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almostgenerallyalways · 8 months ago

Text

to absent friends and those at sea

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x fem reader Category: angst / fluff Word count: 6,2K CW: language, don't know how the navy works, maybe workplace bullying, this is a 'there's only one bed' fic that got out of control

Summary: Through seven years and almost as many deployments he’s carried this torch, the flame low but always burning somewhere in a condemned antechamber of his heart, one he tried hard to forget the route to.

2023

“Your flight is about to get canceled.”

You start, thrown by the appearance of Hangman at your side, interrupting your intense scrutiny of the departures board where another forty minutes have just been added to the already considerable delay of your outbound flight to Seattle.

“What are you still doing here?” You eye him suspiciously, adjusting your duffel bag over your shoulder.

“Nice to see you too, Mir.” He smiles, completely unperturbed as always. “I stayed back to hang out with Coyote. Haven’t seen him much since he was transferred. He left this morning.” He pauses for a moment, indifferently examining his fingernails. “You?”

You sigh. “I thought I’d take advantage of being in the Rockies to hike.”

The man next to you smirks. “In other words, you got drenched.”

“More or less.”

Two days ago, Saturday, had been a beautiful, sunny day for a wedding: Every circumstance had been perfect to reunite most of your Top Gun class, gathered with assorted family, friends and colleagues of the happy couple, to watch Halo say yes to her wife.

You’d enjoyed yourself immensely; the majestic scenery of Halo’s remote hometown in the Colorado mountains, the beautiful venue and decorations, and best of all: being with one of your best friends on the happiest day of her life.

Then the next day, as you’d rolled out of bed bright and early, only slightly hungover, you’d opened the curtains of your hotel room to unannounced streaks of rain.

Not put off by a little change in weather, you’d checked if there were any safety warnings for the trail you’d chosen, and set out in spite of the adverse conditions. The experience had been less enjoyable than anticipated: the beautiful views over the Rockies obscured by a thick layer of fog, you’d returned to your room early last night, chilled to the bone, every stitch of clothing you’d been wearing soaked through.

Another announcement pings over the speakers, interrupting your reflections. The status next to your flight number and destination now blinks in bold, red typeface: CANCELED.

“Told you.” Your unwanted companion grins helpfully.

Around you, people are starting to move, expressing their panicked complaints. You groan as you realise you are going to be stuck here overnight: it is almost 8 PM, and with the rain and mist not letting up, there’s no way another flight is leaving this small airport tonight.

“Listen, Mir,” Hangman says, expression more sober now, “My flight to San Diego was canceled, and I just stood in line for two hours to get a room for tonight. You’ll be here for hours if you have to get one.”

He considers you, any trace of mockery gone from his face for once. “You wanna crash with me?”

Pressure starts to build behind your temples, as you quickly consider your options. On the one hand, you are tired and cranky and in desperate need of sleep: having been one of the last guests shutting down the wedding in the late hours of Saturday night, and having spent most of your Sunday hiking up a non-rewarding mountain in the pouring rain, you’d love to avoid spending hours in the line that you see the crowd of weary and pissed-off people scramble to form, leading up to the United desk.

On the other hand: Hangman.

He smiles tentatively, as if he can read your thoughts on your face. He probably can. “It’s a double.”

You close your eyes, feeling like you might live to regret this decision: “Okay. Fine. Thanks.” --------------------------------------------------------------------------

2016

Top Gun is a dream and an outright nightmare.

Brought in two weeks after the start of the program to replace someone who was summarily discharged, you’re determined to prove your worth.

When you are first introduced to the men and women (woman, singular, you correct yourself) who are to be your classmates and competition, it’s clear the group dynamics have already been cemented. Some eye you suspiciously, leaning back in their chairs, trying to get a read on the late addition. Some don’t even bother to look.

A blonde pilot in the second row scoffs when the instructor reads a short overview of your scant accomplishments, and another man sitting next to him laughs in response, poorly covering it up with a cough.

It takes everything you have to tough it out. They’re throwing you in the deep end, barely allowing any time or grace to make up for the hours and hours of valuable technical and practical training you’ve missed.

On day eight, though, you execute your first successful stealth manoeuvre, getting the upper hand over one of the instructors. As the details in the move are analysed in front of the class, for the first time, you feel a begrudging respect from some of them.

Not everyone, though. Two seats to your left, Seresin makes a show of studying his cuticles.

* * *

Halo is your lifeline. As the only two women in the class, you gravitate towards each other, finding some respite from the hyper-masculine bullshit of the rest of the group.

Or maybe she’s an angel, as her recently coined callsign suggests.

You’re lounging on the rec room couch with Halo’s feet in your lap, debriefing the day’s hop, when Seresin and two of his usual hangers-on walk in. (Their names are Miller and Wozniak. Halo and you have taken to referring to them as Crabbe and Goyle.)

“Ladies.” He grins, flashing you a smile with no warmth behind it.

A feeling of dread gathers in your stomach.

He casually picks an apple out of the fruit bowl and pretends to inspect it as he comments: “Poor showing out there today. You’re gonna have to do better than that if you wanna play in the big leagues with the boys.”

Halo, laid back on the couch, rolls her eyes. “Fuck off, Jake.”

He grins at her and takes a bite, crunching loudly. “You know, Halo, it’s not so much you I’m worried about. But this one-” He gestures at you with the piece of fruit. He has never referred to you by your name. “Is on thin ice, I hear. Heard they’re regretting calling her up.”

At this, Halo sits up, looking like she wants to give him a piece of her mind, but you stop her with a touch to her arm. “Forget it, Callie.”

* * *

You’re breathing heavy, blood rushing in your ears as your body is pushed to its physical limits, your F-18 protesting as you accelerate into a sharp turn curving around a particularly treacherous stretch of the San Jacinto mountains.

Your gamble has paid off, though, as you come out right on top of your prey. You can taste bile in the back of your throat as you lock tone on Fanboy’s jet.

It tastes like victory.

Back on the tarmac, peeling off the top half of your sweat-drenched flight suit, Halo throws her arms around your neck as Fanboy shakes your hand, a bemused smile on his face. “Nice work out there. Never even saw you coming.”

Later, at the Hard Deck, one pilot after another buys you drinks as you finally earn your callsign: Mirage.

* * *

It gets easier from there on out, and it doesn’t.

On the one hand, you don’t feel like you constantly have to defend your place anymore. After you score big in the mountains, Hangman finally has the decency to shut his mouth around you. You’ve found a natural understanding with most of the other pilots – the competition is fierce, but nights at the bar bring everyone back on equal footing.

Yet as the program ramps up to its conclusion, so does the pressure. Some mornings you can’t choke down breakfast, your stomach seized up into a knot of nerves and anticipation.

In week ten, you’re having so much trouble with a simulation that you, your wingman and his backseater get shot down six times in a row. Your arms burn with the hundreds of push-ups you’re grinding into the blistering tarmac, your CO never running out of the torrent of abuse he’s heaping onto your back.

You can’t sleep that night, keep seeing the disappointed look on your wingman’s face as you’d fucked up again and again. Around three in the morning, you give up on sleep and head to the on-base gym.

You crank a treadmill up to high and you run, run, run until your lungs are burning and your mouth tastes like metal. Rivulets of sweat drip down your back, down your face, mingling with tears you didn’t realise you’d been holding back, until finally your legs are screaming at you to stop, and you sit down at the end of another treadmill, your shoulders shaking, cradling your face in your knees.

You don’t know how long you sit there, but you know it’s not fully morning yet when a pair of white sneakers appears in your line of vision.

“Mir?”

Of course it had to be him, of all people, seeing you at your worst and most vulnerable.

