grin of self satisfaction remained on his beautiful face. It was so much worse than the usual smirk that usually resided there, you wanted nothing more but to knock it off him. 

Schooling your face you rolled your eyes at his words and released your hold on the blanket. Two could play at this game.

"Whoops," 

You saw his eyes widen and flick down your body for just a second before the mahogany eyes narrowed and settled back on your own. 

If this was a game he wanted to play, you’d win it. 

It was your turn to smirk as you stepped over the blanket completely stark naked in the living room of a man whose last name you didn’t know and who just so happened to be your brother's partner.

You strolled forward noting how his eyes never left your own, the man had some real willpower.  You had meant what you said last night, this was definitely not a good idea. You were playing with fire and you could guarantee Steve would murder you both if he found out about this, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t play a little bit of cat and mouse.

So you ignored the man completely and grabbed the towel from the table in front of him. You turned away and began patting yourself dry before rubbing at your hair as you walked back to the bathroom. 

“Have a good day at work!” You call as you use your foot to kick the door closed behind you, though the door doesn’t finish its journey as a hand catches it and flings it back. The sheer force with which it slams into the wall makes your eyes widen and take a startled step backwards. 

Javier stands in the doorway, staring at you. Your facade of confidence is knocked as you stare at him, he walks forward slowly, all swagger as usual and takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

Much like last night, he places a teasing single, solitary kiss on your lips. Your eyes shut as you wait for the onslaught to begin. But it doesn’t. He pulls away before placing a finger on the bruise on your neck, which was now on full display as your hair was pulled back from your face, dripping water down your body.

“Sweet dreams, maravillosa.” He whispers a voice like honey, backing up. His eyes, deliberately slow, roamed your body before they rose to meet your own. There were no playful winks or smirks present any more, only a heat. A burning fire between the two of you. 

He was an arms length away from you but you felt a pressure on your chest, it was constricting your breathing. Making it hard to think, you didn't move or speak for fear it would break the spell. No words were passed between you as he took you in one last time and then turned on his heel and strolled out of the apartment. 

That fucking bastard. He'd won again. 

...

It was dark when you awoke to the front door slamming closed, it took you a moment to realise where you were. 

Your head felt like it was full of wool and your teeth felt heavy in your mouth, you rubbed at your eyes feeling like you'd slept for an age. 

You remembered the events of the previous night as you looked around taking in his room, minimal decorations, it looked like a prison cell rather than a bedroom. Javier was definitely not a nester. 

Oh God Javier. The man you'd had at least two sexual encounters with in the past 24 hours. You'd thrown yourself at your brother's partner like a sex starved maniac, but my God, he was making you feel more alive than you had in years. 

You sighed and lay back down, closing your eyes and rubbing your head. You grabbed the pillow and put it over your face. You weren't here for Javier, the lovely distraction he was proving to be, you were here for Steve. Steve was a goddamn mess, he was all over the place. Volatile, emotional and drunk, apparently, a large percentage of the time.

No, you decided, with a clear head for the first time in 48 hours. You could indulge in Javier when Steve had his head screwed back on and not a moment sooner. You would restrain yourself, you were not a blushing teen, contrary to your recent behaviour. You could do this.

You breathed out in a forlorn sigh, my God he'd destroy you. You knew all that swagger had to have experience to back it up. 

Restraint Y/N, restraint. 

You huffed in frustration and were struck by his scent, it had been around you all day, but he was condensed into the pillow covering your face. It smelt like smoke and his own brand of spice, something that brought his cocksure face into your minds eye. 

This was going to be difficult. 

Placing the pillow back down where you'd found it you rolled into a standing position, stretching out your arms above your head. You heard someone moving around in the lounge, a man and a woman talking. 

Narrowing your eyes to step silently over the suitcase you'd moved into the bedroom last night and pulled out a pair of jeans, an undershirt and nondescript plaid shirt. You pretty much threw them on along with clean underwear as quietly as you could, it was as you were sitting on the bed pulling your socks on you heard the scrape of the sofa and silence throughout the apartment. 

What in the hell?

It was then you decided to make as much noise as you possibly could… your rational brain told you he wouldn't… no- he couldn't be so god damn stupid not to check you weren't still in his bed before bringing a woman home after you'd been dry humping on that sofa not 12 hours ago. 

You pulled on your trainers, steeling yourself for what you were about to find. This was either going to be a huge misunderstanding and you’d misconstrued the sounds or he was banging some lady out- A moan cut through your thoughts. No. No fucking way! That absolute fucker, getting you all hot for him and then pulling this shit! 

You were struck by your position then, you were in his bedroom. Trapped. There was no clean exit. At this point the name of the game was damage control. You planned in your head, just get out of the apartment with as much dignity as you can muster. Resolved you all but launched your suitcase upwards crashing it into the wardrobe as it went and zipped it making sure to make it drag it out as much as possible to make the most noise you could. 

You took in a breath, dragging your suitcase behind you and opened the bedroom door slowly and pretty damn stealthily if you do say so yourself, the apartment was dark, the only light source was from the warm glow of the street lamps outside. 

So, you began your escape, taking a hesitant step forward. One foot after the other you got closer to the door, the wheels on your suitcase frustratingly loud, they had not got the memo that your mission had changed and your panicked brain now wanted to escape without confrontation.

As you rounded the corner, your stomach dropped. There, in the same position you had been not hours before was a woman, completely naked and riding the man that had invaded your dreams and had made you lose your head like no other.  

You stopped dead in your tracks for just a moment before your fight or flight instinct kicked in. Now you'd like to say you're a fighter, the kind of girl to stick up for herself but all you wanted was for the ground to open and swallow you up. So in a moment of unhinged panic you made a run for it. Ditched the suitcase in the hall and hauled ass. 

You weren't proud of it by any stretch of the imagination but you escaped pretty much unscathed apart for your dignity. That bitch was abandoned with the suitcase, decimated on the hallway floor. But hey, who really needed dignity?

You heard a surprised shout of something that sounded vaguely like ‘what the fuck?!’ from the lovers in Spanish as the door slammed behind you.  You were taking the steps three at a time in sheer fear Javier and his lover would follow you out of the apartment. You knocked on the door of Steve’s place, praying to all that was holy that he was awake. Your luck, it would seem had not run out. As Steve opened the door looking as fresh as a daisy, well. A daisy that had been carried around in a child's pocket, mushed and missing a few petals, but you appreciated the effort of him tidying himself up.

“You alright?” His eyebrows dropped as he took in your sweating forehead and gasping breath.

“Uh, yeah? I ran into Javier and his … girlfriend? I think he forgot I was there.” You weren’t proud that you snitched to your brother but that was the best way of getting your things back without seeing Javier, you needed a hot second for this awkwardness to scab over. 

“Fucksake Javi,” He pushed past you and nodded his head towards the apartment. “Make ya’self at home, yeah?” 

With a nod you stroll into the living room still struggling to breathe. You throw yourself onto the couch, that was thankfully nothing like the one downstairs. 

You were such a pussy.  

