#to be fair I’m not exactly an accent connoisseur.

[pizzabookbuying]

sometimes I think it is the world’s teeniest tiniest tragedy that Jess Mariano does not have at least a LITTLE bit of a New York accent

#to be fair I’m not exactly an accent connoisseur. #but sometimes milo says something that is very california and sometimes my heart breaks a little bit for the accent that never was #and also I think it would have been really interesting to explore how Jess maybe intentionally changed the way he spoke. because Luke and #liz both have a little bit of what sounds like an east coast accent #(maybe I’m crazy about that one feel free to correct me) #and Jess doesn’t really have that accent. but I can also #imagine little baby Jess stuck in a book or maybe watching #movies etc etc and being like wow there are so many different ways to speak! (and then proceeding to have his first little rebellion against #Liz via taking on different speech patterns as a way to distinguish himself from her)

[haloud]

day 7- uranus

Michael rolls his head over the back of the lawn chair, closing his eyes, letting all the tension out of his neck and shoulders. Then he blinks his eyes open, staring up at the stars. They’re faint, light pollution from the nearby town, his eyes too unadjusted thanks to the crackling fire at his feet. He’d have to stare straight up for a long time to pick out most of his favorite stars, but the Big Dipper is an old friend, so he’s content.

A car pulls up, and then there are footsteps on the gravel approaching him. He takes a second before looking up. He likes it, that people know they can find him here in the early night. Likes that people do.

“Hey, uh…Michael?”

Michael sits up so fast he cricks his neck at the sound of Max’s voice. Wincing, he rubs it and says, “Well look what the Chupacabra dragged in.”

“Um, yeah,” Max says, doing that awkward thing he does where he rubs the knuckles of both hands together, a nervous habit he’s had most of his life. Michael kicks the chair next to him.

“Sit down, stop hovering.”

Max sits. His long legs sprawl a little too close to the fire, but Michael doesn’t say anything that might get mistaken for nagging, for taking too much care. Anything that might start a fight.

“So I’m guessing you noticed I’ve, uh, not been around a lot lately.”

Michael gropes for a beer from the sixer at his feet and pops it with his brain, taking a deep swig. If Max wants one, he can ask for it, he thinks mulishly, then hands him one anyway.

“You could say that,” Michael says shortly.

“I’m…sorry. I…learned something about our history that I don’t know how to…”

“Oh yeah?” Michael drawls. “’Bout six foot one, beard oil connoisseur, really shitty accent he thinks no one can tell is fake?”

“No, not him. This is something a little closer to home. And I didn’t know how to talk to you about it, so I…but that wasn’t fair to you. Trust me, I’ve heard that plenty from Isobel and Maria. Even Alex dropped by the Pony to give me a piece of his mind.”

“Oh yeah?” Michael says, keeping his voice impressively level. The idea that anyone would stick up for him over Max ignoring him is…not something he knows what to do with.

“Yeah, man. Scary stuff.”

Max laughs without a shred of humor, chugging half his beer at once.

“Okay, now I’m worried,” Michael says. “Just spit it out, man. I’m sure it’s nothing worse than any other shit we’ve dealt with. I am numb to bombshells at this point.”

It’s a long time before Max says anything else. Michael finishes his beer, doesn’t grab another one, just watches the leaping flames in Max’s eyes.

“A few months back when Sheriff Valenti was after me for killing Noah, she sat me down to talk about all the ways I fit the profile. Y’know, uh, white male, 18-40, anger issues...One of those ways was, uh. Troubled childhood. Tried to tell her my childhood was fine, but she pointed out that wandering the desert naked at seven years old isn’t exactly a lack of trouble. Turns out she was the deputy on our case, back then.”

“Huh.”

Explains a few things about the way she used to look at him every time he got hauled in, before she just got used to it.

“She told me that she came to see us in the group home the day Isobel and I were adopted.” Max takes a deep breath.

Stop. Michael wants to tell him to stop. Doesn’t want, doesn’t need to hear what comes next. Doesn’t remember that day, doesn’t have to. He knows, enough, from what people have told him. Can hear the screams, see the red on the walls.

“Good for her,” he grunts.

“She told me that—fuck, Michael, there’s no good way to say this—she said that. That I was the one screaming and drawing on the walls, that you…you calmed me down, but…it was too late, and the Evanses had the wrong idea, and that’s why you were left...” Max chokes off, puts a hand over his eyes. Michael doesn’t have to have his and Isobel’s connection to recognize the awful emotion crushing him.

Michael opens another beer.

“Say something,” Max almost begs.

“Why.”

Michael has to swallow around the lump in his throat, his rabbiting heartbeat.

“Why even tell me this? What fucking good does it do? I can’t—you can’t—nobody can change what happened, even if I believe you—”

“You deserved to know.”

“I wish you hadn’t told me. Since when does the world give a fuck about what I deserve?”

Max flinches. It doesn’t make Michael feel any better. Just like putting a fist in his face wouldn’t make him feel better, and neither would screaming at the world for not being fair. He did a lot of that when he was a child and still believed in a few things that might be listening.

He doesn’t take another beer, if only because only something stronger would put a dent in the feelings he wants to drown, and he doesn’t keep any of that shit around.

“Whatever. It all worked out in the end, yeah? The guy who doesn’t murder people with his hands got the short end of the stick and was therefore responsible for disposin’ of a few less bodies. Highlight of my fuckin’ life, that one. You’re welcome.”

His mind doesn’t go easy on him, whirling with images and thoughts from Max tied to the bed, Max exploding and killing Father Davis to, absurdly, would Alex have ever noticed me if I was preppy Michael Evans. He laughs just to do something with his mouth that isn’t screaming, clenching his left hand into a fist and squeezing the knuckles, though it isn’t as much of a distraction now as it used to be, without the pain.

“Hey, you wanna thank me, make me some business cards—Michael Guerin, mechanic, gravedigger, and total fuckin’ mug—”

He breaks off into more laughter, until he’s bent double, clutching his knees and wheezing.

Max hasn’t said a fuckin’ word.

“Well?” Michael demands, straightening up, looking Max in the eye.

“I don’t know, Michael, I don’t know! I don’t know what to do with any of it, I don’t know what to do with, with you, with everything you’ve sacrificed for Isobel and for me, I don’t know how to be worthy of it, I don’t know how to thank you, I don’t, I don’t know.”

Michael rocks back in his chair, face pointed up at the sky again, drinking in the constellations until he covers his eyes with his hands and lets out a shout of frustration. Everything around them not bolted down lifts and inch and slams back down for emphasis.

Calmer, then, Michael says, “We were seven year old newborns. I’m pretty sure I didn’t do it for gratitude.”

“No, you couldn’t have. Which means you just did it on instinct. It’s just who you are. You protect us, and we, and we…”

“Don’t,” Michael cuts him off, wearily. He doesn’t need to hear any self-recriminations.

“No, Michael, come on. The things you’ve done, the ways you’ve been hurt, you…there aren’t words to describe the gratitude, I just...Thank you, Michael.”

The only sound after that is the crackling fire, and in that silence, Michael floats Max over another beer.

It would be easier if Michael could resent him. If he could want to go back and do it all over again without knowing in a place deep enough in him it could be his cells or a sickness that he’d do the exact same thing, go through all that hell a second time, a third.

“Nobody can change the past,” he says eventually. It’s something Sanders used to say to him any time he made a mistake, when he was just a kid and learning and not a certified ace mechanic who ought to know better. It’s weird, to Michael, right here and right now, having the wisdom of somebody else in his mouth.

This life hasn’t had all bad things.

“But we can try and change the future,” Max says. “I know I’ve done a hell of a job of it these past weeks, but I don’t want to pretend like we don’t know this. I want things to be better between us. I want to be a better brother.”

“Oh yeah? Like how?” Michael’s voice slips into mockery; he doesn’t try to prevent it. “Find me a job that you don’t want? Toss me a hand me down phone when you get an upgrade? Biweekly pity parties? Been there, done that, was given the t-shirt against my will.”

“Yeah, okay, maybe! Just not like that, man, we’re not kids anymore. Maybe we could, I don’t know, try to figure out what being better means together? No more sacrifices. No more charity.”

Michael picks at the label of his latest empty bottle. 

Voice quiet, almost inaudible over the crackle of the fire, Max says, “Dude, my heart only beats because of what you did for me. I came back to life knowing that. This just puts it into perspective.”

“I didn’t do that alone. Liz and Valenti were just as important. More. Rosa kickstarted you. I was just the assist.”