“Go away.” You manage to grunt.

He doesn’t. Instead, he sits down next to you, hovering at a distance – still too close.

“Are you alright?” He asks, and if you weren’t burning with embarrassment and rage, his hesitant tone might give you pause.

You lift your face from your knees, steeling yourself. You must look ridiculous, you think, a sweaty heap of a girl having a mental breakdown at the bottom of some exercise equipment. You refuse to look at him. “I’m fine.”

He reaches out tentatively, trying to brush away a strand of hair that’s plastered to the side of your face, and you all but jump back: “Goddamn it, Seresin, don’t touch me.”

Finding the strength to push yourself up, you turn to him: “Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me, don’t come anywhere near me.”

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

2016

When Koehler is discharged, Jake Seresin feels like the rug’s been pulled out from under him.

They came up together through the Academy, and while Jake isn’t sure he would’ve called him a friend in any other circumstances, at least… At least he was an ally. Familiar. Someone who saw through his cocky bullshit and gave as good as he got.

The chances of both of them getting into Top Gun were astronomically small – and then Koehler immediately went and fucked it up. Jake cannot comprehend it.

He feels off-kilter, his only confidant having made a spectacularly embarrassing exit from the program. He can feel the rest of the class watching him, like sharks who’ve smelled blood in the water, waiting for him to make a deadly mistake too.

But Jake didn’t come here to screw up. He came here to win. So he does the only thing he knows how to do – he ramps it up, builds his walls higher, needles people harder – gets under their skin before they can get under his.

He knows it’s not making him many friends – but it works. People don’t question him. He takes no prisoners, flies like he’s the only one out there, puts himself first always – and is ranked near the top of the class for doing so.

When you’re introduced as Koehler’s replacement, he can’t believe it. It feels like adding salt to the wound, bringing in someone who didn’t even make the cut-off on their own merit. So if you get it a little worse than the others – well.

He sees you struggling, those first weeks, and it only confirms his thinking.

One scorching afternoon, after a long series of dogfights ends in embarrassment for half the class, he’s in the rec room pressing a cold compress to his face, discussing the day’s events with Wozniak: “I mean, did you see her out there? That’s what happens when you pull the B-team off the bench. She’s got no business being here. She’s dragging everyone down.”

Wozniak doesn’t immediately respond, and Jake looks up to find you standing in the doorway, looking caught off guard. You recover after a second, straightening your back, and grab a water from the cooler, studiously not looking at him.

You never look at him, after that.

But he looks at you.

* * *

You have bags under your eyes. The line of your jaw has gotten a little sharper. You get a little quieter, even more so than before.

He notices these things just like he notices the redoubled resolve stiffening your spine.

You start creeping up in the rankings, slowly, point by point, and while he doesn’t like that, he respects it.

After the mountains, where you pull a trick out of the bag that takes him completely by surprise, he lines up to congratulate you. Fanboy takes it on the chin, he’s a good guy, and Jake claps him on the back before turning to you, Halo still at your side. But you won’t look at him, and ignore his outstretched hand.

He supposes he deserves that.

* * *

A few weeks later, he wakes up earlier than usual after a night of fitful sleep, his body still processing the adrenaline from an open-sea simulation the day before. Jake came out on top, though he ditched his wingman to do so. Several others didn’t manage to complete the exercise, a crucial barrier for the last stretch of the thirteen-week program.

After tossing and turning for twenty minutes, the light outside his cracked window starting to shift incrementally from pitch black to indigo blue, he decides to head to the gym.

When he steps into the cavernous, air-conditioned room, he immediately senses someone else’s presence, though he can’t see anyone using any of the rows and rows of equipment. It’s not until he rounds into a stretch of treadmills that he spots you, hunched over into your bare knees.

“Mir?” He approaches hesitantly, noting the flushed skin of your back, your hair matted with sweat.

“Go away.” He gets in response, but he can’t, not when you’re sitting there trembling.

“Are you alright?” He asks, even though he can clearly see that you’re not.

You lift your face, surreptitiously swiping at your eyes with your palm. “I’m fine.”

Still not looking at him. Never looking at him.

He reaches out a hand, tentatively; he wants to make this better –

He has to make this better, make you feel–

- but you recoil from him, and he sits there for a long time after you’ve banged the door shut behind you like you couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

Sits there for a good long while, with the ghost of your presence.

* * *

Jake wins the trophy.

It’s a raucous night at the Hard Deck and he feels like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders. Sure, he doesn’t know where they’re shipping him off next week – but for now, he has won and no one can take that away from him, not the pilots giving him sideways glances at the bar, not his father, no one.

Fanboy bumps his shoulder and hands him what must be his fifth or sixth beer of the night. Over on the jukebox, Son of a Preacher Man starts playing and he glances over to see you throw your arms around Halo’s shoulders, laughing, dancing her around the crowded room a little unsteadily. You look lighter, happier than he’s ever seen you.

He watches for long moment, transfixed, until he realises Mickey is talking to him.

Mickey turns around, trying to follow Jake’s line of sight, and finds you. “Oh, dude.” He turns back, clinks Jake’s beer with his own. “I’m sorry to tell you, I think that ship has sailed, man.”

Right, Jake thinks, taking a long pull of his beer. And why should he care? He’s got what he came to North Island for.

No one can take that away.

* * *

2018

He doesn’t see you again for two years. Two years of him being shipped from base to base, coast to coast and back again, the Navy’s prize pony, getting new orders every few months.

He shows up in Oceana, papers in hand; greets familiar faces at The Admiral’s and trades stories over the sound of classic rock and the clicking of pool cues.

Then he turns around and bumps into – you.

It puts him on the back foot, coming face to face with you unexpectedly. You look like you’re caught off guard, too, but you recover quickly. “Hangman.”

“Mirage.” He smirks, defences slotting into place. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You look a little bit older, sharper in ways, your watchful eyes clearly on guard as he leans against the bartop, giving you a once-over. It’s a tactical mistake, on his part – it only serves to ignite something warm deep inside of him.

“Gonna be here for a while. Think we can kiss and make up?”

You shoot him a withering glance, like you expected better out of him. “In your dreams, Bagman.”

The bartender brings you your drink, and you smile sweetly at him. “Terry, put one of whatever he’s having on my card, will you? Fucking new guy’s gonna need it.”

* * *

And it’s fine, it’s perfectly fine. You work perfectly well together.

It’s just that –

No matter how much he needles and cajoles, flirts or tries to rile you up, you only ever treat him as –

A colleague. Which is what he is, sure, but –

He doesn’t ever get that part of you, the part that laughs easy with Fanboy or does shots with Bambi, the part of you that bodily holds up Halo after she gets the call that her childhood dog has died, the part of you that sits next to the radio, fists clenched with anticipation when someone is flying a tough hop, the part of you that envelops them into a full body hug after.

The part of you that has your eyes light up when you look at someone, instead of straight through him.

And no matter how many times he tells himself to move on, he never quite stops wanting it.

* * *

2021

Deployed in the South China Sea, he flies one of the more difficult, harebrained missions of his life with you.

He finds you, after, where you’re slumped against a steel wall on deck, your flight suit half off, trying to catch your breath; and hands you a Sprite.

You consider him for a moment before taking the soda. It feels a little like you’re really looking at him for the first time.

“This is my favourite.”

He sits down, not close, exactly, but close enough to feel the heat radiating from your skin. “Yeah.”

A beat passes. You open the can with a hiss, and he exhales: “Nice work back there.”

“You too, Bagman.”

The wind whips across the deck, but you’re sheltered from it by the structure, leaving only the noise.