You couldn’t explain why but seeing that had been a punch to the gut, you’d known him for an evening, you had absolutely no claim on the man but a part of you still mourned what could have been. Javier was exactly like eating peanut butter from the jar, you know you shouldn’t do it and your family gets annoyed if they find out but my God if it isn’t more delicious that way. 

You would’ve let him take you apart piece by piece uncaring of if he put you back together after. He looked like the kind of man that knew exactly how to do it but it was a moot point now, it was over. 

Jesus. You had to draw the line somewhere for your self respect. So that's how you rationalised your anger, you were annoyed at him for messing up a good thing you had going, the sex would’ve been filthy it would’ve renewed your faith in the universe. It was one hundred percent annoyance at him, you were not jealous. 

Okay maybe 90% annoyance, 10% jealousy. It had been the woman from last night, all leggy and gorgeous. That bitch.

No, No, No. Y/N. 

Being angry at her was easy but she wasn’t the one humping you on a couch. Javier was the bitch here.  Your inner monologue was cut short by two male voices, coming up the stairs.

“Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck.” You whisper and leap out of your seat, you run for the door on your left as it looks like the bathroom in Javier’s apartment. The two men are close now, maybe at the top of the stairs? You open the door to reveal a fucking closet.  You close your eyes and wince in desperation as you hear their voices outside the door. 

There’s not enough time to dwell on your declining mental stability as you throw yourself into the cupboard and close the door behind you. You back up and nearly knock something off of the shelf, you turn and catch it in time. You can’t see what the bottle holds as you’re stuck in pitch black but your nervous hands have an iron grip on the plastic. The front door is pushed open, only you can’t see anything except from the strip of light that goes around the perimeter of the door. 

“... I swear, you best hope…” Comes Steve’s laughing voice, he sounds strained. “Thanks for the help man, I’ve said that so many times recently it's gonna lose its meaning, but really. Me, you and Y/N -where ever the hell she's got to -we’ll get dinner as a real thanks for all your help.”

“Hey’ like I said. It’s no trouble, I’m just sorry I forgot she was there man!” He sounded meeker than you remembered. 

“She’s a big girl as she likes to keep reminding me. I’m sure she’s fine with it. Beer?” 

“Nah, I’m good, I got Valeria downstairs. Tell Y/N I said goodnight, ok?”

“Tell her yourself, Y/N!” You close your eyes and smack your head.

‘He was fucking leaving you idiot’ you seethe within your mind. 

You hear Steve walk past to the hallway that leads to either of the two doors you could’ve made a run for and actually had an explanation for being behind. But no, here you were hiding in a fucking closet with a quickly waning amount of time before you got caught. 

“Where the hell’s she gone?!” Steve all but shouted as he threw a door open. “She’s not here, I was only gone five minutes, they couldn’t have-” 

The spiral was coming. This was Colombia after all, his mind had gone to the worst possible scenario, so cringing all while you pushed open the door of your hiding spot to meet the cocked guns of the two DEA agents. One with frantic eyes, the others laden with concern.

Javier looked sinfully disheveled, he’d clearly dressed in a hurry. (Join the club asshole.) Steve looked disbelievingly at you, shaking his head and holstering his gun in the back of his jeans.

“... Uh, I was looking for, um…” You look down at the product in your hands “... Fabric Softener?” Your voice lifts at the end of the sentence, your lie sounds awful even to your ears, but it's your story and you plan on sticking to it.

Both of the men look at you expecting you to elaborate, but you stare right back, more so at Steve than Javier. His face currently causes a nagging sensation in your jaw, making your lips want to purse in disapproval. 

“Thanks for your help Javier.” You say cheerily, placing the bottle back on the shelf.

He stares at you, like you're a cornered animal and he doesn’t quite know if he should duck for cover. His eyes follow you hesitantly as he too holsters his weapon. “Sorry, if you saw-” 

“It’s fine. Don’t sweat it.” You smile at him, your voice is no longer false as you force a dishonest genuinity to it. “Small price to pay for a comfy bed. You shouldn’t keep her waiting though.” 

“Yeah..” His eyebrows meet in the dip in the centre, like he's trying to figure out a tricky maths equation and keeps getting the answer wrong. He nods one last time and gives your brother a clap on the shoulder before vacating the apartment.

“Well,” Your brother starts “That was fuckin’ awkward. Nice hiding spot, Moron.” You burst out laughing at his understatement of the year.

“I mean, I saw him banging that lady, I couldn’t make eye contact after that.” You play it off, but you feel like there’s something to your voice you can’t quite disguise, but if Steve notices he doesn’t stop smiling, so you’re happy. 

You take the beer out of his hand and point to the cards on the table “Ready for me to whip ya’ like a dog?”

The awkwardness is quickly forgotten. Well, Steve forgets it at least. You don’t. A couple of hours later as you're lying on Steve's couch, trying to force yourself to sleep so you’re not quite so jet lagged tomorrow, you find yourself thinking about it. Analysing Javier’s actions. 

After an hour of lying in the dark in contemplation, you can confirm you have no fucking clue why a person would do what he did.  The only air tight hypothesis you have as you finally drift off is that he just wanted all the pussy, got greedy and got caught. Your eyes close as you finally lose consciousness with your heart in your gut.

You wake at 5am. The sun is just rising as you roll over, straight onto the wooden floor.

“Fuuck.” You groan, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. 

You felt like absolute shit. If you’d thought 10 hours of sleep had knocked you into tuesday, a further forced three hour nap had done you no favours. Rubbing your eyes you shrugged out your shoulders trying your hardest to work out the kink you deserved for sleeping on a sofa. It was barely dusk but a soft golden light was warming up the room. 

You sat up and reached to your backpack, pulling out the book you’d purchased at the airport in a hurry; ‘Spanish for Kids.’ There had been a distinct lack of Spanish for beginners and whilst you had faith in yourself, intermediate espanol had scared you off.

So learning to speak like a toddler seemed the better of the two decisions. You didn’t want to be presumptuous about how long you were going to last in Colombia, but you had no plans on going home any time soon. Steve looked like shit, you’d quit your job at the grocery store and Connie was taking care of the rent on your apartment. You were as free as a bird, figuratively speaking, you had no doubt your brother would forbid you to leave the apartment, as if that was in his power. 

You sat patiently reading and repeating the words for about two hours, religiously scanning the thin book as if it was the word of God from cover to cover three times. You now had the ability to give people strange facts about yourself, yep, rather underwhelming for two hours work, nevertheless, it was progress.

First job is to find another translation book, Stevie would probably be able to get his hands on one. You looked to the clock on the wall, 7:32am. You could hear Steve snoring away in bed as you stood, pulling on your clothes from last night. You surveyed the fridge and found it lacking even the basics. 

With a daring plan, you grabbed Steves keys and wallet from his leather jacket on the hook near the front door. You scribbled a note on the pad near the phone and left it on the dining room table, just so he didn’t think the Sicarios had decided to hang his sister this time. 