“Michael.” 

“What?”

“What do you need from me? What will help you understand how much you mean to Isobel and me. It’s not charity, man. It’s family. We keep saying that, but I think we need to do a better job defining it, you know?”

What does he need. It’s such a rare question he doesn’t know the answer.

“Free drinks at the Pony for life, a nice, cozy alibi, and your head on a pike instead of mine when Maria finds out.” he says.

Max laughs, the sound strained but genuine, his head thrown back to face the stars.

#mgweek20 #guerinweek20 #michael guerin #max evans

[jjpmoans]

jaebeom + college dorms + enemies-ish + funny angst

To All The J’s | iv. Jaebeom +  college dorms + enemies-ish

sdjsdjkndf i’m so excited to write this one let’s see what I can do! (alsoo sorry i didn’t include any college dorm....i’m sorry?)

warnings : it’s longggg

You see, life in college is always better than high school-- at least that’s what you think. College gives you another thrill and excitement and peacefulness that you will never get back in your high school. 

But of course one shall never be easily satisfied with their current situation because sooner or later, that peace destroyer will find you in no time.

In this case, your destroyer comes in a form of Lim Jaebeom.

“Hello miss, do you want some flower?” you stop in your track as a certain accent greets you, causing you to whip your head to the direction of where it comes from. 

“Oh my god, Jackson.” you clutch the clipboard, scared for a moment. It’s the college open day and you know you should not have been scared since it is predictable that outsiders are inside the campus too but you can trust no one at this point. “You scared me!”

“Ayy- why would you?” standing behind the pails of fresh flowers is Jackson the one and only salesperson at the booth. The flowers arrangement that decorates the whole booth are so pretty, you’re amazed at what have your dormitory mates arranged for the Open Day. The first time you heard about their suggestion to open a flower stall, no offense but you’ve been really skeptical about it.

“Where are the others?” Like you said, Jackson is the only one at the stall and there are approximately nine boys in your dormitory which is not a small number. Did they ditch Jackson to go have some fun? 

“Jaebeom went to get the fresh flowers from the florist, Jinyoung and Bambam went to get the list for delivery, Gyeom Youngjae and Mark are hawking around. That leaves me alone here.”

“Want some flowers?”

“Actually,” you carefully scan the flowers and as you’ve expected, there’s no sight of your favourite flower at the booth. It’s not surprising though, since it’s hard to bring them in and not a lot of people love it. “I do want one but I know you guys don’t have the flowers I prefer.”

"No tell me! What type of flower do you want ? It's on the house!" Jackson winks. "Just choose one."

“If everything is on the house, where does the profit comes in, Jackson?”  Jaebeom interrupts his offer, entering the booth with the fresh flowers he just got from the supplier. In his arms, there are fresh baby breath flowers ready for trimming and composition. You don’t turn to the voice that has just silent you, in fact you ignored him, fixing your eyes on Jackson instead. It has been a well known fact that you can’t be in the same room as Jaebeom. It’s highly likely one of you could get killed.

Meanwhile, knowing both of you too well, Jackson hisses at Jaebeom for interrupting his business. "You are ruining the mood." "It's lucky that these flowers hasn't wilt with the presence of a nature killer." you replies monotonously. It just doesn’t sit right with you to not be able to say anything. It’s in your blood. and your blood is burning with passion to say something mean. "It's even luckier that the flowers aren’t dead frozen with the presence of Artic queen in the booth," Jaebeom starts bringing out the flowers, carefully transferring it to the pail to be displayed. "What kind of flowers do you want?" Jackson quickly interferes. This whole booth could be on fire if your laser eyes keep shooting each other. You switch your vision back to Jackson. "The flower I want is not here." "Of course. We don't sell dead flowers." Comes the scoff. “Only fresh flowers. Though, I think there might be something that suits your dead soul.” You can feel the hair on your neck stands at the chill that creeps up your body, your hand forming a fist in order to stop yourself from screaming in the middle of fair. Oh the audacity of this man.

”Why I oughtta-” "Hey, hey. Listen to me. Ignore him. What flower do you want, sweetheart?" Jackson sighs as he thinks of ways to avoid an upcoming public mass murder. Is it possible to find a fire extinguisher here? He can feel both of you burning and soon enough one of you would probably explode. "I'll find it for you." You give in to Jackson’s request, wanting to get over this. Though you hated Jaebeom, you don’t want to let Jackson down. "Hmm. Do you have peony?" "Why do you have to request the only flower that we don't have? I’ll search the mountain for you if you ask for the Rafflesia,” Jackson shakes his head, exaggerating his disappointment. You have already known that they don’t have it that’s why you rejected his offer from the start.

However the genius Jackson never back up, snapping his fingers as the light bulb goes off in his head. "I know what can replace it." 

You watch him with your eyebrows lifted as he turns around to give instruction to Jaebeom at the back. "Jaebeom hyung. One red rose, full bloom, with baby's breath in a bouquet please. Wrap with white organza." He snaps his fingers. "Pink ribbon." 

The way he talks sounds exactly like a flower connoisseur that you’ve seen in movies, perhaps this is why their flower business gains a lot of attention. 

Jaebeom who has just finished arranging the fresh flowers turns around, staring incredulously at Jackson. "The I-Love-You ensemble?" The-what? "Jackson. I don't play with this kind of thing." Jackson on the other hand, gapes at the older guy with wide eyes. "You know the language of flower too?" "No biggie." “Then can you- oh hi!” Jackson is about to reply when a family stops by the booth, staring blanking at the type of flowers on display. Immediately Jackson changes, flashing his hundred watt smiles to greet the family. He turns to Jaebeom again, requesting, “Can you help to ensemble y/n’s bouquet for me?”

Jackson looks at you, dismissing himself. “I’ll get back to you later okay?”

You watch as Jackson helps the family to find their desired flower, naturally showing his charms. It’s no doubt that Jackson is a natural born salesperson. He could probably sold out a rather old fashioned boring stuff. It’s just in his blood. "Here." You shift your sight you sight to the single red rose which is a few millimeters away from swatting your nose. 

“Uhh.” Yugyeom stops in his track, together with Bambam next to him. Their vision are fixed to the sight in front on them, refusing to believe what had happened. "Is the weather too hot or am I hallucinating?"

“I don’t have any fever, do I?” Bambam checks his temperature, eyes unmoving. Joining them are Mark and Youngjae, both frozen in their track. 

“Wow this must have been the parallel universe.” Youngjae said.

“Damn Jaebeom. I thought he would never ask her out.”

"Flower?" Their gazes are still fixed to the transaction of flower that is happening in front of them. "Jaebeom?" "y/n?" "Single red rose?" "Full bloom?" "Olala," they say in unison. Jinyoung returns from his room with a list in his hand, relieved that the list is still there all along. However he bumps on Yugyeom, slightly annoyed of why the other four guys forming a line in the middle of his way. 

“What’s wrong with you guys? Seen any ghost?”

“This is much much bigger than seeing any ghost.” Yugyeom replies, the clipboard slipping from his hand. “I think the world is ending. “What-” Jinyoung turns his head to the booth, jaw dropping. “Fucking finally.” He then walks toward the booth, others trailing behind him like ducklings. It’s evident that both of you are in your own world, Jaebeom’s hand extended to give you your bouquet.

“Is it just me or love is in the air?” Yugyeom snickers, followed by Youngjae and Bambam, all of them teasing you with a smile. “Nice pick, Jaebeom hyung.”

“Do you want me to kill you?”Jaebeom glares.

“Or do you want to try my backhanded punch?” you offer. You know there were many eyes watching your interaction just now and you can’t help but feeling your cheeks turning hot. This is not supposed to turn this way. Yugyeom raises his hand to defend himself after getting death threats, "Hey. Action speaks louder than words okay." His grins is full of mischievous and tease. " And thats..a giga one to interpret." You don’t know what to do, instead you snatch the bouquet from Jaebeom, turning your heels away from the booth. You can’t stand there any longer, your face would probably explode from embarrassment.

What you don’t know is that Jaebeom is also being teased to death at the booth, silently accepting all the teasing the boys have thrown to him. 

“So, I Love You ensemble huh?” Jinyoung nudges him, grinning in triumph. 

Jaebeom laughs, shaking his head in return. “I gotta thank you for teaching me that ensemble one day.”