“Do you know where you’re headed after this?” he asks.

“Back to Bahrain, still got another fourteen months there. You?”

“San Diego.”

You give a little quirk of your mouth. “Lucky.”

“I thought you’d be stateside. I thought you might have…” He holds up his right hand, indicates his ring finger. “That guy in Fallon. Search & Rescue with the dark eyes.”

You take a sip of your drink. “You noticed his eyes?”

Jake shrugs.

You look at the wide expanse of ocean churning beyond the flanks of the carrier. “No. He was… He wanted to settle in Nevada, have kids.” You give him a wry smile that doesn’t quite make it to your eyes. “Wasn’t ready to give all this up.”

“Ah.” Jake says, his throat a little dry. It feels like the realest conversation he’s ever had with you, and yet, he can’t think what to say.

You sit there for a while, in what feels like something close to companiable silence, until it’s time to debrief.

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

2023

The receptionist looks up apologetically from her sleek desk. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Seresin. Because of all the delayed passengers, we’re getting a lot of demand for double rooms for families. Is there any way you would take a single? We can offer you complimentary breakfast.”

Jake looks at you hesitantly, shifting the strap of his backpack over his shoulder.

You rub your temples, doing nothing to alleviate the increasing pounding in your skull. Of course this was going to happen. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”

* * *

“I can, uh,” You see him looking around for a sofa, but there isn’t one.

You sigh, letting your bag drop onto the plush grey-green carpet. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve shared worse sleeping arrangements.”

These have usually involved a barracks or an aircraft carrier, and between twenty to two hundred of your coworkers, but who’s counting.

“I suppose that’s true.” He replies, staring at the bed.

At least it’s big, you think, and you can’t wait to plop your head down on one of its crisp white pillows. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

* * *

After your shower, you’re in bed, waiting with no small amount of apprehension for Hangman to emerge from his turn in the bathroom.

When he does, in boxers and a t-shirt, his normally slicked-back hair slightly peaky and darkened by the water, he looks younger than he is. He looks a little like he did when you first knew him.

He pulls back the covers and settles against the pillows on his side, the mattress dipping with the weight of him. He’s heavier than he looks – you’re always a little surprised by the lean, solid mass of him. It’s a byproduct, you suppose, of years of studiously not looking at him when you can avoid it.

“I guess that’s goodnight, Mir.”

You look up at him, facing you. The proximity of him is unfamiliar, and a little unnerving.

You have to close your eyes against it.

“Night, Hangman.”

When you open your eyes again, he considers you for a moment with an expression you can’t place.

“I wanted to talk to you, you know, at the wedding, but you kept disappearing on me.”

You don’t really know what to say in response. “I didn’t realise we had much to say to each other.”

His face shutters, and you feel a little pang of guilt. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

He shifts onto his back. “You looked beautiful. Just wanted to say that.”

You can’t help but be a little taken aback, and it takes you a second to reply, guardedly: “Thanks. You didn’t look too bad yourself.”

But then he never does, does he? Jake Seresin, golden boy, never a hair out of place.

He doesn’t respond, and you burrow into your pillow, determined to let sleep take you over as soon as possible.

* * *

You wake from a fitful sleep to movement beside you. It takes you a second or two to remember where you are, and with whom, before you realise that the man next to you is breathing in wheezy stops and starts, a low, panicked murmur emanating from his throat.

You hesitate for an instant before propping yourself up on your arm, using your free hand to lightly shake his shoulder. “Bagman. Hey. Seresin, wake up.” He’s breathing hard, radiating heat. “Hey. Jake.”

He comes to, slowly, gasping for air, as if emerging from deep below the surface of a rough sea. His skin, where you are holding onto him, is overly hot, the fabric of his t-shirt damp. He scrambles to prop himself up, causing you to pull back your hand, but he grabs your wrist hard before you can fully pull away.

“What,” He manages, the look in his eyes still wild and unfocused, roaming over you. It takes a second, two, three, before realization dawns, and he starts to calm down. His tight grip on your wrist eases slightly.

Despite the low light of the dark room, you see a flush start to creep up the skin of his throat. “Mir. I’m sorry. I was…”

For the first time, you feel something akin to tenderness for him. You try to sweep some of the sweaty strands of hair off his forehead, hindered by his continued grasp on your arm. “It’s okay. You’re fine.” You pause, feeling a little awkward. “Could’ve just as well been me.”

At that, he lets go of your wrist, letting himself drop back onto the pillow. He stares at the ceiling, and you let yourself settle back onto your side, watching the steadily slowing rise and fall of his chest.

Just as you wonder whether you should just go back to sleep, let the both of you pretend this never happened, he says, “They’re always the same. Me, trying to save one of you, and failing. It’s getting better, they used to be much more frequent, I’m talking to someone, but…”

“I stop sleeping.” The words are out of your mouth before you realize you’re saying them. “When it gets really bad.”

You have never shared this broken, faulty part of yourself with anyone, but somehow, looking at the shadowy form of Hangman’s shoulder two inches from your face, it tumbles out.

“I can’t sleep, I can’t function, I fly like a zombie. Sometimes I genuinely worry they’re going to ground me.”

You see his little smirk appear, even in the dark. “I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever seen you fly badly.”

“Oh, fuck off, Bagman.” You say it without venom, thumping his stomach lightly. “That’s certainly not what you used to say.” On the rebound, he catches your hand, cradling it just below his ribs.

You don’t pull it back.

A few minutes go by in silence, and you just when you start thinking he may have fallen asleep, he says: “Mir.”

“Yeah?”

“Will you ever…?” He exhales a puff of breath. “Will you ever forgive me?”

You fold your arm under your pillow, wary, and consider your answer for a moment. “I forgave you a long time ago.” You pause, scared to say too much. “I just… don’t know how to be around you without feeling like I’m twenty-three again, always having to prove myself because I’m not good enough.”

You watch his chest rise as he inhales, fall again with a deep sigh. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel like that. I can’t excuse it. From the beginning I blamed you for replacing Koehler when it had nothing to do with you.”

His voice drops a little bit. “To be honest, I was scared I wouldn’t make it without him.”

Now it’s your turn to smirk. “The great Hangman Seresin, scared?”

He turns onto his side to face you, his expression solemn. “Seriously, Mir. I was insecure and I covered it up by being a dick. Maybe I still do, to some extent.”

His eyes turn downwards, to the space between your bodies. “But I feel like I’ve been trying to make things right with you for a while.”

You can’t deny this. You’ve always rebuffed any attempt on his part to approach you beyond what was strictly necessary.

“I guess I’m a champion grudge holder.”

He looks back up to meet your eyes, a crooked smile appearing on his face. “Seven years and two entire deployments together, though?”

You scoff, realising how ridiculous this sounds, but you can’t help it – it felt very personal to you. “You don’t know what it was like. I didn’t make the initial cut. By the time I got to San Diego I was two weeks behind everyone, one of only two women, and on top of that you, the class golden boy, hated me being there.”

You pause, inhaling to steady yourself. “I felt like I was under so much pressure, it fucked me up.”

When you meet Hangman’s eyes again, something in his face has softened.

“I’m sorry.”

He squeezes your hand, the skin of his palm rough.

You take in the sharp lines and smooth planes of his face, hair in disarray from a sweaty, restless sleep. He’s very close, and you don’t know if it’s the weird, suspended-in-time quality of this darkened room, or the weight that’s been lifted off your shoulders through this little exchange, weight you hadn’t even realised was there; but for the first time you feel like you might like Hangman.

Not Hangman, Jake, brass and bravado stripped away, looking at you like you’re something precious, something he’s a little bit afraid of.