You took the cash and dropped the rest of his wallet, folding the wad of money and putting it in your front pocket. Grabbing your shades from the table, you all but skipped out of the apartment taking the steps in quick little hops.  As you took the last step into the lobby, you ran into the exact last person you wanted to see slipping back into the building.  

“Y/N…”

“Hey Javier.” You replied with what you hoped was passable as a smile. There was silence and you could see the usually slick man, scrambling to come up with a topic. For the first time in your life, you let another human flounder and enjoyed it. You had nothing to say to him, zip, nada. Not your problem. 

“No Steve?”

“Nah, He’s sleepin’ thought I’d get some groceries.”

“Alone?”

“I made it here in one piece, didn’t I?”

The man's eyebrows furrowed. “Gimme’ a sec’. I’ll come along.”

“Seriously Javi, I appreciate you being such a good friend to Steve. But I’m fine. Honestly. Steve said last night that the shop’s two blocks to the left.”

“Nah, I need some eggs.” You were bemused by his response. But fine, if he wanted to continue this exercise in torture he could feel free to. You shrugged and gestured towards his apartment. He turned on his heel and raced back in, for what, you couldn’t guess. He returned not two minutes later, yellowed sunglasses sitting lazily on his nose and a hand in his back pocket. 

“After you,” He all but whispered in your ear as he came up behind you holding the building door open, giving a wonderful performance of a gentleman. You strolled out surprised the sun was this strong even first thing in the morning. You could feel it beginning to power up for the day as it bathed your skin in a soothing warmth. 

The two of you walked in silence for a few minutes as you took in Colombia. It wasn’t quite what you expected, maybe not as impoverished. You didn’t have much time to dwell on that analysis, before Javi pulled you from your surroundings.

“Look, about last night…” He trailed off as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“Don’t worry. Honestly.”

“I-”

“No. Honestly, we fooled around. It was a bad idea to start with, maybe it’s good, y’know, that things turned out this way.”

“I-”

“No.”

“But-”

“No. Look. My brother’s a shit show. Absolute train wreck happening in slow motion. I came here for him, I’ve got way too much on my plate right now to worry about where you're sticking your dick. So we’re gonna start over, no awkwardness, no nothing. Hi, I’m Y/N Murphy.” You offered him your hand in surrender, now he may have just witnessed a break in your mental health but he had a half smile on his face as if he had found your soul spilling endearing, instead of deranged. He wrapped his bronzed hand around your significantly smaller one.

“Javier. Javier Peña. Nice to meet you again, guapa.”

“Fucksake, Javi. You don’t make it easy.”  He let out another body shaking hearty chuckle at your words. 

“I’m Javier, remember? I’ve never felt your wet pussy through my jeans.” Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped. He’d taken your white flag and set it on fire and was currently using it to set your lower body alight.  “Start over? Like I can get you my outta my fuckin’ head. I didn’t come with you today because I’m Steve’s good friend. I came to get fuckin’ eggs I don’t fuckin’  need because I want to know how you taste.” He’d backed you up against the gate that surrounded what looked like a church, your hand grabbed at the black bar as he advanced on you, the two of you were close but not touching.

“You’ve tasted me.”

“Not those lips, amada.” You couldn’t help but gulp at his words. How were you here, you’d been so angry at him last night. Last night, when he’d woken you up fucking another woman. Ice water shot down your spine as you pushed at his chest.

“No.” You hissed, your hands pushing him again. “You’re giving me fuckin’ whip-lash! One minute you’re getitng me excited thinking I’ma’ bout’ to get the best fuck of my life, the next your screwin’ someone whilst I’m asleep in your fuckin’ bed! Are you insane? They need to either up or lower your dosage, because I don’t know what would make you think that this is okay!”

He huffed, backing off of you but not quite aquiasing to your shoves. “An informant, she was a fuckin’ informant.”

“Oh Javier! Why didn’t you say!” You gasp, before you roll your eyes. “This makes absolutely everything okay.” 

Sarcasm dripped from your voice as he seemed to reel from your words, the fucker actually thought he had gotten out of it.

“It’s my job. Finding Escobar, that’s it. That’s all that matters, that’s the end game.”

“Fine. Do your job, just leave me out of it.” He huffed at your words rubbing in between his eyes.

“I have never met anyone as goddamn infuriating as you, Murphy.”

“Fuckin’ likewise, Peña!” The two of you seemed to be in a stare off, neither of you willing to submit. You knew who was in the wrong and from the way he huffed before rubbing the back of his neck, he did too.

“Hello, nice to meet you, I’m Javier Peña. What’s your name?”

NEXT PART

@drinkingwhileblogging​ @va-guardianhathaway  @jedi-jesi

Tag List - Just ask if you’d like to be added to the night we met tag list.

#javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #javier pena #narcos #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #I fucking love those yellow shades #daddy javi

[stealing-jasons-job]

Bitches be out here taking two of their favorite doomed ships and creating an AU for @bellarkebigbang...

It's me. I'm bitches.

BBB fics and accompanying artwork begins posting on June 1. Check out a special preview of my fic below!

He gives her a concerned look, his hands sliding slowly up her back. Clarke ignores the way the movement causes goosebumps to erupt across her skin.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says, voice still husky from sleep, before he leans in to kiss a spot just below her ear that makes her tilt her head on instinct to give him better access.

His lips make their way down her neck as his hands follow a similar path over her ass, and for a split second, her body gives in to the sensations. She’s missed this—the way he knows her body like it’s his own, the way he always takes his time to explore her, fucking Christ, the way his tongue feels against her skin.

But when one of his hands skims up her inner thigh, it’s like an electric shock reminding her of why she’s here, of what he did.

She jumps out of his grasp, eyes wide as guilt and self-loathing flood her system. “What are you doing here?”

That concerned look is back. “We’re going to be late for work...I didn’t think you’d mind sharing a shower. But I can wait if you want some alone time, I just—”

She stares up at him during his bewildered speech, so much genuine concern in his eyes. And despite her training and the fact that in another life she was in love with this man, it takes her until this exact moment to piece together a vital piece of information about the City of Light.

Here, her and Bellamy are a couple in love.

________________________________________

Y'all ain't ready for this fic. To be frank, neither am I. lol

But I am ready for the incredible accompanying creations coming our way by @sparklyfairymira! That's right — your favorite @wreck-jroth-club co-founders are back in action for BBB.

#bellarke #bellarke big bang #madison writes things #bellarke fanfiction

[idontlikeem]

okay, so i'm still working through the fic trope mashups; i saved all of them as screenshots in a google doc so i could write them and then just paste them into tumblr, and the weirdest thing happened—one of the asks completely disappeared? so...

you can find the fic tropes mashup game here!

sorry, anon, i don't know why your ask disappeared; i'm so glad i got the screenshot though, because i was really looking forward to this one!

Zhenya’s just settled in with his coffee, tucked away in the corner of the bakery and out of the view of the general public, when the chair across from him slides out and someone sits down.