To All The J’s Masterlist

#the moans writing #the moans game #the moans writing game #to all the j's writing game #jaebeom fluff #sdjkfnsfjnsfjskn help #i only manage to write one #but well at least one #than none

[thetriggeredhappy]

idk if you've done 31. speedingbullet before but oh man, that would be such a wholesome blessing ♡

missed the festival in town this year unfortunately bc travel reasons, time to live vicariously through these fictional 60s/70s gays again. (warnings for sappy, mentions of vomit in goof contexts, mentions of weed because im a creature, food)

31.) “Can I kiss you?”

One of these days, he’d figure out how to get Sniper out of his shell. He was sure of it.

He’d tried just about everything he could think of. He’d invited Sniper to the movies, to tag along to help with a shopping run, out to eat at three kinds of restaurants for lunch and two for dinner. Hell, he’d ended up roping Sniper into a double date, himself set up with a fiery-tempered girl who’d dumped a drink on his head and then written her number on his arm, Sniper with the tag-along friend who apparently needed to get out more. The date hadn’t gotten much of anywhere, the girl and him half-arguing the whole time and Sniper and the other girl staring at their plates and hardly even chiming in when invited. It had taken a bit of pestering to get Sniper to go out again after that.

He dragged Sniper to team meals, to bars, to clubs, to casinos. To a museum, to the farmer’s market, to a flea market. And each and every time he brought Sniper somewhere, the man ended up pacing along beside Scout, hands in his pockets, quietly chiding him when he got argumentative with civilians and quietly laughing at him when his bad luck had him making a fool of himself.

He just wouldn’t open up. Scout told him story after story, showed him all his own interests, presented every kind of joke he could think of, and the guy wouldn’t budge. Wouldn’t start telling his own jokes, wouldn’t start telling his own stories. Wouldn’t commentate on the things around them unless directly asked, and never once suggested where they should go next.

If Scout didn’t like a challenge so much, he would’ve ripped his own damn hair out.

The fair was his last resort. If he couldn’t get Sniper to open up somehow with the excitement and variety and overall greatness of an entire fair, then he was denouncing the man as a robot who did not feel things or have real emotions and turning him over to Engie for further study.

This was the middle day of the fair, meaning it was straight up bustling. Every stand had at least two people at it, and all the food booths had lines, and all the rides had even longer lines, and the number of teenagers stood around with each other was downright astronomical. This was a big fair, too, one of those harvest-type once-a-year nothing-else-ever-happens-in-this-state festivals that people would come from all over the place to go to. Engie had a lot to say on those kinds of things, and in fact had been the one to suggest Scout go check it out after hearing about it from some other old person when he was out doing some work-related supply run stuff.

Scout was most excited, as he often was, by the food.

The first thing they did once they got in the place was beeline to the first booth, some caramel corn thing, to get a small bag of it. Sniper commented lightly on his restraint. The second was to go to the next booth, which sold cotton candy. They got one cone to split between them. The third was to go to the next booth, which was one of those fair-specific food trucks. Sniper was starting to catch on.

“Aren’t these… well, the same sorts of food you can just find in a city somewhere?” Sniper asked, voice lowered so that only Scout could hear him.

Scout put on his best expression of complete shock and offense. “What! No, it’s totally different! The hell you talkin’ about? Fair food is awesome!”

“I mean… I’m not so sure, mate,” Sniper said carefully, glancing over the colorfully-painted sign.

“I—okay, hold on,” Scout instructed, and turned to pay as he was handed his latest portion of food, the Bucket ‘O Fries. “I mean, c’mon, check this out! It’s a bucket of french fries, what’s to dislike?”

Sniper looked at him blankly as they walked away from the food truck. Scout breathed in and began to elaborate.

“I mean, okay, the quality of the fries? Not great. I’ll admit, they’re fuckin’ shit, garbage oil sticks, and they’re also just straight up delicious. They’re the best trash. They’re the truck stop diner bacon of french fries. They’re tasty nightmares. I’m literally gonna like, sweat oil and salt after eating these, and it’s absolutely worth it. You can’t get this specific brand of perfect awfulness anywhere but at a fair. And, and? It’s in a bucket. That’s hilarious. Food in a bucket is awesome. Like, it’s maybe the closest a food place can get to calling its customers animals without making them eat from a trough, and I’m all about it. And you get to keep the bucket. Like, I just have a little plastic trash-lookin’ bucket now. What part of this isn’t objectively the greatest?”

Sniper considered the question. “Well, don’t imagine you’ll be able to eat all those,” he said after thinking about it for a moment. “So, not ideal.”

“Dude, don’t even worry about that. Best part of a carnival like this? They’ve got all this horrible garbage food, and like thirty feet away—“ He stopped in his tracks, and Sniper stopped as well, following his line of sight. “—They have spinny rides that’ll make you puke.”

Sniper was still. Scout watched him, waiting for a reaction. “Rides make you throw up?” he asked after a second.

“If I eat a whole fuckin’ bucket of french fries before I get on, then hell yeah they do,” Scout said cheerfully.

Sniper considered that, or maybe just stared at the ride and all of the screaming and hollering people aboard it.

“How many foods come in a bucket, y’think?” Sniper asked.

“Uh, you got fries,” Scout said, lifting his Bucket ‘O Fries to demonstrate his point. “You got fried chicken. I went to this place once with chicken tenders in a bucket with fries.”

“So just a combination of the first two,” Sniper said.

“Oh my god, what? Dude, no way, fried chicken and chicken tenders are wildly different, you kiddin’ me?” Scout gasped. “Barely the same food group!”

Sniper shifted his feet, still watching the ride. “How’re they different?”

“Don’t even get me started, man,” Scout warned.

“Do you even know the food groups?” Sniper asked next, voice flat in a way that Scout had learned meant Sniper was joking.

“Sniper, as a connoisseur of absolute garbage, you insult me,” Scout deadpanned back. “Let’s take some laps of the games and stuff before we go on the rides, I gotta have time to appreciate these fries before they’re being sent into a trash can.”

Sniper shrugged in agreement, following Scout as he started off towards some of the games.

Scout blew a good twenty dollars on the bottle ring toss game, pleased to hear Sniper chiming in every time he made a particularly bad throw. The next booth over had Scout making a repeat performance with the cane ring toss game, except he did manage to win himself exactly one prize, a sticky hand which only ended up directly in his pocket due to the look of immediate dismay on Sniper’s face when he saw Scout wielding it.

“Hey, if there’s one of those shooting games here, think you’d wanna play it? Show up some people?” Scout asked.

Sniper shook his head. “Mate, even out here in civvies,” he started, plucking at the shoulder of Scout’s civilian t-shirt and the chest of his own choice of clothing, a green-grey button-up, “I imagine an Australian washing out the place and a Boston bloke cheering him on would earn enough looks to get us recognized. Especially since you’ve still got the hat and I’ve the glasses.” He tapped first the bill of Scout’s hat, then the side of his own shades.

“Then we fake some accents,” Scout said cheerfully.

Sniper raised an eyebrow, which Scout had long learned was the closest thing to emoting that Sniper managed most of the time. “As if you know how to fake accents,” Sniper said, a note of disbelief showing through.

“What, you think I don’t?” Scout challenged, bumping elbows with him partially by accident as they needed to squeeze between two gaggles of people.

“Do one, then,” Sniper said simply.

Scout cleared his throat, raising his chin. “Oi, look ‘ere, mind tellin’ me where you might find a hotel ‘round ‘ere?” Scout said in an approximation of a lighthearted British accent.

Sniper stared at him. “The hell’d you learn to do that? That was damn well spot on,” Sniper said, both eyebrows raised now.

Scout kept grinning, ducking ahead for a second to squeeze between two intersecting lines of people. When Sniper caught back up he started explaining. “Me an’ one’a my brothers spent these two summers pullin’ this scam,” he started to explain. “We’d pretend to be tourists in town for tour group stuff, sneak into tour groups around the middle’a the day with these old busted cameras he got off people and fake accents so people thought we were from somewhere else, get into buffets for tour-specific stuff and eat for free and leave again,” he explained. “First summer we did it for like two months straight with different tours, second summer we only made it a month in before we had to cut it out.”

“Why?”

“His ex-girlfriend apparently got a job as a tour guide. That was, uh, the second time I ended up in custody that summer.”

“Hooligan,” Sniper murmured in a way that made Scout unsure if he was being made fun of, scolded, or congratulated.

They ended up at the ball toss at some point, which Scout did end up knocking out of the park a few times until the attendant told him to please move along already, reasoning that they already had a frankly ludicrous number of stuffed animals. Indeed, Sniper was carrying three large ones, and Scout had another one in the arm not carrying assorted food.