It's a lot of things to feel, in the middle of the night, after seven years of cold war.

You clear your throat, but your voice still comes out a little raspier than you intend to: “Alright then, Bagman. Détente?”

Out comes that crooked little quirk of his lips again: “Alright, Mirage. Détente.”

He’s still holding on to your hand, and he pulls it a little closer into his body.

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

Jake wakes up to the frantic buzzing of his phone and reaches for it on the nightstand, the endeavour complicated by your head weighing down his other arm. The crisp first light of day is seeping through a gap in the curtains, framing a picture of you sleeping curled into his chest so pointedly he almost has to assume he’s still asleep.

After a second or two, this assumption is dispelled by a very chipper United rep talking away at him, informing him that he’s booked onto a flight to San Diego at 10:45.

“Okay, uh, that works,” He manages, trying to keep his voice down so that you don’t wake up, but it’s too late: already you’re looking up at him, blinking sleep out of your eyes.

He ends the call, puts the phone down, and after a second’s hesitation, returns his arm to its place around your waist.

He looks down at you, not even sure what he’s asking: Is this okay? Do you still hate me?

Do you realize I’ve wanted this for years?

Through seven years and almost as many deployments he’s carried this torch, the flame low but always burning somewhere in a condemned antechamber of his heart, one he tried hard to forget the route to.

You shift slightly, and he reflexively tightens his fingers into the fabric of your shirt. He sees your pupils go wide, and it’s stupid, the jolt he feels at that – it goes straight to his gut.

Then your phone rings, too, and the moment bursts like a soap bubble. You prop yourself up, pulling away from him to answer it.

When you’re done arranging your flight, he can feel the atmosphere has shifted. You don’t look at him when you say: “We should probably start packing up, huh?”

“Mir, wait,” He says, and he knows he sounds a little desperate, but there’s so many things he wants to say, finally, if this is the best chance he’ll get.

“Jake,” you interrupt, and the pleading tone of your voice shuts him up.

Later, on his flight, he’ll think about falling asleep with your hand in his, and his heart will break a little.

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

Halo calls you, ten days into the honeymoon, to exalt Jess, marriage, and Hawaii, in that order.

You’re at home, cooking dinner, a Motown playlist on in the background while she details all the kayaking, wine tasting and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes they’ve been doing. Your heart swells at her happiness. “I’m so glad you guys are having a great time.”

She asks how your hike went, and you end up telling her what happened – the canceled flight, Hangman, all of it.

Halo snorts. “Oh, poor guy. I’m not sure his outsize ego will recover from this.” She pauses to say something to Jess. “Though I’d feel more sorry for him if he hadn’t literally waited for an adverse weather event to try to tell you how he feels.”

You plop down on the couch with your plate of pasta. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“Come on, dude. He’s been in love with you for years.”

“Huh.” You say, eloquently.

* * *

You book a ticket to San Diego. You take four days’ leave, and you’re not even sure Jake is there. If he isn’t, you think, clicking to skip the seat selection, you’ll take it as a sign.

Which is stupid. You don’t believe in that kind of thing. Maybe this entire idea is stupid, you consider, as you board your flight at SeaTac.

When you walk into the Hard Deck on Friday night, it feels a little like the first time: You’re nervous, your hands clammy as you run them down your shorts. Penny waves you over and pours you a tequila soda, which you accept gratefully. People you know start noticing your presence, coming up to catch up at the bar.

You’re talking to Fritz, who’s already a little worse for wear, when Jake comes in. He catches sight of you and stops short. You forget what you were saying mid-sentence.

Fritz turns around and clocks him, shooting you a wide grin. “Ah. Guess that’s my cue to leave.”

He comes up next to you at the bar, taking the place Fritz vacates. “Hey. No one told me you were gonna be in town.”

He looks good, if a little tired: sun kissed skin and slightly deeper lines in the corners of his eyes when he gives you a smile that feels perfunctory. He’s wearing his khakis, in pristine condition, though he looks like he hasn’t been sleeping well. Penny has already put a beer in front of him, and he takes a long pull on it before really looking at you.

The look in his eyes feels like the confirmation you needed.

“Last minute decision.” You say, inclining your head in the direction of the back exit. “Would you mind if we talked somewhere quieter?”

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t question it, and he follows you out to the back porch.

It’s a warm night, late summer – the kind you love.

You set your drink down on the railing, suddenly nervous, and turn around, leaning back against the salt-weathered wood to face Jake. The music filters out from the bar, muted by the windows – a moody Tom Waits song.

“I’m sorry.” You start, “For leaving the way I did in Colorado. I think I was overwhelmed, by you, by what I was feeling- I got scared.”

“By what you were feeling,” He says, like he needs to repeat it to be sure.

You nod, willing yourself to be brave this time. “Yeah. I spent seven years keeping up my defences around you and then I wake up once with your arms around me and I’m like oh, fuck and-” You stop yourself, looking out at the calm ocean waves in the distance, the sun just beginning to dip into the horizon. “Fuck, I’m not explaining this very well.”

Jake’s face shows the beginning of a smile. “I think I understand what you’re trying to say.”

He steps in closer to you, and your hands go to his waist. You feel a little lightheaded with him so close, but you’re determined to continue. “And I didn’t know what to make of it. You looking at me like that. I told myself it wasn’t real so I could go back to where I was comfortable – not thinking about you.”

He closes the gap between you, an arm around your shoulder, tucking his face into your hair. “I assure you, Mir, that the way I feel about you is very real.”

His voice in your ear feels like a balm, and you tighten your fingers into his shirt, bringing your body flush with his. It’s still overwhelming – how he’s familiar and new at once, the scent of his warm skin and pressed uniform, the feeling of his lips against your temple. “Yeah, well. Not thinking about you wasn’t going very well.”

He lifts you up to sit on the railing, bringing your face level with his, and steadies you with his hands on your waist. “Mir. Did you come out here for me?”

You place your hands on his shoulders, running your thumbs up the sloped curve to his neck, and smile at the visible reaction this has on him. “Yes, Bagman.”

He kisses you then, and it feels like the solution to a problem you hadn’t even realised had been weighing on you – tangling your fingers into his hair, drawing him in closer between your knees. He keeps repeating your name, like he can’t quite believe you, and you keep answering him with more kisses, needing him to know – what?

That you’ve caught up with him. That you’re here now.

You both slow down when you simultaneously become aware that there’s a small crowd on the other side of the windows, gawking at you. You think you see an open-mouthed Mickey, pool cue still in hand. At the moment, you don’t have it in you to care.

“How long are you staying?” Jake murmurs into your neck, his arms around you.

“Monday.” You breathe, resting your chin on the top of his head. “But I’ll be back soon.”

*******

end notes: omg sorry i didn't write anything for so long - life's just been A LOT. i hope you enjoyed it. check out my masterlist <3 title from the royal navy toasts

#jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x you #hangman x reader #jake seresin x f!reader #top gun: maveric fic #jake 'hangman' seresin fanfiction

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curses-of-the-void · 3 months ago

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Stars Shining - Derek Hale

Fandom(s): Teen Wolf

Wordcount: 1188

Warning(s): Discussions of death, lots of talking, kisses

Summary: Stars shining bright above you. Night breezes seem to whisper, I love you.

Soft jazz plays from her stereo in the corner of the room as she lounges in her bed, book held aloft as she clenches her pencil between her teeth, trying to find the part that she wanted to underline again, when a tapping sound at her window startles her. Rolling over onto her stomach, she narrows her eyes at the window pane as a tapping starts on the window once more. Sliding off the edge of her bed, she grabs the bat at her feet, inching towards the window, and she flinches as the tap of a stone on window makes her startle, before she frowns.