Zhenya sighs and puts his book back on the table, looking up with a fake smile already plastered on his face. He loves the fans here in Pittsburgh, really he does, and normally he’s happy to pose for pictures and sign things and even talk hockey strategy with a few of the more informed fans, but...when he’s sitting in the most isolated corner of a room, with a book and his hat pulled down low, that’s normally a signal for even the most go-getter Penguins diehard that he wants to be left alone.

And most fans don’t usually just sit down at his table, sheesh.

He opens his mouth, but the man—the handsome man, Zhenya notes abstractly—leans over the table and rests his hands on top of Zhenya’s. “I’m very sorry to do this,” he says softly, looking up at Zhenya through his lashes. “I don’t mean to take up your time, and I’ll be out of your hair shortly; I just need to use you as a distraction. In a minute, someone’s going to come in looking for me, but they won’t be looking for someone who’s out on a date.” He puts a coy smile on his face and tilts his head.

Zhenya pulls his hands free. “If you want...hide, you know, in public, sitting with me, big mistake,” he says curtly, looking around them warily. He can’t be seen holding hands with a man in public. He’s spent years keeping that part of his life hidden, and he’s not about to ruin it now because some random person with a super-sketchy story is in some sort of trouble.

The man frowns, staring at him. His lips are very, very pink. “What—” Zhenya can see when the penny drops. “Oh, Christ, I am so sorry, you’re—” He’s getting flustered, Zhenya notes, watching as the man’s cheeks flush. It’s a very pretty sight; if he’d met this man in one of the discreet bars he goes to when he can get away, there’s no doubt he’d have him in a corner already, maybe even spread out in his bed.

Zhenya leans back in his chair and picks up his latte, taking a sip. “Sorry for wreck plan, you know, but—”

The man’s back straightens, and the shop’s door opens. Three uniformed police officers spill in; one’s holding a walkie-talkie, and the other two are alert, hands on the guns at their hips. They scan the shop, and one of them does a double-take when he sees Zhenya, but when Zhenya makes eye contact and lifts an eyebrow, he looks away hastily. They leave soon after.

“Wow,” the man says. Zhenya glances at him; he’d been watching the police in the reflection on the window, but now he’s staring straight at Zhenya again. “That actually worked better than I thought. They didn’t even come over here, they were too embarrassed at getting caught ogling.”

Zhenya can’t help the chuckle that escapes him. “That not ogle,” he says—Kris taught him that word, right after Zhenya took the C and started getting eyed up everywhere he went, even in places he’d been able to slip under the radar before. “Ogle is, you know—” He flounders, though, because ogling is what the man had been doing to him before, even though it had been for show.

The man smiles slowly. He’s got sharp canines, and his grin is lopsided and predatory. Something in his eyes...Zhenya feels pinned, all of a sudden, for all it’s clear this man is much shorter than him. “Oh, I know. You know, I’m a huge fan of yours, and I’d love to be able to repay you for helping me out just now—can I make you dinner?”

He doesn’t ask to take Zhenya out, which already makes him smarter than 70% of the men he’s hooked up with in America. And the way he’s looking—

Zhenya thinks briefly of the police officers, the tension they’d all carried, the way they kept their weapons close at hand, and shrugs to himself. He’s a professional hockey player. He gets in fights as part of his job. Whatever bullshit graffiti or whatever it was this man did, Zhenya can take care of himself. He extends his hand across the table. “Evgeni Malkin. Can call Geno, easier for mouth.” He lets his eyes drop to the man’s lips.

“Oh, I don’t need easy for that,” the man says, biting his lower lip in what can only be a purposeful provocation. “In fact, you could say I prefer it hard. You can call me Sidney.”

-----

Even on days off, Zhenya can’t really sleep in any longer. He leaves Sidney snoring in his bed and shuffles down to the kitchen to start the coffee and put together something for breakfast.

He puts the television on for some background noise, already thinking of how he can entice Sidney to stay longer—he’s sore in a deep, pleasant way that he hasn’t had in a long time, and Sidney had said he’d let Zhenya come on his face if Zhenya wanted.

The news is droning on about a spate of recent murders, five over the last three days, all prominent local politicians, all names that Zhenya’s seen in the papers before, for their donations to charity and their civic spirit, and then their money-skimming and fraud and extramarital affairs. The police, the broadcast is saying, had a lead they’d been chasing down the day before, but they’d lost it, and are warning Pittsburgh residents to exercise caution when they’re out alone.

Zhenya doctors both mugs with cream and sugar and heads back up the stairs.

#sidgeno #flash fic #my fic #hockey rpf #fic asks

[queenlua]

Last week you mentioned GPG has really serious problems. Could you tell me more about them? I can't find much of anything online.

first, thanks for your patience with this appallingly late reply! september hit me like a truck :P

second: huh, wow, okay, a cursory google search really failed to turn up much stuff, huh. depressing!

i'm-a talk about the summer 2019 keyserver attack, not because that's the only issue / security vuln / fuck-up the project has ever had, but because it's (1) a hilariously bad fuck-up, and (2) generally reflective of how the project deals with security concerns, and thus demonstrates that the project is fundamentally pretty unserious

so.

this gist, by one of GnuPG's maintainers, does an okay job of summarizing the problem. a brief summary:

* one of the putative purposes of OpenPGP is to provide a "web of trust" via keyservers. i know Jane Doe, i meet her in person, i verify she is who she says she is, and i sign her key; that signature gets reflected in some keyserver, which acts like a big phone book. now, in the future, if you can't personally go verify Jane Doe's trustworthiness, but you do trust me, you can trust communications from Jane Doe, and you looked all this info up in the keyserver

* "what if a malicious actor tried to overload the keyserver?!?!" e.g. what if i spam ~150k signatures on some dude's key just to fuck with the network

* the answer, in the case of GnuPG, is, "this software is shitty and bad and can't deal with that volume so it just grinds to a fucking halt"

* ...and also most the keyservers try to copy their data from each other so you can have a ~web of trust~ throughout the network, which means, these malicious keys quickly perpetuate through the entire nnetwork

* which means anyone who receives the Forbidden Key Data TM, in practical terms, has broken their fucking GnuPG install, and that whole ~web of trust~ thing we built up is now unusable

technically speaking, this is not a security lapse per se! no cryptography has been broken; no secret data has been leaked. it is, however, a fairly straightforward denial of service attack, and is probably kind of disappointing if you wanted your security software to, you know, do software things

and look, anyone can be bitten by a nasty bug. you'll never see me being like "WOW WHAT DUMBFUCKS, HOW COULD ANYONE WRITE SUCH A STUPID BUG," because, y'know, there but for the grace of god i go, and all that. if anyone tells you they're smart enough to never write a bug, they're a fucking liar.  (my full-time job for a while was literally proving those people liars, and i never fucking failed, not because i am brilliant, but because all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of god. [sorry for all the god stuff; my long-abandoned southern baptist heritage comes through when i'm talking security for some reason])

however! the manner in which you respond to such a vulnerability matters:

* let's say i had discovered this bug in GnuPG. the industry standard, if i'm kind and polite, is: i disclose the bug privately to the maintainers, and they have a 90-day window during which to fix it. if they still haven't fixed the problem at the end of the 90 days, that's fine, that's their prerogative, but *i* also get to announce to the world "hey there's this bad bug, here's how i found it, and here's how to exploit it."