“I’m namin’ this guy Cotton Candy,” Scout said matter-of-factly, hefting the blue-pink-and-white rabbit up higher as it started to slip from his grip. “And I’m naming that guy Fry Bucket.”

“Which one?” Sniper asked, glancing between the three stuffed animals in his hand.

“That one,” Scout said, bumping a the yellow-and-purple-and-white-and-black slightly-suspicious-looking cat with his elbow. “Because the colors are bright like the bucket.”

“What about the other two?” Sniper asked.

“Eh, they’re yours, up to you.”

Sniper didn’t speak for a moment, just shifting the stuffed animals a bit. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I don’t got a use for four of these guys,” Scout shrugged. “Already I’m thinkin’ about whether Pyro’s gonna want Fry Bucket or Cotton Candy more.”

“What’s that second name about?” Sniper asked. “Is that a brand?”

“…What?”

“Cotton candy.” Sniper’s accent wrapped around the words strangely. “That a specific kind? The, er, blue-pink stuff?”

“…Of cotton candy?” Scout asked slowly.

“Yeah. It’s fairy floss, so is cotton candy then just a certain—“

“It’s fuckin’ what?” Scout asked, eyes lighting up.

Sniper paused for a few seconds. “…You people made up your own name for somethin’ again, haven’t you?” Sniper asked, sighing.

“Fairy floss? Okay, let’s talk about this. Let’s talk about that name.”

“No, we already did this with the bonnet and hood thing, and the… prawn and shrimp thing. So you people call it cotton candy. Noted. Moving on.”

“So like, the tiny winged girls, fuckin’—so goddamn Tinkerbell, she brushes her teeth, right? And she’s gotta be thorough. Ain’t gonna get no gum disease here in fuckin’ Neverland, no way, no adults here so no dentists so that’d go pretty bad. So she’s gotta floss, right? And she uses a goddamn cloud-lookin’ pillowy thing? It’s fairy floss?”

“I didn’t invent all of Australian slang,” Sniper interjected. “You can’t judge me for my country’s choice in naming things. I can’t help it.”

“It’s cotton candy, man! It’s cotton, like outta some kinda pillow, made with sugar. I don’t get why you would call it somethin’ else.”

“Apparently Ireland and those blokes up there split the difference, called it candy floss,” Sniper added in before Scout could get too carried away.

“It’s still not floss! Couldn’t pick a different one? Called it, what, fairy cotton?”

Sniper’s lip twitched up for a moment. “I’m nearly sure that’s some sort of code word for hooch, mate.”

“What the fuck is hooch? Are you speaking English? Am I in fuckin’ wonderland right now?” Scout asked, downright baffled.

“Hooch. Marijuana, cannabis. Mate, you said you grew up in the city, the hell you mean you don’t know what hooch is?”

“Who the fuck calls it hooch?! Man, I knew that Australia was weird, but seriously, it’s gotta be crazy down there,” Scout laughed.

They continued to wander the fairgrounds for awhile longer, and while Sniper was a bit more talkative than usual, Scout couldn’t be sure it wasn’t his imagination and his quietly trying to prompt Sniper into saying more. Eventually Scout could tell that the fairground was nearing closing time, crowd thinning alongside the various booths starting to close up shop and haul things away and lock stuff up for the night.

“I don’t think we’re gonna get around to that eating a ton of food and throwing up thing,” Scout said, a little bit put out.

“Sounds…” Sniper started to say, and stopped again quickly.

Scout waited. “What? What were you gonna say?”

Sniper hesitated. “I was going to say that it… sounds a bit juvenile, don’t you think?” he said slowly. “Not quite as fun as an adult.”

Scout considered that for a few seconds. “…Yeah. Maybe,” he conceded. “Haven’t done that since I was a teen. Might not be as great anymore.”

Sniper hummed. Scout kept talking, as he was used to.

“I mean, back then stuff was also pretty weird all the time,” he said, fidgeting with the handle on the fry bucket. “There was school, then practice, then I’d go home and have stuff with my brothers goin’ on all the time, some kinda shenanigans to pull. Now it’s just work, then I go do chores, then I’m all tired and don’t wanna do nothin’ except go to sleep, then I go to sleep and it’s the next day and I got work again. If I don’t got chores or whatever it’s fine, but man. When did I get all boring, y’know?”

“I don’t think you’re boring,” Sniper said quietly.

Scout looked at him, but couldn’t quite catch his expression the way he was holding the stuffed animals. “Huh? What’d you say?” he asked, fully aware but giving Sniper a chance to take that back or spin it into a joke the way just about everyone did.

“I don’t… I don’t think you’re boring,” Sniper said again, a bit louder now. “You’re interesting. You’ve got big opinions on just about everything, a million stories, a bunch of secret talents that only ever happen to come up at odd times. And you’ve got a lot of jokes. You’re…”

He trailed for a moment as they passed a small group of teens, chattering and laughing among themselves.

“You’re funny. You’re interesting,” Sniper said simply. “Not boring.”

Scout didn’t fight the smile that pulled at his face. “Well, look who’s gotten sweet all of a sudden,” he marveled aloud. Sniper readjusted the stuffed animals he was holding, bringing them closer to his face. “Well, speakin’ of sweet, want some more fairy floss before that place over there closes?”

Sniper nodded somewhere behind the layers of fluff and foam.

Their last stop was out towards the edge of the fairgrounds, the big ferris wheel they had set up. It was the tallest thing at the fair, no contest, and while it definitely wasn’t the biggest ferris wheel Scout had ever seen, or even been on, it was still surprisingly nice.

“Imagine that’s the sort that they need to break down to transport, rather than just keeping it on a trailer,” Sniper said almost offhandedly, following Scout’s line of sight.

“You know stuff about ferris wheels?” Scout asked, blinking.

Sniper shrugged. “Needed to for a job. Just the basics.”

“Huh. Cool.” Scout continued to look at the wheel. “Hey, I know sometimes they don’t shut those off at night, to like, promote the fair. Think they’ve still got an attendant working?”

“Probably not,” Sniper said, glancing around at the line of closed tents and booths around them.

“Wanna just hop on board?”

Sniper looked at him with a slight head tilt. “Why would we do that?”

Scout grinned. “Hey, we aren’t plannin’ on coming back here tomorrow, might as well make a grand exit and get kicked out,” he reasoned.

Sniper’s head tilted slightly further, almost disapproving. “We’d get arrested. The boss would be furious.”

“Assuming they call the cops and the cops get here before we’re gone. What’re they gonna do, be mad? Call our parents? Give us a stern lecture?” He elbowed Sniper. “Come on, let’s live a little!”

And then Scout was off, headed towards the wheel.

“I didn’t agree to this, technically,” Sniper said, hurrying to follow, voice slightly raised.

“But you’re gonna do it anyways!” Scout chimed.

Sniper did not argue that point.

The security was foolproof. A padlock and chain on a gate that was three feet high and had horizontal bars, as well as another lock on the control panel lever. Scout, known for his ability to jump vertically to well over his standing height, was quiet simply unequipped for such a challenge.

Sniper did have to hand over the stuffed animals before he could hop the gate, but soon Scout was placing Fry Bucket on lever duty and the other three nearby to stand guard, then he and Sniper were clambering into one of the cars and headed up.

It was going fairly slowly, to be fair. It took a solid minute for them to get only a bit above halfway up, and it spun them up backwards, meaning most of the view was obscured.

“Other wheels I went on usually spun the other way,” Scout commented lightly, kicking his feet up despite the slightly awkward angle. “Kept stopping to let people on and off, too. Way smaller, though.”

Sniper hummed. Silence fell.

Not long after they’d reached the apex and started heading back down again, Sniper sighed quietly. “I’m sorry if I got sharp with you,” he apologized, very serious. “I just… crowds aren’t much good to me. Too much noise, too much action. People too close. Gets me on edge.”

Scout was suddenly treated with the memory of just about every outing he’d gone so far as to take Sniper on, almost all of which involved crowds. “What?” he asked, taken aback. He pulled his feet down, sitting up. “Really? Dude, why didn’t you say nothin’? I’ve been takin’ you out to real bustlin’ places for like, two months!”

Sniper made a listless gesture. “Didn’t want to ruin your fun just because I’m a worrywart,” he replied, even quieter now. “And I doubt you’ve got many places you know that don’t involve whole masses of people. It’s your whole element.”