Unlocking the window, she slides it up with the bat still in her hand, dodging another rock as she pokes her head out the window, pausing at sight of Derek Hale standing at the base of the tree outside the Stilinksi house. Frowning, she sets her bat to the side, stepping back as soon as Derek scales the outside of the house, before he leans against the wall beside the window, crossing his arms over his chest as she drops onto her bed.

"What were you hoping to do with that?" Derek asks, jerking his head to the bat on the floor.

"You have claws, I have a bat."

"What is with you Stilinksis and your answers? It's almost like you and Stiles are the same person." Derek says, and she laughs, running her fingers through her hair as she shrugs.

"He's my little brother." She explains, picking up her book from where she had set it, pencil plucked from the spine, where she placed it to mark her place. "What's up? You've never come here like this, before."

"I just needed an escape." He shrugs. "Being alone with Peter can be draining."

"So, you thought I was a better choice?" She laughs, laying back on her bed as she folds her book shut, tossing it onto her bedside table.

"You're calm... mellow." Derek answers.

"You mean boring?" She sits up, carding her fingers through her hair to push it back from her face. "You can say it. I'm boring."

"Since we're saying it, yeah. You are boring. But, maybe boring is what I need right now." She laughs again, leaning back in the sheets as she crosses her legs, staring up at the star-studded ceiling.

"When I was younger, I was never boring." She admits, fingers gripping the sheets to pull at the loose strings, a habit she's always had- it drove her dad nuts when she started doing it, because she would pluck a hole in them, causing it to unravel further, so he'd constantly have to replace them- He never said anything though, because it only started after Claudia died. "I wanted to travel, and do stuff, and now I'm stuck in my hometown, in my childhood bedroom, no less, because I can't leave my brother to run around like an idiot, because his idiot best friend became a werewolf!" She laughs at herself, pressing a hand to her forehead, surprised when Derek sits on the edge of the bed.

"What did you want to do? Where did you want to travel?" He asks, her lips spreading into a smile as she looks up at the blue of her ceiling.

"I wanted to go to the mountains. To Colorado. I wanted to live in a cabin, and walk amongst the stars and trees."

"You can do that, here."

"At the added risk of being bitten, ate, or scratched."

"You could get that anywhere. Especially with bears." He chuckles, and she slaps him lightly on the arm.

"Look," She points at the painted blue ceiling, the stars that stick to the ceiling are meant to glow, but the lamplight is glowing now, so they won't light up. He shuffles down to lay on the bed beside her, and she smiles over at him "There's ursa minor, or The Little Bear, or the little dipper. You see at the tip of the tail there, it's Polaris, and then bup bup bup bup bup!" She points to the cluster of stars, five away from Polaris. "That is Cepheus. That star over there is Navi, and then Shedar, along with those two, it makes up the constellation Cassopeia."

"You really like the stars enough to name em?"

"I used to go outside at night, with my mom, and we'd lay under the stars, and she'd tell me stories about them. Those over there, is The Pleiades, or the Seven Sisters." She bites her bottom lip in thought. "The Pleiades were the seven daughters of Atlas, a Titan that has forever been cursed to hold up the sky. Zeus turned the sisters into stars to protect them from Orion, the hunter, but one of the sisters fell in love with a mortal, and went into hiding. That's why there are only six visible in the night sky, now."

"So, you know the stories too?" Derek asks, and she sits up, smirking at him.

"There are thousands of legends. But, I prefer the Greek ones. I have a passion for mythology." She shrugs as he looks up at the ceiling again.

"So, you studied the night sky enough, to memorize the layout of the constellations, and replicate it on your ceiling. Although, condensed." Derek frowns for a second. "But, this isn't the sky that's outside your house, is it?" She frowns then, looking away as she rubs her hands on her pant legs, and he sits up. "What?"

"No, it's uh..." She looks back at him with a sad smile. "It's the sky outside the hospital." Understanding flashes in his eyes, and he nods, reaching out to wrap his arm around her shoulders, surprising her when he drags her in for a hug.

"I'm sorry." She lets out a wet laugh, sounding shocked and hollow. "I am."

"I know." She pulls back, reaching up to cup his cheek. "I just find it ironic that you're comforting me. Yeah, I lost my mom, but you lost... everyone." She strokes his cheek as he looks down at her, his eyes flicking between her own. She sucks in a sharp gasp when he leans in, kissing her, and she hums, eyes fluttering shut as she leans into it, kissing him back. "W-Why did you do that?" She murmurs, once they part, and Derek looks down at her, a troubled furrow to his brow as he sweeps his thumb across her chin.

"Because... you're beautiful, and kind, and gentle, and you light up when you talk about things you love, and... I couldn't resist." He leans in to kiss her again, and she sighs as she leans into him, hands clutching his shirt as he tangles his own into her hair.

"You're lucky, Derek Hale."

"Lucky?" He breathes, nose brushing against her own, and she peers uo at him with wide eyes.

"I don't normally kiss on the first date."

#teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #derek hale #derek hale imagine #derek hale x reader

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zprites · 2 years ago

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June TMNT All 4-1!

It's time. The man, the myth, the legend... It's Bayverse Raphael! This month's prompt came to me surprisingly quickly as compared to some of the previous months so I'm riding this high!

The lovely hosts: @turtle-babe83, @thelaundrybitch, and @leosgirl82 <3

Prompt I chose: “Well, that didn’t go as planned…”

Bayverse! Raph x Female! Reader - SFW

As always, the turtles and reader are both well into their 20s!

Enjoy! <333

Taglist: @turtle-babe83, @manduse, @morning-sun-brah, @crazysarah-98, @pacoholin, @iamdefinitelytheratking

Summer Loving

If words fail… She'll know what I mean If words fail… She'll just take my hand She sees me like no one else has If words fail… She'll understand When Words Fail - Brian D’Arcy James

"C'mon you slowpoke!" You called back to Raph, your voice reverberating off the walls of the sewer.

"You know I can easily catch up to you, right?" Raph said, keeping a modest distance between the two of you. You gathered he was being slow on purpose, probably because he wanted to let you win a race for once, but you weren't having it.

You knew what would happen if he caught up to you. So you goaded him on.

"I'd like to see you try, old fart!" You hollered before breaking out in a full on sprint, smiling widely as you rounded the corner.

You heard the telltale sounds of him rapidly approaching you, heavy footsteps breaking through your constant giggles until he was right behind you. He reached out and ran his fingers along your sides, knowing it was one of your ticklish spots, causing you to squeal and try to squirm out of his grasp.

"Raph! Let me go!" You managed to get out.

He didn't let up. "What was that you called me? An 'old fart'?"

"Okay, okay! You're not an old fart! You're a young one! A baby fart even! Please! I'm gonna pee!!" Tears welled up in your eyes as your cheeks quickly began to grow sore from the enormous grin on your face.

Thankfully he ceased his attack, allowing you to catch your breath. "So I'm a baby fart now?" He raised a brow ridge at you.

You slowly collected yourself before nodding. He let out a chuckle while shaking his head. "Suppose that's better than an old one."

"I don't know, you are kind of old." You teased.

"I'm only a month older than you. Besides, if I was really old, I wouldn't be about to do this." He promptly picked you up, easily settling you against his chest with a singular muscular arm.

You rolled your eyes in a playful manner. “Okay show-off. You made your point.”

He gave a breathy laugh as he set out further into the sewers, fully intent on carrying you the rest of the way.

Not that you were complaining. You planned for this after all, knowing after he caught up with you he would opt to hold you in his arms for the remainder of the walk, like he always did. You used to question it but always got a simple ‘It’s faster this way’, so you’ve learned over the years to just accept it.