this is done to keep The World In General TM safer. see, i'm just some rando. if *i'm* able to find a bug in your shitty software, then it's guaranteed the NSA or Unit 8200 or some-other-super-secret-government-agency absolutely has the resources and wherewithal to find the same bug. and also, some slimy just-in-it-for-the-money hacker gang probably also has the resources to find it. by telling the company "hey, i will go public with this in 90 days," i'm lighting a fire under their ass to actually fix the problem, rather than just letting them pretend security by obscurity will save them, and if they don't fix it by then, then at least users have a prayer of finding out, hey, these dudes do not take security problems seriously, and making informed choices based on that.

there is some wiggle room in this. for instance, the fuck are cloud vendors supposed to do about something like Spectre/Meltdown? there were some shitty, not-100%-effective mitigations that could be done in software, but fundamentally the only real fix was getting new hardware, and tragically, we cannot redesign, manufacture, and ship brand new CPUs to everybody who might be affected within a 90-day timeframe. ergo, Google Project Zero pushed their disclosure deadline way out on that. but, crucially: they still went public at some point, and Intel did not cry "wah" or "no fair" or anything like that. they worked with researchers as best as they could, and once the cat was out of the bag, they offered public resources to help developers understand how their software might be affected. that's the rules of the game.

compare this to, uh, GnuPG's outrageously shitty response (from the previously-linked gist), which can basically be summarized as:

* "wah ocaml is complicated and we don't know how to maintain our own fucking software wah"

* "ten years [?!?!?!] wasn't enough time for us to fix the problem wah"

* "whoever did this attack is a hater :((((("

which. what. what the actual fuck. those are not actual reasons to not fix your sofwtare.

also, the way in which you present your software matters:

* i've thrown up shitty hobby projects on github before. if someone came to me all earnest with a CVE against them, i'd laugh, append the README to say "yo i threw this together on a weekend while i was buzzed, you should absolutely not be relying on this for anything that matters, xoxo lua." that is 100% fine! advertising THIS SOFTWARE IS NOT NECESSARILY SECURE and thus electing not to give a shit about security problems is fine.

* i've been a part of things that are... somewhere between a hobby project and Real Software TM. e.g., research prototypes that you're hoping will be widely used so you can get a better sense of desired use cases and unexpected constraints, but which you hope will be used primarily by "power users" or others who are interested in that project's specific goals.

such a project may not be able to offer the same kinds of security guarantees as Fancy Corporate Software, and that's fine, so long as they're open and honest about stuff like: what the goals of the project are, what we're sure of and what we're less sure of, how we're vetting our stuff, what our policies are when someone does report a security issue, stuff like that. there's plenty of stuff maintained on a volunteer basis that i'd generally trust because, i expect they'll notify me if there is a serious security concern to be worried about, or they have a long track record of excellence in a narrowly-tailored space, etc. that's all good.

* what you cannot, cannot, cannot do, is: claim to offer some kind of robust security solution to people in actually-precarious situations, and then not actually act like a steward of those person's interests. if you're, oh, telling Venezeulan dissidents "our [shitty hobby] software [with gaping, well-known vulnerabilities that haven't been exploited yet ONLY because no major nation-state entity has felt threatened by our code yet, but if they were so threatened, they could trivially wreck the entire project using a well-documented years-old vulnerability we can't be assed to fix because ocaml is hard i guess] is safe and reliable to use!"

...if you're telling political dissidents that? and then you get over-the-top pissed off at someone pointing out the fucking problem you refuse to fix? and somehow make it all about mememe? then fuck you, sincerely. the threat those dissidents face is not someone breaking the fucking key network. the threat is you, you personally, because you are fucking lying to them about what your software is able to do.

GOD. sorry, just. i reread that link and got so pissed again. fuck that attitude entirely. if you let people down, fucking just sit with that for a bit, okay?  sit and think and do better next time.  christ.

anyway.

this is a particularly gratuitous example of GnuPG maintainers being little shits, but in general they've been lackadaisical and dismissive some other times in the past when people have brought them real security problems, and then act all pissy if, y'know, people go public with said security problems. i haven't kept up with their work lately (i think maybe the community got kind of annihilated by this keyserver thing?) & i have other bones to pick with any project of that type (it's kind of taking the wrong tack entirely imho), but like, yeah, in general if a software community's response to security bugs is "oh gosh that's hard maybe we'll get to it someday," you should not be trusting that software lol

#filthy hacker shit #LONG post #honestly it took me like three times to keep this from spiraling into a fucking novel so #here's the shortest version i could manage. #hit me up for pissy computer security rants: if you really want to know #also this tone is like... probably more pissy than necessary sorry #there is some more nuance that could be had here but i just get kinda miffed when people claim to do A Security and then do the opposite

[kiara-carrera]

permanent ink

note: this is set the day after this drabble i did, but also set in that quick little sad montage in s2e1 when jj gives himself a stick and poke. this is probably gonna be reworked once i actually get to season 2 just for any context issues i run into later on, but the bulk of this is canon for them, my tiny lil babies. none of this is really season 2 spoilers tbfh, but also just know this is set in s2e1. also v unedited.

pairing: leah thompson x jj maybank

cruel summer, season two

When Leah woke up, it was to the sounds of chickens clucking somewhere in the distance and to the dull throbbing of her side against an uncomfortable surface. Even before she could adjust to being awake, even before her eyes could flutter open to assess her surroundings, there was no doubt in her mind that she was at the Chateau, on John’s uncomfortable ass pullout couch.

And then there was that pang in her chest at the thought of even just his name. None of this was right. None of it made sense. It seemed as if everyone around her had just accepted the fact that the Phantom had gone down and wrecked, that John B and Sarah had been lost to the sea. That they weren’t just gone for a bit of time, but forever. 

And yet something in her just wouldn’t let the information click, wouldn’t let the all too apparent truth win the battle with the denial warring through her mind. Grief was something that Leah was slowly realizing she wasn’t capable of stomaching, her brain reverting back to the denial stage like a broken record.

It didn’t make sense. The truth was too much to handle, too much to rationalize. To Leah, it didn’t make sense that the same fate that had befell the father had occurred again for the son, like some sick and twisted tragedy. These were the things that existed only the the thoughts that she shoved down and down, deep where she hoped they would never resurface.

They always did.

She let a groan escape her, an annoyed and frustrated little noise, as she rolled onto her back, eyes still squeezed shut as she considered praying to a god she didn’t believe in to let sleep take her. If not for refuge from all thoughts of John Booker Routledge for another moment, but to get away from the sounds of those fucking chickens.

“Sleeping Beauty finally awakes,” someone said from beside her, a snarky yet somewhat joking tone laced into the words.

Her eyes snapped open as she flailed a bit against the couch, heart jolting in her chest. She managed to sit up a bit before her eyes landed on the source of the voice. A somewhat amused JJ was sitting across the room, legs crossed and his foot in his lap, a pencil dangling precariously from his fingers. 