Scout couldn’t really argue with that. “Well, then I would’ve been letting you pick where we hang out,” he said stubbornly.

Sniper’s eyebrows drew together. “What? I thought you just wanted someone to bring with you when you went out,” Sniper said, clearly confused.

Scout blinked. “Dude, no. I’ve just been tryin’ to find a place you’d like to hang out in, see if I could get you to talk about anything. You’re always all quiet, I figured it was because you’re bored.”

“Of course not. Opposite, really. Gets overwhelming, I try my best to shut my mouth and pay attention.”

Scout needed a minute to loop his head around that. “Oh. Huh.” They reached the bottom of the wheel, but neither moved to get up, and they just continued on their steady path up again. “I… shit. Dude, I had no idea. I thought you were just hard to please.”

Sniper shook his head. “No. The places are always nice—this is nice—but I just…”

He trailed off. Scout waited for him to sort through his words.

“I just prefer… things like this,” he decided on. “Instead of noises and movement and close quarters and a hundred food smells.”

Scout’s mind went ahead and dealt with that one for a good minute. “Close quarters,” he repeated. “So this isn’t good either?”

“With other people, other folks,” Sniper clarified. “I’m fine with closed spaces.”

“Well, I’m other folks,” Scout said.

Sniper looked away, off to one side. “Not really,” he said, words almost lost to a breeze that decided to blow by just then. “You’re just Scout. I’m fine with you.”

Quiet again.

They made it to the top of the ride again, and Scout found himself relaxing a little bit. He tilted his head back.

“Can’t see the stars out here so good,” Scout said, looking up at the sky.

“Light pollution,” Sniper murmured in agreement, looking up as well. “I can hardly see any at all.”

“You’ve still got your shades on,” Scout half-laughed.

Sniper reached a hand up as if to push his glasses up his nose, and just kept his hand there on them for a few seconds.

“C’mon, not so many stars, by they’re still good ones,” Scout urged.

Sniper hesitated for a moment before he pulled the shades off, folding them, hanging them on his shirt. His gaze fell down below for a moment, then up to the sky. He had pretty eyes. There were some wrinkles around them, the kind of thing that meant Sniper either laughed a lot, or spent a lot of time in the sun, or a mixture of both. Scout realized he’d probably have his own pretty soon with his lifestyle. He found a lot of things funny.

Sniper briefly glanced at Scout out of the corner of his eye, then back away again.

“You’re staring,” Sniper said quietly, gaze falling to the tents and stands as they started on the inward down curve.

Scout looked away, also out at the area they’d just been in. Only a few places still had lights around them. The area was mostly dark, the tent blockings around them lit mainly by the gently changing lights on their ferris wheel. “You should take your shades off more,” Scout said.

Sniper shifted. “I use ‘em at work,” he replied. “They help me shoot.”

“You weren’t at work today, or any of the other times we went and did stuff,” Scout replied, tipping his head against the back of the seat, rolling his head to look at Sniper. Tiredness was creeping up on him, not in a cranky way, just in a lazy way.

“Why would I take ‘em off?” Sniper asked, not looking at him.

“So I can know where you’re lookin’,” Scout shrugged. “And because you look good, and they hide your face.”

Sniper’s eyes fell to his own knees, which he gripped in both hands. “Maybe that’s the point,” he said, voice rumbling against the lowest volume he could manage.

Scout kept looking at him, then back up at the sky as they made it to the upper half.

“Scout, I have a question,” Sniper said, eyes locked downward.

“Mm,” Scout hummed.

Sniper took a breath, exhaled. Looked over at Scout, made eye contact, maybe for the first time without the barrier of tinted, reflective lenses in the way. “Can I kiss you?”

Scout wasn’t sure what his expression was in the following several moments of silence, but it made Sniper tense, paling under the colorful lights, visibly sinking at roughly the same speed as the car they were in as they passed the apex.

“I’m sorry, I just—“ he started to stammer, backtracking as Scout did his best to mentally try and sort out the can of worms that was just opened. “I thought, we—ferris wheel, you sayin’ that I’m, I’m good looking, and—“

Scout saw the way he was fidgeting, fiddling, hands no longer able to be stuffed in his pockets to prevent it.

“—and you won those stuffed animals for me s’well, and you’ve been taking me to dinner, tryin’ to make me laugh, and—“

He couldn’t quite look at Scout, and maybe he could never quite look at Scout, and maybe that’s why he never took his sunglasses off. Maybe that’d why he kept his hat’s brim low. Maybe that’s why he held things up near his face.

“—and I just assumed, I, I’m sorry, I’m godawful at picking up the clues on that sort of thing, and maybe I just imagined things, I—“

“Do you wanna?”

Sniper’s rambling stammered to a halt. He didn’t look at Scout. “What?”

“Hey. Look at me.” It took a minute, but he did, tipping his head up first, eyes following a second later. Crow’s feet. “Do you wanna kiss me?”

Sniper managed the tiniest of nods.

“Out loud,” Scout added, voice level.

Sniper took a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like to,” he said.

Scout tilted his head up for a second. They were headed back up and over again. Stars.

“Yeah,” Scout decided. “You can, if you want.”

Sniper had to take a second to process that. But then, slowly, he placed his hand on Scout’s shoulder. He second-guessed himself, hand moving instead to rest on Scout’s cheek, tilting his face only on accident, and then Sniper was kissing him.

It felt nice. Scout reached up slowly so as to keep from scaring Sniper away, an arm wrapping up around his shoulders.

By the time they pulled away, they were at the bottom of the wheel again. Sniper managed to smile at him, so visibly relieved and contented that it almost left Scout reeling, the sudden input of reaction making his head spin.

“You taste like fries,” Sniper informed him quietly.

Scout laughed.

#sniperscout #speeding bullet #my fanfiction #shut up me #my writing #tf2 #team fortress 2 #im sleeby this probably has errors but shrug

[angstymarshmallow]

can you please make a fanfic where drake entered a whiskey drinking contest againts jake? and robyn will win at the end? ty.

Hi anon! By Jake, I assume you meant Jake McKenzie from Endless Summer. Okay challenge accepted! Here is a somewhat hilarious AU cross-over.

-

“W is for Win and Whiskey” - Drake x MC

Most of the other contestants could barely stand on their owntwo feet by the time the sixth round begun.

Drake had counted less than three remaining as he downed hisliquor in one quick go. He fixed his gaze ahead at them. The three-remainingpeople from the competition, they had also been the only people that had showedenough promise.

His whiskey driven days were all but natural to him at thispoint, and he was disappointed to find most of the other competitors droppedlike flies before the fourth round. Wherewere the rest of the whiskey enthusiasts? They were certainly not here.

He wanted to be the best inside this small town they’d visited.On a whim, they had entered the village only to realize a small drinkingcompetition had been currently going on. His eyes had piqued up with mildinterest but it was Robyn that implored him to join.

Now, his eyes were pitiful towards the rest that had already passedout near the table before they inexplicably locked gazes with the othercontestants still involved with the competition.

Unfortunately, three others still stood between him and hisclaim to victory.

Spying on them from the corner of his eyes was a great way forhim to keep track. To know how the enemy would react to every drink they took,until they inevitably would all end up with the most terrible hangover. Undeterred,Drake had battled on - expect as soon as he finished his sixth glass, doubtswere beginning to take root, and form little seeds of second thoughts.

It didn’t help that he had to start squinting to focus, and squintingwasn’t nearly as fun as he would hope. He tried to make sense of the swayedmovements of the other two that was left, and watched for slurred speeches as apartof the telltale signs of defeat.

Drake jolted in surprise but quickly lifted into a half-smileonce he swept the room again. Satisfaction prickled at the sight in front ofhim. The fourth contestant had lost his resolve, crumbling right in front of themwith a strangled cry before succumbing to the mighty powers of whiskey.

Drake watched his head snap back before the rest of the frailman sagged forward. His eyes remained closed and Drake strained to hear what hemuttered so readily under his breath. It was mostly nonsensical, grumblings andmisgivings about the competition but Drake wouldn’t let it ruin his good mood.He watched with interest though until the man had finally slammed his head acrossthe glass table and, with only the contents of half an empty glass beside him.

An uncharacteristic grin broke out. Two to go. Drake thought smugly to himself as he tipped his emptyglass at the other two. “S’ready to lose?” He taunted. It wasn’t his usualstyle, but the adrenaline rush and the occasional buzz, deluded him intothinking that feeling could last forever. It made him bold. It dared for him tobe fearless, and he grinned at the other two shamelessly.