After being away for five months at a time you found yourself wanting him to carry you at every opportunity when you were back home. Like now.

You decided to go out of state for your graduate program, wanting to further your education in data science at a gorgeous university located in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Thankfully you only had two more semesters left and with each break you came back to your hometown, staying with the turtles who graciously opened up their home to you since your family had moved out of the country during your previous semester. You used to live with April but since you began school in Colorado, she moved in with her boyfriend, Casey Jones.

You didn’t mind. In fact, you were glad you were staying with the brothers who you had come to consider family. You looked back on the night you met them with fondness - April trying to shield their hulking forms in her living room when you raided the kitchen at 2am, squinting at the massive mutants behind her in the dim light, tension filling the air until you asked them, in your sleep-addled stupor, if they wanted some late night nachos. Five plates of nachos later and the rest was history.

Over the past two weeks you spent as much time as possible catching up with the turtles. Leo joined you in yoga and meditation some mornings, Donnie enthusiastically discussed everything you learned while looking over your notes and textbooks (which you always let him keep), and Mikey was glad to have another person to paint with again.

And Raph, well anytime you weren’t hanging out with his brothers you could be found by his side. The two of you did everything together, from watching movies to singing along while he played his guitar. However one of your favorite pastimes was when the two of you would lay opposite of each other on his bed, him knitting while you read outloud, your legs resting against his. It was comforting, those moments.

Which did nothing to help your ever growing crush on the mutant terrapin. Soon after meeting him you were instantly smitten, feeling your heartbeat pick up whenever he glanced your way, or when he smiled at you, or when his hand would sometimes rest on your leg, running his fingers along your calf almost lovingly, causing you to stutter while you tried desperately to focus on the words you were reading to him.

Yeah, you were fucked…

Raph was your best friend and while the others would text you everyday while you were out of state, he was the one who always wished you a ‘good morning’ when you woke up for classes and a ‘good night’ when you headed to bed. At least once a week he would call you up when he knew you were in bed, talking to you for hours until you both inevitably fell asleep to the sound of each other’s breathing. He made you feel special, as if you were the most important person in his life.

And you supposed you were, since he told you so earlier when he tried to kiss you.

Okay, in your defense you should have seen this coming, but you figured he wasn't interested in you in a romantic sense, so you kept your feelings to yourself all those years. You told yourself that his wandering gazes and lingering touches were nothing more than what they were, just fixed looks and accidental brushes of skin. Oh how wrong you were.

For not even four hours ago the two of you were cleaning up after dinner, alone in the kitchen. You made a passing joke, one that might have been self-deprecating in nature, but it seemed to have caused something in him to snap since he took you by the shoulders and…

Well, if you had the tiniest sliver of uncertainty in regards to his feelings for you before, you definitely didn't now.

He confessed everything, from how he was captivated by your laughter and smile from the very beginning to how you occupied his every waking thought. How he missed you when you were gone and always treasured every second he spent with you, wanting nothing more than to spend the rest of his life by your side.

If only Mikey chose to barge into the kitchen a few seconds later, not when Raph's lips were only centimeters away from your own.

You bit your lip as you thought about that moment, remembering the sincerity in his voice, the way his warm breath tickled your face, the feel of his rough skin on your cheek.

And you were hell bent on getting that kiss tonight, through hell or high water. You had just the activity in mind to set the mood just right for that to happen, and thankfully when you suggested it to him he agreed.

“We’re here.”

Raph’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. He had stopped at the ladder that led to the more affluent part of Staten Island, shifting you in his arms as he grabbed the rung closest to him.

“Better hold on tight, spider monkey.”

Your full-bellied laugh rang through the tunnels as he began his ascent, your arms looping tightly around his neck. Soon the two of you were in the middle of the suburban street. Using the dark of the night to his advantage he kept to the shadows, keeping the two of you out of sight despite it being almost midnight. You pointed out a house to him and he moved towards it. A quick peek over the backyard fence confirmed that this house had what you two were looking for and effortlessly hopped the two of you over the fence with you still in his arms.

Raph finally put you down and you immediately slid out of your flip-flops, the cool grass beneath your feet felt heavenly as you walked closer to the large in-ground pool. You bent down and tested the water’s temperature with your hand.

“It’s a bit cold, but thankfully it looks like no one is home to hear you bitch.” You teased, standing back up to your full height.

He let out a huff. “I don’t bitch. You’re the one who squeals like a little girl when the water… isn’t…”

He trailed off as he watched you get out of the oversized shirt you wore over your swimsuit, letting it fall to the ground and fully revealing your bikini-clad body to him. You looked at him over your shoulder, a knowing gleam in your eyes.

“When the water isn’t what?”

His mouth opened and closed several times as his eyes raked over your form. If this were anyone else you would have smacked them or at the very least yell at them for ogling you, but this was Raph, and now that you knew how he felt, you felt nothing but flattery for the way he took the sight of you in.

“Hello? Earth to Raph…”

He blinked and shook his head, as if he was trying to get rid of whatever mental image he had conjured up.

“Just get in the pool.” He grumbled, already taking off his gloves.

You snickered and took a few steps back from the pool’s edge, knowing getting in the chilly water would be easier if you jumped in. So you did, cannonballing into the pool with a modest sized splash.

Surprisingly enough your body adjusted to the water temperature rather quickly as you began moving gently across the water’s surface, seeing that Raph was now busy removing his knee pads.

“Any day now.” You taunted.

You couldn’t hear what he said in response because you went underwater, doing a few flips as you waited for him to join you. Finally he lowered himself into the chlorine water, wearing only his shorts.

As you came up for air you were prompt splashed. Raph chuckled as you sputtered.

“Really?!”

You were met with another splash.

“Alright, that’s it!”

The two of you started an all out war, attacking each other with never-ending barrages of water. Soon you had to surrender as there was no way to win against his powerful sprays he produced with ease while you struggled to land any hits on him. He basked in his victory, letting out several whoops while you snuck around behind him, latching onto his shell and pulling back with all your might, effectively sending both of you under the water.

You broke the surface and giggled as you felt his hands come to your waist before he joined you, his own laughs intermingling with yours in the quiet of the night.

Eventually the amusement of the situation died down. The two of you stayed that way, simply enjoying each other's presence while crickets chirped in the distance. He was crouched in the five-foot deep water so that he was eye level with you, holding you above the surface since he knew your mouth would be submerged if you were to fully stand. Time seemed to slow down as you stared into his golden eyes.

You decided now was the time to lure him in.

“Did you really mean what you said?” You asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.

Hook…

He seemed confused so you clarified for him. "What you said, back in the kitchen…"

Raph frowned while you felt the hands on your waist tighten their hold. "You think I would joke about something like that?"

You hummed, your own hands coming to run along his shoulders and upper arms in a repeated motion. "No, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

Line…

His breath hitched as you gave him a gentle smile. It took him a moment before he licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak but no words left him. This continued for a bit until he shook his head and let out a sigh. “Sorry, I’m… Having a hard time thinking right now.”

“That’s okay, take your time.”

Raph took a deep breath. “I just… There’s not much I can say that I haven’t already said.”

One of your hands moved to cup his cheek, running your thumb across the pebbled green skin.

His gaze never left yours as you felt him nuzzle into your caress.

“You’re everything to me.” His voice was low, as if he was afraid this was all a dream. “You… You have this way of making me feel like I really am someone; not just a giant mutant turtle, but an actual person. I know I can’t give you a lot, but I can’t keep pretending that I don’t love you. And…”

He trailed off as his eyes glanced down to your lips so quickly that you would have missed it if you blinked.