Memories of the night before slowly came crawling through her mind, sitting on the dock, silent tears streaming down her face under JJ’s arm. They’d sat there until at least two am, mostly in silence while passing a beer between them. She wasn’t sure what had happened after they came back in the house, laying back on John B’s couch the last thing she could remember before she must have fell asleep.

“Jesus Christ, JJ,” Leah breathed out, hand running over her face, her heart galloping in her chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

JJ snorted. “Geez, good morning to you too, sunshine.”

“Fuck off,” she groaned, letting herself flop back onto the couch. She could hear him laughing as she pulled the pillow out from under her head to shove it over her face — it was way too fucking early to be dealing with this.

Look, she wasn’t saying that being around her best friend was awkward, because it wasn’t. At least, she was doing her best to make sure it wasn’t. But there was always that little nudge at the back of her mind, always trying to get her to work through whatever the fuck she was feeling, because it sure as hell wasn’t normal friendship shit.

She spent an inordinate amount of time trying to convince herself that nothing had changed, another round of denial in her life, but really, what was she going to do? Have feelings for JJ? Her best friend? And do what with that, exactly? Dig herself into a friendship ruining hole? Tell him? Hope he’d, in some fucking weird twist of fate, feel the same? The same JJ who’d never had an actual relationship and flirted with basically anyone, including her, even though with her it was always jokey?

Yeah, fuck that.

But that didn’t make this any less awkward in her mind. Last night had been a bit easier, despite the influx of grieving, but she’d been able to ignore that and just be with JJ without wanting to completely bury herself in a hole and never come out.

And there was also the fact that she told him she’d go to Yucátan with him, that she’d pretty much go anywhere with him, regardless of anything. Yeah, that wasn’t something they were skirting around lately. Well, she figured they’d be if she had completely just left that conversation in the back of her mind. 

And it was clear he’d more than likely taken it as a friendly yeah, I’m totally down for just fucking leaving my entire life to go somewhere with you thing considering he hadn’t brought it up once. Which was kind of shocking because while some people tended to write him off as an idiot, he was oddly perceptive when he needed to be. And yet somehow he hadn’t noticed her speech leaned more on the side of weird, cringey, cliche teen rom-com movie bullshit rather than friendship.

God, she hated her brain.

Leah let out another groan, deciding to take initiative to not be a complete fucking weirdo around JJ because fuck, they all needed to stick together now more than ever, and so she promptly chucked the pillow off of her.

Normal, she could do that. And then she truly focused on him as she turned onto her side again, picking up on how he’d fallen silent. The pencil was now held tightly between his fingers, a crease between his eyebrows that was born of pure concentration as he poked at the skin of his lower calf with the needle he’d fastened to the writing utensil.

Oh, great, he’d set up an impromptu tattoo parlor while she was sleeping, that wasn’t concerning at all. And — was he wearing fucking overalls?

Christ, of course he looked good in overalls. Just fucking spectacular. 

“Stare any harder and I’m gonna start charging you by the minute, Lee Lee.”

Leah’s eyes snapped up to meet his once again amused expression, not having noticed how her gaze had seemingly just zoned out at the sight of him. She could feel heat coursing up the back of her neck at the embarrassment at being caught, not even caring at the use of that god awful nickname 

“Nice overalls,” she told him, sarcasm all over her tone. Inside, she was cringing. Nice job, Leah, draw attention to another thing you don’t want to think about, fucking brilliant job, she thought to herself, but her mouth was already going again before she could just, y’know, shut the fuck up. “Is there a barn raising I don’t know about?”

JJ narrowed his eyes at her, playfully brandishing his pencil at her. “For all you know these overalls could have gotten me the best handy of my life once.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her, rolling her eyes at his cocky grin. “Please, no one gets laid wearing overalls. And what the fuck are you even doing right now?”

“Stick and poke,” JJ said matter-of-factly, raising his eyebrows before promptly sticking himself again as if to prove his point. He barely so much as hissed at the stab of needle, tugging his teeth between his lips for a moment as he focused back in on his work. “Kie showed me how to do it.”

“Please tell me you at least sterilized the needle.”

Not even looking up from his leg, he gestured the pencil in the direction of the table beside him. “What do you think the lighter is for?”

Sure enough, his light was discarded beside him. That didn’t do much to make her feel better, though, and she raised an eyebrow at him. “Considering it’s you? Anything from smoking a J to arson, probably.”

“Haha, real funny, Lee,” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes as he continued to stab at his skin. JJ was silent for a moment before asking, “Want one when I’m done?”

If you had told her she’d be waking up to her best friend wearing overalls and offering to give her a tattoo in John B’s living room, she probably would have just stayed asleep. She wasn’t really sure how to tell him she didn’t exactly trust him to stab her multiple times with a questionable looking needle ... and dear God, she didn’t even want to consider what he was possibly using as ink. So she opted to go for the slightly less scathing remark.

Leah sat up a bit, supporting herself on her elbows. “Do you have another needle?”

“Uh...” JJ paused, glancing around the table. “That’s a negative.”

“Then at the risk of getting an infection, I’m gonna pass.”

“I could just do the lighter thing again,” he offered.

Leah sighed, running a hand through her hair as she sat up fully, legs swinging to hang off the edge of the couch. “J, I’m gonna be honest, I don’t even know if I trust that you sterilized it right the first time.”

“Ye of little faith,” JJ cried out in offense, once again brandishing his pencil at her. He jokingly narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re wounding me here, Lee. Total lack of respect.”

“I’m sure your big ass ego will get over it,” Leah retorted, shaking her head at him with a laugh.

They lapsed into silence again, JJ continuing to prick his calf with a steady hand and an oddly intense air of concentration. Leah reverted back to just watching him quietly, resting her elbows on her knees and dropping her head into her waiting hands. This was probably the most still she’d ever seen him as long as she’d known him, bar when he was passed out asleep.

Compared to last night, the JJ she was seeing now was doing a pretty bang up job at holding it together. Or, at least, pretending that he was. They hadn’t said a whole ton last night, but Leah knew as well as she knew the sky was blue that JJ wasn’t doing okay. 

The open (and most likely empty) can of beer on the table beside him only solidified that thought.

She wanted to comment that giving yourself a tattoo after drinking was very much not recommended, a know-it-all tone ready to join the factoid on her tongue, but she wasn’t sure how many buttons she’d be able to push before it’d turn into an actual argument.

And fuck, if there was one person she didn’t want to be on the outs with any time soon, it was him.

So instead, she kept her mouth shut, letting her eyes trail across his furrowed brow and the tongue poking out from between his lips in thought. From where she sat, she couldn’t see what he was etching into his skin and while she wasn’t really supporting the impromptu DIY tat, the suspense was starting gnaw at her insides.

Before she even realized what she was doing, she was up and crossing the room. JJ didn’t even bother looking up as she approached him, his attention only being hooked when Leah pushed a few of the things on the table aside before boosting herself up to sit on it.