The man in the green jacket had smirked at him. His unruly hairclung to his forehead as he leaned forward, close enough that the dog tagsaround his neck jingled by the sudden friction. “You talk a big game, but canyou deliver?” He jerked his chin at him as the staff refilled their glasses.

“Hell yeah.” Drake responded, smirking back. “Or my last nameisn’t Walker….” A pause, “for nothing.” He grabbed his glass to raise at him.

His mouth hung slightly agape, the man quickly recovered longenough to grin. He expertly knocked his glass back as if he too had a deep softspot for the substance. “You’re gonna have to do better than that. I’m aregular,” the man paused as if he was struggling to find the right words. “Whiskeyconnoisseur.”

Drake lifted a brow.

“And,” The man continued, hands gripping the side of the glasstightly. “I’ve never met someone that bragged about being named after whiskey.”He snorted, “You ain’t an alcoholic, are you? It almost doesn’t feel fair.”

“Fair?”

“Almost a damn shame, beating you at your own game.”

Their glasses filled in front of them and they both exchangedconfident smirks before drinking the liquor in one quick go. They held eyecontact as the substance trickled down their thoughts, keeping a safe distanceaway even as tension had shifted the atmosphere between them.  Neither of them flinched at the other’s intensestare.

“I bet….bet I can –” Drake hicced, “…drink you under the table,” he hicced again, “ -any day of the week.”He had trouble making out the name tag on the man’s black shirt. “McKenzie.” Hedrawled finally, eyes nearly bulging to read the stupid tag. “McKenzie Jake?”

“Jake…Jake McKenzie, moonshine.” The man corrected.

“Jake…Jake McKenzie..” Drake echoed, but frowned at the words asthey left his lips. They all came out wrong, like a rush of letters mingledquickly together.

Drake was under the heavy impression that he had suddenlydeveloped an unmistakeable slur.

Jake grinned smugly, while stabbing a shaky finger in the air. Hisown face was flushed, eyes nearly glazed over. “Nah moonshine, you’re already…losingthis battle.” He hicced too before he could stop himself.

The two of them shared another look, a match of staring eachother down but neither of them looked away as another glass was placed in frontof them. They barely touched their respective glasses as they hiccupped thesame exact time, before erupting into a fistful of laughs.

The liquor sputtered from their lips, and Drake’s nose burnedbefore he snorted. The rest of it trickled down the side of their mouths beforethey both were chimed in as disqualified from the competition.

The third person had suddenly sprung from their seat, shakingbut nonetheless it grabbed both their attentions immediately. Drake had no ideahow he had forgotten her, but his eyes drank in her beautiful face easily asher smile twisted into a smirk.

Her dark hair went flying as she did a little spin,almost stumbling before his arms fastened around her waist to catch her.

When she found her footing again, Robyn gave a giant cry oftriumph and stuck her tongue out at them both. “Smuchk it boys..!” She drawledin that American accent of hers.

Her face was nearly as red as how flushed he felt.

“You sure showed us.” Jake sarcastically muttered, but herunsteady dancing tugged a smile from his lips until he was laughing again.

Drake could scarcely believe it as he stared up at her indisbelief. Robyn had actually beaten him for once. How was he ever going tolive that down?

She was never going to let him.

Already dreading their walk back to the b’n’b they were stayingat, he appealed to her vanity. “Damn Tinsley, I guess I sold you short. You’rereally good at  –” The rest of hissentence died on his lips, as his stomach cramped up a minute later, bubblinguntil he lurched away. He could barely suck in a breath before he heaved in theopposite direction.

His wasn’t the only shrill sound that flooded past Robyn’s cry ofalarm. 

It was as if every competitor had realized how ridiculous drinkingwhiskey in a competition was in themiddle of the day and Drake winced as he heard the others around himvomiting who-knows-where. 

He didn’t know how long he sat, crouched low holdinghis stomach in pain but eventually he felt Robyn’s smooth fingers sift throughhis hair.

She didn’t say anything.

Seconds turned into minutes and eventually Drake lost count. All he could focus on was emptying his stomach, until there was nothing left.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, crouched over in pain withthe stint of regret building knots inside him. But the pressure of her fingersand her soothing voice had eased the embarrassment he felt at not being able tokeep his liquor down. Eventually when his stomach felt settled enough, he wiped hismouth with his shirt, and stared up at her.

Robyn’s eyes were warm with affection and concern as she brushedstray hairs away from his sweaty forehead. “You okay?” She mumbled softly.

A weak smile touched his lips. “Betterknowing you hadn’t left.” He uttered a shaky sigh, “that was awful.”

“It could have been worse, you could’ve been the only onepuking.”

“I don’t exactly see how this is any better Tinsley.”

She leaned forward to press her lips to his forehead before heburied his face inside her neck. “Take comfort in that, and knowing I wouldn’t leaveyou alone like that.”

He hid his smile in between her shoulder blades.

“Besides, I’m holding this over you.”

“Of course, you would.”

“Forever.”

He groaned.

“I beat you at awhiskey competition.”

Silence.

“I said I beat you -”

“I know baby, I heard you the first time.” He interjected, grumbling into hershirt. He ignored the sound of her chuckling by his ear.

When he felt strong enough, he stood and tucked her hand inside his. She tried to pester him with taking it easy and he quickly deflected her efforts. He wasn’t a child and he refused to be fretted over as such. Instead, he told her all he needed was a quick nap and her snuggled beside him in bed. 

She didn’t disagree.  

They walked in silence for awhile and although, she didn’t say anything - he could feel her bubbling with need to gloat from beside him as they headed in the direction of their rental. Eventually, he shifted only to meet her beaming up at him. 

“I won, Drake Walker.” She murmured, eyes dancing in playful delight.

His lips curved into a half-smile. “That you did Robyn Tinsley.” He mumbled, hands entwining with hers.

Years later, she still hadn’t allowed him to forget it.

-

#drake x mc #the royal romance #trr: drake walker #es: jake mckenzie #playchoices #choices stories you play #asks #fic request #mc x drake #tinsley x walker #drake x robyn #drake walker #man i didn't think i'd enjoy this as much as i did but this was so much fun

[deeranger]

“Lavender Remains” chapter 1

SUMMARY:

James and Michael have decided to explore their newfound feelings for each other after the "X-Men: Days of Future Past" wrap by staying at a secluded country inn. Keeping their romance a secret they try to find out what to do, because James is a married man after all. For now at least. But the otherwise cozy stay at the inn takes a dramatic turn when James suddenly goes missing one night. Unwillingly separated from each other both James and Michael are going to realize just how much they love each other. And exactly what they are willing to do in the name of love. Will their love survive? And will they?

WARNING: 

Explicit non-con and violence in upcoming chapters! Read at own risk! 

Chapter 1: ”Dinner for Two”

The sun was sending down its light in cool, yellow rays piercing the thick layer of clouds drifting across the sky outside the windows. The atmosphere in the restaurant was calm and there was a soft humming of voices and clinking of tableware. For once it was nice that there was no music playing which was usually the case in most restaurants. James was grateful for the quiet. He smiled as he let his glance wander around in the restaurant of the cozy country inn. It had been a good idea to stay here together after the X-Men wrap. He needed a break and most of all he needed a bit of calm after the hectic shoots and long work days in downtown Québec. He had been looking forward to it for weeks. And he really liked this place. The inn had an almost homely feel to it and the entire building was filled with red velvet curtains, yellow floral tapestry, brown leather furniture, solid oak tables and half-faded paintings hanging side by side on the walls. It was like being in the 1950'ies. 

The rooms might be expensive, but the surroundings were definitely worth it. Everything here was calm and old fashioned and the staff was kind. When he and Michael had received their keycards the receptionist had proudly told them that the inn had just finally upgraded to a digital system with keycards instead of the old, traditional keys and locks. That was about the only modern thing here, James thought, as he studied an old painting of a forest picnic by the bar. The ladies in the painting were sitting in the grass wearing big hats and one of them had a beagle on a leash. He thought the paint looked a bit cracked and chipped in the edges of the canvas which was actually complimenting the painting in an odd way. He smiled and wondered how Michael had even found this place out here in the outskirts of Québec - but it was definitely the most romantic place they had been yet. He couldn't remember the name of this area for the life of him, but it was something along the lines of La Haute-Saint-Charles. A borough of Quebec. And it looked just as beautiful as the French name sounded. Rubbing his cheek James directed his glance back to Michael and discovered that he was seemingly being studied from across the table.