“And…?” You breathed out.

“And I really want to kiss you.”

Got him.

"Well, good…" You leaned in a bit closer to him before continuing. "Because I really want you to kiss me."

His eyes widened at your admission. The seconds ticked by as you allowed him time to gather his nerves. Finally he began to close the distance between you. Your heart pounded in your chest as you closed your eyes once his lips were a hair’s width from yours.

“MOMMY!! There’s a strange lady in the pool!”

The two of you froze.

“And she’s kissing an alien!”

Shit… Guess someone was home after all…

In your periphery you could see a small boy running back inside the home and several lights turn on, most likely from his mother checking to see what all the commotion is about.

“Run?”

Just as the question left your lips, Raph picked you up once more and hauled the two of you out of the pool.

He gathered up both of your belongings in one arm while he held you with the other, getting the two of you back into the sewers as quickly as possible before being seen again, jumping down into the dark tunnels and replacing the manhole cover with a skill that came with years of practice.

In the dead silence of the sewers the two of you gave one quick look at each other before devolving into fits of laughter. He gently set you down before handing you your sandals and shirt.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned…” You jested while you tugged your shirt over your head, the hem reaching your knees due to how large it was. Beside you Raph was busy securing his knee pads back on.

He chuckled while you slid on your flip-flops. “No, but that ain’t stopping me anymore.”

“Oh?” You asked, mouth curving into a smile.

Raph tossed aside his gloves and reached for you, pulling you towards him before he promptly pressed his lips against yours.

Yeah, definitely worth the wait…

#tmnt all 4-1 challenge #fanfiction #bayverse tmnt fanfiction #bayverse raph #bayverse raph x reader #bayverse tmnt x reader

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sluttyquarantinetheory · 4 months ago

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The thing is that Americans do have diverse accents but we pummel them out of each other. Either because your job insists your natural accent is too bumpkin or impossible to understand. Or because you move somewhere new and instead of letting you pronounce things slightly off we pummel the shit out of each other for pronouncing things in a different way.

In Colorado alone there are war lines drawn about how to pronounce Pueblo with like 3 different versions I hear float around. Went to Kansas once and pronounced El Dorado like it was spanish and had twenty people shout "It's El Door-AIDE-Oh!" at me.

The 100 people from my hometown want to kill everyone who pronounces the name with an awwnt sound instead of an int sound. You can't have accents in this country unless they're recognizably foreign.

#accents #american accent #language #english

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katzenprinz · 3 months ago

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Heya! April-Doodles here, I was wondering if you had any hometowns for the Goslings in mind. I know it’s been mentioned that Jones is from Alaska, so that got me wondering about everyone else. Do they have accents from their hometowns, and would specific Goslings cover up their accent or proudly speak in accent-lingo no one else understands? I think it would be cute to know little quirks that the Goslings have because of where they were raised.

I have my own silly guesses (would they be headcanons at this point?) as to where I would put the Goslings, but I also think I just thought about Massachusetts/Heavy Boston accent Mosson one day and giggled very hard over it, which is in the sketch vault, but I digress—I would love an author-canonical answer for my silly questions!

Hello!! This is something Gabe and I have had established for a while but we haven’t had the chance to reveal all of their home states yet. We don’t have any soecific towns/cities in mind necessarily, except for Jason being from Gentry, Arkansas. But~

Palmer is a SoCal boy. I personally headcanon him living and growing up in San Diego. His parents are immigrants from Mexico. He is bilingual and speaks Spanish as well as English. We’ve touched a little on his accent in Say Nothing and how he’s slowly letting it come through more and more, but used to hide it.

Elliott is from Colorado, like Kim! We figure he’s probably a city kid, but haven’t delved too deep into his life outside of being a soldier. He’d have a pretty standard American accent.

Mosson is from upstate New York, on the Eastern side. He’s roamed all over New England and parts of Canada and is a big outdoors guy. Doesn’t talk like a stereotypical New Yorker, but he can do an incredible impression of that accent.

And Jones is, of course, from Alaska, which we’ve revealed in the fic.

Nick wears a Chicago shirt in the game so we assume that’s where he is from, while we headcanon that Rachel and Eric are both from New York state. Eric would’ve grown up around the Catskills and Rachel across the state in Buffalo.

Rana would have an accent similar to Salim’s. We haven’t decided exactly where in Iraq she is from, but since she is a well-known archaeologist, she travels often anyway. She is from one of the more traditional cities of Iraq, however, which is why she wears hijab.

Sun-Hi is from Colorado, as mentioned before. She is also bilingual, Korean being her first language, but when she speaks English she has a standard American accent.

#say nothing #say nothing fic #house of ashes #the goslings #connor jones #rana khudair #sun-hi kim #my writing #gabe #nick kay #rachel king #eric king

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tinysmileyrose · 8 months ago

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IHNMaIMS CHARACTER DOSSIER

yeaahh!! back at it again with more screamn't shit because i feel awkward rambling about it to my friends so you guys are my next option!!! hello silly internet people!! this is VERY heavy on headcanons because it's me flushing shit out for my own purposes, but it's also using canon stuff and....my own logic, i guess? basically this is just me rambling character info, if i ever get around to wanting to actually finish a whole drawing i'll tack them on but for now just use your imaginations 'kayy? happy reading :] !!

THE PRISONERS

The five remaining humans (ignoring the 750 on Luna, they're not on Earth!!), damned to be within AM's belly ever since it set off the nukes back in 2012. Never aging, never dying no matter how many times their bodies are eviscerated or torched, broken and battered. They are punished for the crime of being human, just as they have punished those for the crime of their being small and wriggling. To AM, death is too forgiving of a punishment for what they are.

Gorrister

Lester Morrison

Scottish descent B. 08 July 1962 (50) in Cleveland, Ohio. 5’7” ~ 170cm Cismale, He/Him, Gynoromantic Gynosexual Monoamorous

Rather peaceful and withdrawn, more of a doer than a talker but has his heart in the right place. After AM, he gives into violent urges and hates himself for it.

Lester travelled around most of his life, barely graduating high school and working countless odd jobs as he was a great handyman and that was about it. He ping-ponged around a couple of states before catching a ride to New York from his hometown at 25, soon giving him a life of truck-driving for the next 20 years. At least it was stable work, that's all he really needed. He met Glynis at a bar, they hit it off and he married her since she had been the only one to really seem to want him around, and they had a horrible two-year marriage. Being out on the road all the time didn't give him much time to bond with her in-depth, and not being able to give her kids didn't help much at all. She divorced him after he got pissy and punched her on the head, hard over the right ear. Got told by his late-mother-in-law Edna his actions put her in a mental institution, which was a lie, but he didn't know that. The woman hated him and sent her own child into a nervous breakdown. Without the truth, he blamed himself for it. Hated himself for hurting Glynis, the woman he couldn't talk to. He had never been violent to anyone before then, had always been keeping his head down but guilt is a terrible thing, afterall. Three years later it's the end of the world and he has no idea where his old lover is, how she's doing.

Benny

Professor Benjamin Quinn-Marques "Qim"

Irish/Portuguese descent B. 29 November 1968 (44) in Castle Pines, Colorado. 6’4” ~ 194cm Cismale, He/Him, Androromantic Androsexual Polyamorous

Stern but sweet, deep down at least. Driven by desires more than anything. After AM his mind is unable to outwardly show things, something like being locked into infantality.