He looked between her and the table a few times, before a laugh escaped him. “Sure, just make yourself at home, why don’t ya? You’re lucky I’m done,” he told her, setting his pencil on a bit of the table not occupied by her.

She shrugged, taking the opportunity to look down at his skin. Turning her head to the side so that she was actually viewing the tattoo the right way, she couldn’t help but feel a tug in her chest once it clicked for her.

P4L was scribbled into the skin in JJ’s all too familiar handwriting, thin and somewhat crooked lines formed into a tiny brand of Pogue status. More than that, it was a sign of friendship, of family. In a world of haves and have nots, they had each other. 

A soft smile pulled at her lips, corners turning upward as she looked at it with an equally soft gaze. “It looks good.”

JJ flashed a weak smile. He cleared his throat and the words he spoke were joking, a clear shift for the conversation to go somewhere less somber, less intense. “You jealous you’re not a true Pogue, Lee?”

Leah’s brow knitted together in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“No tattoo, fake Pogue.”

“I don’t remember that in the Pogue friendship rulebook.”

“Just added it,” JJ shot back, a smug little look in his eyes.

She couldn’t help but snort. “Great, I’ll be sure to tell Pope about the new mandate so he can promptly shit his pants at the thought of getting a tattoo with a needle duct taped to a pencil.”

“Nah, Pope’s got guts,” JJ countered but all it took was one raised eyebrow from Leah for his statement to fold like a cheap suit. “Okay, yeah, he’d freak.”

“Ya think?” Leah asked with a laugh, her eyes bright with amusement. She took another glance at his new tattoo. “It really does look good, though. If I actually trusted you to permanently alter my body with a needle, I might’ve reconsidered.”

She expected JJ to scoff and go on another rant of how she was insulting his honor or something, but all she was met with was JJ staring intently at her, lost in thought as he mulled something over. That creeping feeling filled her chest as he looked her over and she had about nine thousand guesses for what could possibly be going through his head as she grew a bit nervous under his gaze.

None of those things were JJ going, “Got an idea,” while reaching around her for something on the table.

She watched on in quiet confusion as he retrieved a Sharpie from behind her, waving it around a bit like he’d just won a prize. There was a devilish grin on his lips as his eyes trailed over her before zeroing in on her arm. JJ didn’t bother with niceties as he pulled her arm from her lap, tugging it towards him and flipping it palm side up.

“What are you ... ?” Leah asked, trailing off as she let him all but manhandle her arm.

“Shh, genius at work,” he told her, pointing yet another writing utensil at her in a mock threat. He took her wrist in his hand, using the other one to push up the array of beaded and string bracelets crowding her arm. 

Pulling the Sharpie’s cap off with his teeth and spitting it out to the side, JJ’s brow furrowed in concentration as he put the marker to her skin, leaving black ink in his wake. Leah already knew what he’d be writing, but still she found herself watching intently as his chicken scratch scribbled across her skin, as if he’d suddenly depart from being sentimental and draw a dick on her arm or something.

He pulled back after a moment, gently rubbing his thumb just under his masterpiece, and he grinned at her, the first real smile she’d seen from him in days. It reached his eyes, the blue of them clear and bright and just ... happy. He looked happy, even if this exchange would only last for another few moments, and it made Leah’s heart do a funny little flip in her chest.

At the risk of making eye contact with her best friend for longer than necessary, the kind of extended look that would risk awkwardness and things Leah was far too sober to think about, she averted her gaze.

Written in what honestly looked like some of JJ’s best handwriting, P4L inked her skin, a small and semi permanent declaration of her Pogue status. A tiny laugh escaped her, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she looked it over.

“There, now we match,” JJ told her. 

She looked back up, eyes locking with his. Dimples showing, JJ was still giving her that smile, that goddamn smile that only ever worked to make hers grow wider. The same smile that had, as of late, made her feel slightly dizzy, like her once perfectly structured world had gone just a hair off-kilter and metamorphosed into something else. And it wasn’t helped by the fact that, though there was no reason for it, he was still holding onto her wrist, callused fingers hot against her skin.

Her heart did that funny little flip again, just once more with feeling. Leah out a breath, nodding just a bit. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

#leah thompson x jj maybank #obx oc #mayson #fic: cruel summer #this is me being self indulgent af #and not working on the actual fic #amanda's writing

[hopelesshawks]

Physical Fatality Part 12- Grief

18+ Hawks x fem, pro hero!reader

Summary: You’re a rising star in All Might’s agency. Hawks is the darling of Endeavor’s. By virtue of your job descriptions, the two of you are supposed to hate each other, or at the very least be cautiously neutral. For a long time that’s exactly what the two of you did. You stayed out of each other’s way and formed little opinion of the other. One fateful night at an HPSC gala changes all that. Based on the album Hopeless Fountain Kingdom by Halsey.

If you don’t want to see Physical Fatality content blacklist #hopelesspf

This story will have multiple NSFW parts so it is 18+ ONLY minors dni

Masterlist Ko-fi

Over the course of your relationship Hawks has seen you pissed off quite a bit. He’s seen you mildly annoyed, he’s seen you decently irritated, and he’s seen you practically rabid with rage. He is intimately familiar with the spectrum of your anger.

And yet all of those times combined cannot compare to the level of rage he sees in you now.

Red Riot, who Hawks now realizes must have arrived with you, rushes to Bakugo’s side to check on him. Only once you’re positive Hawks and Bakugo won’t lunge at each other again do you unceremoniously drop Hawks to the ground. “What the fuck is your problem?” you demand as you storm over to him. “Look I’m sorry but-“ he starts but you don’t let him finish. “There shouldn’t be a ‘but’ in that sentence Hawks why the fuck are you fighting Bakugo of all people? You could’ve killed him!” “Technically he could’ve killed me too, let’s not make him sound helpless.” “That is NOT the point Hawks.” “Right yea no, of course it isn’t. Look I’m sorry things got out of hand but-” “Out of hand? OUT OF HAND? Your lack of self awareness is genuinely fucking phenomenal my GOD.” “Christ will you fucking listen to me instead of cutting me off every fucking time I try to speak?” “You don’t get to make demands right now! You know all this shit reflects back on me!” “Right your precious fucking reputation.” “Yes! My job relies on it remember!” “Could you forget about All Might and the press and whatever else for one goddamn minute? Our relationship is fucking drowning in it!” “What fucking relationship? I don’t even know what the fuck this is anymore.” “What are you on about now?” “We’re not lovers Hawks! We’re just strangers with the same damn hunger to be touched, to be loved, to feel anything at all and it’s gotten genuinely pathetic now.” “Pathetic?” “Yes pathetic! Because clearly we aren’t supposed to be together!” “Says who?” “Look around you Hawks! Apparently fucking everyone and everything!”