"I like it when you do that," Michael said and smiled a little. James raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Do what?" he asked and let Michael cover his hand with his own on top of the table plate.

"Look dreamy like that," Michael said and softly circled his index finger on the skin on the back of James' hand. James grinned a little. He loved when Michael told him things like that, it made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. For a moment they were just smiling at each other. However Michael withdrew his hand when they were interrupted by a waiter walking up to their table and handing them the menu. Breaking eye contact with James Michael looked up at the blonde lady who was sending them a white smile. James suppressed a sigh. The fact that they couldn't just act as any other couple when out in public was growing a bit annoying. They even had to get two separate rooms even though they only used one. But that was one of the costs of being a celebrity and quite frankly he wasn't comfortable with everyone knowing about their romance just yet. People on set might have a suspicion, but for now he appreciated Michael’s discretion. But he knew that it was hard on him.

"Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?" the waiter beamed in a French accent as she took out a small notepad and a pencil. James nodded as he looked from the waiter to Michael.

"You in on some red wine...?" he asked and Michael smiled at him shortly before looking up at the blonde.

"You bet. What can you recommend?" he asked. The blonde woman looked contemplative for a moment.

"Well, our finest is the Chateau Latour 1983..." she said and looked a little flushed. She rolled the pencil between her fingers and bit her lip as she suddenly let out a nervous grin.  

"My apologies, I'm new here and I haven't memorized the wine card yet...." she said shyly.

"But I can go get a co-worker and he can tell you..." she started, but James immediately interrupted her.

"Oh, no worries, we'll take your word for it," he said as he held out a hand to ensure her that it was okay. Michael grinned.

"We're not exactly connoisseurs anyway," he added.

"We'll have the Latour," Michael said as he nodded and the blonde smiled and looked a little relieved. She then bit her lip again.

"I have to mention that it's a five hundred dollar bottle, sir," she said regretfully. James' jaw dropped open a little but Michael merely smiled. He sent her an approving wink and she nodded, scribbling it down on the notepad.

"I'll see to it right away while the gentlemen look at the menu," she said and respectfully backed away from the table to head for the wine cellar. As she walked away Michael looked back at James and exposed his white teeth in a broad, shark-like grin. James shook his head a little, his hand grabbing a hold of Michael's.

"A five hundred dollar bottle?" he asked with an incredulous grin, his crystal blue eyes shimmering in the light from the sunset being filtered through the window's glass. Michael tightened his grip a little around James' hand.

"If I didn't know better I'd think you're trying to impress me..." James teased. Michael narrowed his eyes a little at him.

"Well, maybe I am," he said, the grin still on display on his face.

"Or maybe I was just being nice to the lady. You can believe either," he said and let go of James' hand, picking up the heavy leather menu and flipping it open with a nonchalant movement.

"Ooooh," James said coyly, hiding a laugh. However nothing he did ever seemed to escape Michael's attention and he looked at him over the top of the leather binder.

"That's funny to you, huh?" Michael asked, trying to sound hurt. James just glared at him, still suppressing a laugh.

"Yes, a little," he answered and also opened his menu, skimming the names of the various dishes. He realized how hungry he was.

"What do you fancy?" he mumbled and leaned forwards a bit over the table while studying the menu which was both in English and in French. Michael bit his lip, sending him a mischievous glance.

"You," he said and smiled as he saw James' cheeks flush a little by his remark. Trying to look unaffected James flipped through the pages of the menu but he could feel how Michael was watching him. He had to admit that he liked the flirting... This was all so new and exciting and he loved every minute of it. Still it was a bittersweet mix of new passion and a slightly fearful paranoia spiced with a bad conscience. James couldn't help but wonder if he was making the right choice. It felt right, but maybe he was still confused. Maybe he wasn't falling in love, maybe he was going through a phase? After all, only a year ago he would have laughed if anyone had even hinted that he and a male colleague could ever develop any sort of romantic feelings for each other. He had always been so confident in his sexuality. Or so he had thought. Biting his lip he realized that he was skimming the lines in the menu without even taking them in, registering what it said.

"You okay?" Michael asked, breaking the silence. James almost jumped as his chain of thought was broken. Letting out a small sigh he managed to send Michael a half-hearted smile, which was supposed to look reassuring.  

"Yeah..." he said and put down the menu as Michael found his hand again, knowing that he had failed miserably at his attempt to seem calm and collected.

"Look... I know that this is an awkward situation. There is a lot at stake. For both of us. Both professionally and personally. And I want you to know that it's alright whatever you decide," Michael said under his breath, locked in deep eye contact with James. Nuzzling Michael's hand a little James couldn't help but feel the adoration for this man wash through him as a warm wave of gratitude.

"I love you. And I want you to be happy. You know that," Michael said softly, the affection clearly radiating from his eyes. James was still taken aback by Michael's astonishing skill to read him like an open book.

"I love you too," James said and swallowed.

"I just... It's going so fast and I guess... I guess it scares me," he whispered, feeling his heart skip a beat or two. Michael smiled and gently squeezed James' hand a little.

"It's alright. I understand. We'll take it slow, you set the pace," he said, clearly stating that there was no pressure. James smiled, this time genuinely.

"Thank you," he said gratefully. He was feeling bad about putting Michael on hold like this due to that damn insecurity. They had talked about it before in his trailer on set. Why couldn't he shake it off? Why couldn't he just decide? No matter what he felt torn between the security of his normal life and the enticing, new reality of this whirlwind romance. He had to decide some time soon. He simply couldn't get himself to postpone it for much longer, keeping Michael in a limbo like this. It wasn't fair. Taking a deep breath James picked the menu back up.    

"Let's get some grub, yeah?" he said, brushing his shoulder length brown hair behind his ears with a slow movement as if it was somehow soothing him a little to do so. He exhaled softly. He knew that Michael could see him struggling, but he also knew that he understood. It made his heart melt and his knees go soft that Michael was willing to put himself through this turmoil of waiting and the insecurity of not knowing what the future held... All for him. Michael squeezed his hand once more before picking the menu back up too. He knew when to back off a little and just let James reflect on things. He didn't want to push him.

"How does the roast beef sound?" Michael asked, feeling his stomach rumble. James found the description in the menu and read it out loud:

"The roast beef au jus is a classic slow-roasted prime rib garnished with fresh rosemary and thyme sprigs. Carved at the table. Served with mashed potatoes and sautéed haricots verts," he said and looked up at Michael.

"I'm in!" he said. In the same moment the sound of footsteps reached their ears and they both looked up as the blonde waiter stopped in front of their table, presenting their ordered bottle of red wine. James couldn't help but study how the black pencil skirt hugged her slender hips and how her blonde hair had been fastened in a bun on the top of her head. She was quite petite but her black stilettos made her taller. She reminded him of Anne-Marie. With his gaze lingering on her he wondered what a separation from his wife might be like… But right now he didn’t want to investigate that feeling all too much. But god, how she looked like her. Shaking it off James smiled at the woman as she opened the bottle with a skilled hand. She returned his smile as she started to pour the expensive ruby colored liquid into Michael's glass first.

"Looks good!" James burst out as he noticed how dense the color of the wine was. Dark and rich. He was a little excited to taste a five hundred dollar bottle wine, he had to admit. Usually it was more in the twenty dollar range.  

"It does, doesn't it?" the blonde said in a silky voice as the sleeve of her white shirt grazed James' hand when she poured his glass.    

"There you go, gentlemen," she said and Michael grabbed his glass, swirling the wine around slightly as he smelled it. He looked contemplative as he analyzed the scent. James looked at the waiter again.  

"Thank you," he said and then looked at Michael. He still looked focused on the wine.

"We'd like the roast beef au jus," Michael then said as he put the glass to his lips and took a small sip. James raised an eyebrow slightly as the waiter immediately fished out the notepad and pencil again and began scribbling.

"Of course, sir. One of our best dishes," she smiled and then looked at Michael.

"Is the wine to your liking?" she asked carefully and watched as he looked up at her and nodded.

"Yes. It's very nice," he said a little flatly and put the glass down, rotating it thoughtfully with his fingers. He then picked up the two leather menus and handed them to the blonde. The petite woman looked a little surprised by this and she hurried to stick the notepad in her pocket along with the pencil in order to grab them. As she quickly grabbed the heavy binders she placed them under her arm and sent Michael an insecure smile.