Your words seem to echo around the two of you, both of your chests heaving in the wake of the argument. Both of you had forgotten yourselves for a moment and as awareness creeps back in you suddenly can feel the eyes of every reporter and civilian in the area boring into you. “What are you saying (y/n)?” Hawks asks and his voice is heartbreakingly quiet, hands clenched into fists. “I’m saying this is done,” you reply. “Don’t do this, please, I love you and-“ “No you don’t Hawks. You might think you do but you don’t. We love love and the idea of it and for fleeting moments between the arguments and the press and our bosses and everything else we thought we had it but we don’t. Or at least it’s not strong enough to out weigh everything else. I’m sorry,” you sigh before turning away. Cameras flash and reporters shout questions but you ignore them all as you walk over to where Kirishima is helping Bakugo up off the ground. “(Y/n)-“ Bakugo starts to say but you cut him off. “Don’t. I’ll deal with you after we get you patched up,” you tell him before you and Kirishima start walking him back to your agency.

Hawks stares after you, feeling frozen in place as you leave him behind and take his shattered heart with you. “Told you so,” Monoma suddenly taunts from beside him. Hawks jumps, having not noticed when Monoma had come down from the building’s rooftop. Hawks whirls around to face him, grabbing hold of the collar of his shirt. “Ah, ah, ah, don’t you think you’ve done enough damage?” Monoma asks cheekily, jerking his head towards the still flashing cameras. Hawks’ grip tightens momentarily before releasing the other man. Unfortunately Monoma has a point and Hawks really isn’t eager to make things even harder for you. “Don’t worry bird boy, I’ll invite you to our wedding,” Monoma tells the other man before flouncing away, pleased with himself. Hawks tells himself the best he can do now is wait for you to calm down and talk to you then so without another word and before he can do anything else to worsen the situation, he takes off back to Endeavor’s agency and hopes the others from the task force will have good news to share.

The first words he hears when he walks into the meeting room on the top floor are “You’re a fucking idiot” from none other than Shoto Todoroki himself. “I really don’t want to talk about it,” Hawks sighs. “You’re the only one. Pretty much every gossip blog and news outlet ever is talking about it,” Tokoyami tells him. “Headlines are all about how (y/n) is rubbing off on you in the worst possible ways and speculating about your break up,” Midoriya adds in, an unspoken accusation buried beneath his faux neutral tone. “We didn’t break up, she’s just upset,” Hawks denies, desperate to be right. “Really? Looked like a break up to me and the thousands of people who’ve already read the articles and the few dozen people that watched this whole train wreck you started,” Shoto quips. “Can we please just focus on the mission? Please tell me you got good intel,” Hawks sighs. “Since some of us are capable of doing our job, yes. Luckily for you the terror group is in the building we were watching and since you and Kacchan drew so much attention to the other building they think we’re way off base in our search for them. We should be able to make a move by this weekend,” Midoriya informs him. “Great. What now?” Hawks replies. “Now we wait to move out and I go back to my agency to reassure my probably panicked best friend,” Midoriya bites out before handing the last of his operation notes to Shoto and storming out.

“Jesus, I thought Deku was a puppy,” Hawks remarks as the door slams closed. “Midoriya’s always been scary when he wants to be, he’s just also very genuinely kind,” Tokoyami shrugs. “Which is exactly why being on his bad side is a nightmare,” Shoto points out. “Thanks Shoto. Really making me feel better.” “I wasn’t trying to make you feel better. In fact you should feel bad.” “I’m gonna call her,” Hawks sighs as he pulls out his phone to dial your number. The first call rings for awhile before going to voicemail. So does the second. The third is sent straight to voicemail. The fourth doesn’t even go through as he’s promptly alerted his number has been blocked. Hawks swears and tosses his phone onto the table in frustration. “I must have really crossed the line,” he sighs. “You think?” Shoto asks with a raised eyebrow.

“For the record I threw the first punch,” Bakugo admits somewhat sheepishly as you dab at one of several cuts he sustained during the fight. “Unprovoked?” “Obviously not.” “Then it doesn’t change anything. And you’re not off the hook either, what the fuck were you thinking?” you question as you start bandaging him up. “I don’t know, Monoma was being a little shit which got Hawks all worked up and then I tried to get him to back down and we both got worked up and well... you know how that went,” he admits. He watches as your phone lights up again with Hawks’ contact info. You grab it, sending him to voicemail again before blocking his number and putting your phone back down. “Are you sure about breaking up with him?” Bakugo asks and you can tell by how uncharacteristically gentle his voice is that he’s concerned. “I.... don’t know. In a perfect world I’d love to take the time to unpack all of this bullshit and work it out with him. I already know I’ll miss him. I’ll miss the mornings with him laying in my bed and the thought of a forever him and me but I bet all he’ll miss is my body,” you confess. “Don’t you think you’re not giving him enough credit?” “Probably. But I can’t sit at home and be his housewife which means I have to focus on salvaging my career. I’m lucky All Might is out of the office, gives me time to try and think up a sales pitch.” “You’re a good hero (y/n). All Might knows that.” “He also knows he gave me an ultimatum,” you point out. You finish off bandaging Bakugo up and he looks as if he’s about to say something else but you resume talking before he can. “I’m going to head home and lie low. Hopefully I’ll still be employed next time you see me,” you sigh before giving Bakugo’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze and walking out.

The video of you and Hawks’ break up is already viral by the time you get back to your apartment.

You walk straight past the living room, completely ignoring your concerned roommates, and head right into your room. Your phone alerts you to several no doubt concerned texts from Midoriya but you ignore them all as you collapse onto your bed. You lie there for awhile, letting your phone ping almost incessantly with concern from your friends and all the news alerts mentioning your name. When your ringtone cuts through all the other alerts you almost ignore it, assuming it’s Midoriya calling to check on you. Your heart sinks when All Might’s name flashes on the screen instead. You take a deep breath, stubbornly ignoring the way it rattles in your chest, and then answer the phone. “(Y/n)....” All Might starts. “I know,” you answer. “We had a deal.” “I’m a good hero. You know I am.” “I know you are. But we had a deal. I’m sorry.”

Numb.

Achingly,

Heart wrenchingly,

World endingly,

Numb.

That’s how you feel as you listen to All Might continue to justify his decision without actually hearing a word he’s saying. You vaguely register apologies and talk of the agency’s reputation, but for the most part you’re too busy feeling your entire universe crashing down around you to pay much attention to his words. You don’t know how long it’s been when you finally register that he’s been calling your name. “(Y/n)! Are you alright?” All Might presses. You don’t answer. You hang up your phone, face still blank, as Denki and Mina appear in your doorway. They both look you over for a long moment before wordlessly climbing onto your bed to join you. They cuddle up on either side of you and only once you’re safely wrapped up in their arms do you finally allow yourself to break. You mourn the career you worked so hard for as sobs wrack through your body. Your chest and ribs burn with the force of it but the feeling is nothing compared to the bitter grief of losing your job. As your friends hold you, you utter only one heartbreaking phrase between sobs:

“What am I if not a hero?”

Author’s Note: 🥲 we’re getting close to the end game now everyone, and boy oh boy does it hurt

Taglist [open]: @akkaso @cathy8taffy @eeppff @iikillerkitteh @pixelwisp @pokesosa @lildockel @bread0nhead @lavender-moon13

#hopelesspf #hawks #wing hero hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n