"I'll go and place your order with the chef, gentlemen. I hope you enjoy the wine," she said and backed away, only to turn and head for the kitchen. James turned his head and looked as she walked away. He then looked back at Michael a little perplexed.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly, a little worried by the change in Michael's behavior. It might be subtle, but it was definitely there. Grabbing his glass again Michael took another sip as his fingers explored the texture of the cloth napkins by his plate. He looked sort of stone-faced.

"If you want to break this off... Just tell me," Michael said softly as he finally raised his glance and looked at James. His usually cheerful expression had been replaced by a sad one and James frowned in confusion.

"What..? But I..." James started, but Michael interrupted him.

"Honesty is the most important thing to me in all of this. And I meant what I said before. Every word of it. Just... Promise me you'll tell me," Michael said, now managing to send James a little smile. It wasn't one of his usually radiant smiles... more like a forced one. He then looked down at the napkin by his plate again. James swallowed.

"I'll... I'd tell you, but...Where is this coming from?" he asked, concerned with Michael's sudden change of mood. Michael was scraping the nail of his index finger against the cloth napkin as if he was trying to level out the starchy texture. He snorted slightly in frustration.

"I'm a simple man, James..." Michael said softly, almost inaudibly. Again he raised his glance, lifting it off the napkin.

"Jealousy is one of my worst traits," he then said and James' eyes widened as he realized what was going on. Michael had obviously noticed that he had been looking at the waiter, mistaking his inspecting glance as a sign of interest instead of the melancholic flash-back that it had been. James opened his mouth to ensure Michael that he had misunderstood the situation, but Michael held out his hand, letting it hover over the napkin.

"It's okay, James. I just need to calm myself a little. It's not like I own you," he said and folded the napkin only to unfold it again. James felt like his heart sank. He felt like saying that he wanted Michael to own him - but he stopped himself. How could he say something like that when he wasn't even sure if he was on the right path? Making the right choice? Biting his lip James redirected his glance and stared out the window. The sun was setting and dusk was spreading out its monochrome darkness slowly but surely over the landscape. He felt a little like the landscape looked. Grey. And sad.

"Do you have to go to that meeting tonight?" James asked quietly, staring at the big lawn with its trees swaying in the breeze outside the window. Michael let out a small sigh.

"Yes... I have to," he said and James looked at him. He had to control himself to not start pleading Michael to just stay here. They needed to talk. To sort things out... To find out what to do and what to feel and not to feel. But being so confused himself James didn't know where to start or what to say. He felt like he couldn't see the forest for the trees. So who was he to discuss feelings and sort out anything? But he really wished that they could just eat and then go to one of their rooms and hide under the covers together, talking all night like they did so often.

"Here comes our food," Michael said and sent James a little smile. James couldn't decipher whether it was a genuine one or a forced one. The petite blonde waiter walked up to their table, balancing a big chopping board with a roast on it in one hand and a tray with sauce, haricots verts and mashed potatoes in the other. James focused on Michael, but he couldn't catch his glance because Michael was apparently still analyzing the napkins.

"I hope you'll enjoy, gentlemen," the waiter smiled as she placed the chopping board in the middle of the table, bending her upper body down to do so. Her discrete cleavage in the white shirt came uncomfortably close to James' face and automatically he pushed himself backwards in his chair a little. As she stood back up she looked at James:

"Let me know if you need anything," she said and arranged the small ceramic pitcher with the sauce carefully next to the platter of haricots verts and the bowl of mashed potatoes, aligning them perfectly with each other. James tried to avoid eye contact, but he didn't want to be impolite and Michael didn't look like he was going to say anything.

"Thank you, we will," James said and cleared his throat a little nervously as the blonde's sleeve brushed against his hand again when she was finally done arranging the food. She smelled of lavender, James suddenly noticed to his surprise. It reminded him of the perfume Anne-Marie always used to wear. Annoyed with himself for thinking about Anne-Marie once again he brushed an escaped strand of hair back behind his ear. This lack of ability to control his thoughts was frustrating and James bit his lower lip hard as if to jerk himself back to reality. He had no interest in this woman what so ever, but she kept reminding him of Anne-Marie, and it was more than distracting to say the least. He was here with Michael and only Michael. He needed to give him the attention he deserved and not lose focus like this.  

"Bon appétit," the waiter beamed and finally walked away from the table. James felt like he could breathe again. And the lavender fragrance quickly dissipated in the steam rising from the roast and bowl of mashed potatoes. He looked at Michael whose steel eyes were scanning the table and inspecting the abundance of food.

"It looks delicious," Michael said and nodded at James. He sounded a little more cheerful than before, but still he seemed a bit distracted. His glance wasn't the usual carefree one.

"Care to cut me a piece of that?" he then asked, referring to the roast on the chopping board. James picked up the carving knife along with the fork and started to cut thin, juicy slices of meat. Looking at his watch Michael's eyebrows shot up.

"Shit... I have to go soon," he said and held out his plate when James gestured for him to do so and placed a slice of meat on it.

"Is it past six already?" James asked surprised, convinced that the time had to be no more than five or so in the evening. Time always flew by when he was in Michael's company and he couldn't help but look at his own watch just to make sure. Michael nodded as he poured sauce over the meat and finally looked up:

"Look... I'm sorry. I know I can be a dick," Michael said, sending James a sad look while shoveling some mashed potatoes on to his plate. He let out a small sigh.

"I guess I'm scared of losing you," he added and took a bite of meat, raising his eyebrows in surprise as the intense flavor spread on his tongue. James smiled at him, relieved that Michael was opening up a little and not keeping it all inside which he had a tendency to do... Just like he did as well.

"She is quite hot though, so I can't say I blame you. You haven't tasted the wine yet?" Michael said as he was swirling the dark liquid around in his glass. James blinked a little, surprised that Michael was apparently still convinced that he had been checking the waiter out.

"I'm not interested in her," James said a little frustrated while cutting himself a slice of meat as well. Michael merely smiled and it was impossible to decipher what that smile meant. Taking another bite Michael nodded towards the glass of untouched wine next to James' plate.

"Go ahead and taste it," Michael smiled. James couldn't help but return his smile and he picked up the glass of wine and carefully smelled it. Michael hadn't seemed all that thrilled about the fancy wine judging by his reaction from before but none the less he seemed rather enthusiastic now. Putting the glass to his lips James looked at Michael before taking a small sip. The taste tingled and spread like a fruity explosion on his tongue. Taken aback by the intense flavor James uttered a "whoa" and blinked a few times. This seemed to amuse Michael, who chuckled.

"Pretty nice, isn't it?" he asked and winked at James, who was still staring at the glass a little incredulously. Brushing his hair behind his ears again he looked at Michael.

"Nice?? My tongue just had a fucking orgasm," he grinned and took another sip.

"I'm glad," Michael smiled with a lustful twinkle in his eye as he took another bite of the food. It tasted divine.

"Talking about orgasms... Can't wait for that meeting to be over," Michael whispered and savored the look of James' cheeks immediately getting flushed. And it wasn't because of the wine. He then looked at his watch again. It was half past six in the evening, and he would have to leave soon for the meeting downtown. Letting out a small sigh he shoveled more food on to his plate.

"Sorry, I know this isn't exactly proper etiquette..." he mumbled as he ate. James chuckled slightly, studying Michael as he desperately tried to eat as fast as possible without looking like a complete savage. That man always had a huge appetite - and not only for food, James thought to himself. Enjoying the wine and the food James was happy that he wasn't forced to rush. Instead he slowly drank the wine and savored the juicy flavors of the food in front of him along with the sight of Michael, sloppy or not. Time was ticking by fast and when Michael looked at his watch again he put his knife and fork down.

"Damn it," he said and motioned to get up from his chair, letting his hand brush discretely against James' thigh under the table as he stood up.

"I have to go. I don't know when I'll be back, I'm guessing around midnight," he said and wrapped his woolen scarf around his neck. Looking around quickly to see if anyone nearby was looking in their direction he placed a hand on James shoulder, squeezing it slightly. James placed his hand on top of Michael's and sent him a smile. He wanted to kiss him but they both knew that they better not. As Michael walked up to the bar and paid the bill, he sent James hidden smile over his shoulder. As he walked out of the restaurant James returned his glance to the wine glass and the huge meal in front of him and he let out a little sigh.

#mcfassy #fanfiction #james mcavoy #michael fassbender #fassavoy #mcbender #romance #jealousy #my fic #lavender remains #@deeranger