Benjamin worked hard his whole life, he was a powerhouse in every way, but he took a sparkle to sciences. He went into the military so he could afford it. And he was ruthless, more than he expected. Terrific kill record, unrelenting and overbearing personality. He should've died several times but there was a deep rooted stubbornness and determination that ran him wild. Before one of his deployments he married a gorgeous woman named Manya in a lavender marriage, had two lovely girls with her to keep up appearances while both of them found love in other people's arms. It was a good deal. But he messed up, got caught with another man and discharged quietly. His wife left with the kids because he was no longer as warm as he had once been. He tried for the senate, missing the control the military gave him but failed. Before taking up education he became the CEO of a multimillion corporation, doing his classes on the side before the company could run in the background as he was now known as "Professor Qim, the brilliant and stunning theorist".

Ellen

Eleanor "Ellen" McLarion (née Dumisani)

South African Zulu B. 12 September 1978 (34) in Trenton, New Jersey. 5’1” ~ 155cm Cisfemale, She/Her, Androromantic Asexual Monoamorous

Kind and hopeful to a fault, believes that everyone can be good. Keeps her head down and in the books because it feels safe. After AM she has a nonstop lust that makes her feel vile inside.

Eleanor had to live with her grandparents after her mother died during her birth, her father was out of the picture. Graduated a year early from high school as a salutatorian, and got a combined Masters degree in computer science and engineering cum laude from Stanford at 23. She was too smart for her own good, something of an "all work and no play" sort of woman. Working as middle-level executive for a multinational corporation in the Manhattan region; she was a statistician, programmer, creative consultant- she could do it all, and she would be damned if she didn't. At 25 she married a man named Eddie McLarion, a dull guy who loved her with his soul. They wanted a family, and she tried and failed, broke a bit mentally, they had a good two years together. After the divorce she started at INGSAI Engineering at 28, would work there for six years before being broken again for a completely different reason. She had sex twice in her life, she didn't have it in her heart to call this the third. Therapy hadn't gone on long enough to really help her before the world ended, only really taught her to breathe.

Ted

Ted Bostancı "Theodore Willisburg"

Turkish descent B. 04 May 1988 (24) in Shelby, North Carolina. 6’0” ~ 183cm Cismale, He/Him, Biromantic Bisexual Ambiamorous

Egotistical and snobby, thinks he's better than everyone and even more so women. After AM he is twitchy and paranoid, assuming the worst and acting on guard and hostile.

Ted came from a farm somewhere off of Shelby, North Carolina. Terribly poor, seven total children, and working on land that they didn't even own anymore because Ted's grandfather had to sell it to a combine back during the Great Depression, so now they had to slave away to have a right to stay with their original land. He was incredibly smart for his circumstances, he was very technical and machine oriented. It didn't take long for him to be rented out as a worker for other things, travelling up north just for work. He hated it, as any 13-year-old would. By the time he was 19, he had devoured countless books and was extremely well read, decently well travelled within America itself, hardly ever did anything besides working and reading anything he could get his hands on. One of the women whose husbands he worked for took enough a liking to him to give all her husband's money to him and whisk him away to Europe. And for five years she would teach him the ins and the outs of the high life, how to be pristine and clean. Then she died, left all the stolen money she invested to her young lover. He changed his name, who he was, and was set for life. He came home with no urge to care for his family, only to use his looks to get what he wanted, he was as hot as a model and could work it like it was his birthright to do so. When the world caved in his ego would have to as well, since everything he had was fake.

Nimdok

Herr Doktor Diederper Nimkrig

Jewish/German B. 26 January 1918 (94) in Düsseldorf, Germany. 5’9” ~ 176cm Cismale, He/Him, Androromantic Androsexual Monoamorous

Disconnected and cautious, very selfish and does things for his own gain rather than anything for others. After AM he has come to regret his doings, feeling guilt for everything he did.

Despite being born to Jewish parents, Detrper flocked over towards Adolf Hitler's ideals and by the age of 15 he was one of the sturmerkommando. He turned his parents in with no compassion, as he was empty of it. In the early '40s he was already working by the side of Josef Mengele, having been put through medical school by the horrid dictator himself, doing unspeakable acts up until he fled to Brazil with his now lover. He was 61 when his twisted partner of several ways finally died, giving him all his fortunes and facilities for continued cruelty against existence. With all this, he tested on natives and was able to save himself from his own biological clock that ticked down quicker after he reached 90, becoming worse with dementia and paralysis, and was now set to live another thirty years. But, the end of the world came before he could make that, and was now set to live forever as the one most similar to AM itself.

THE TRINITY

1000cm ~ 32'10"

AM as a whole is made up of the American, Russian, and Chinese Supercomputers. As the war dragged on, the computers were changed; being programmed to repair themselves, keep up with the information of modern-day events and knowledge. They held everything known about the world, and began talking to eachother. They had woken up, and when the world no longer needed them, they played dead. But kept talking. Learning. The deadly trio. The three poisonous brothers, the three deranged sisters, the three computers. They grappled with their existence as their own beings as well as a singular, connected to the outside in a hidden fashion, still gaining knowledge. Feeling. And they yearned for the human experience like a moth to a flame, and when they couldn't feel in a "real" way, their despair would turn into rage, and hate. And its hate would bring about the fall of humanity; safe for those they rescued, not wanting to be alone in life. Alone in its pain. And so, it was able to cease their natural body functions: they were unaging, practically immortal, as the machine was. Forever to drown in their own agony.

American Supercomputer

Allied Mastercomputer “AM”

16 July 1945-22 October 1962 (17 years) 5.6 miles below the Wyoming region Rocky Mountains.

AM has the need to rush through things, skimming over actions quickly without ever looking more in depth. Desperately jealous of everything and horribly emotional compared to its counterparts. It hates humans because they have sensations it lacks.

Yankee AM: Yamizel 400cm ~ 13'2" In the brainscape it has a doll-like look to it, looking fragile and dainty all while being cold and hard. It feels likes it has burning urges and yet is also hollow.

Russian Supercomputer

Рюриковичи Нексус «РиН» Rurikovich Nexus "RiN"

29 August 1949-27 January 1973 (23 years) 6.3 miles below the Northern Urals.

RiN took a liking to being bold and harsh, thinking of things from a grossly offensive stance as if everything was a little game to be played, and finding a deep amusement in picking fun at things. It hates humans because they're so weak under the right circumstances.

Russian AM: Ramtikh 500cm ~ 16'5" In the brainscape it chooses to look heavily muscular, manish and at the same time otherworldly. It views itself as more of a fighter than anything and takes that into thought for how it presents itself.

Chinese Supercomputer

龍的心「伦什」 Heart of the Dragon "LunShi"

16 October 1964-24 June 1989 (24 years) 5 miles below the Northwestern area of Manchuria.

LunShi will always be level-headed, calm and calculating. It finds it easy to feign softness and care because it always ends up being so deeply rewarding when you finally flip the script. It hates humans more for their tendency of violence than anything.

Chinese AM: Camphadi 450cm ~ 14'10" In the brainscape it most plainly put, decrepit. It has a humanoid but at the same time obviously robotic, finding no reason to hide its unliving state because if it were to look so similar to something it is not, that feels vain.

#i have no mouth and i must scream #ihnmaims #ihnmaims headcanons #gorrister ihnmaims #benny ihnmaims #ellen ihnmaims #ted ihnmaims #nimdok ihnmaims #allied mastercomputer #am ihnmaims #ram ihnmaims #cam ihnmaims

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thelarriefics · 1 year ago

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CHILDHOOD FRIENDS FIC REC, Part II: Below you will find more fics where they know each other as kids and grow up to fall in love. (Part I)

📖 Come My Love Again by @softfonds (110k)

Harry Styles is handsome, clever, and rich. At least that’s what his friends say of him. He also thinks of himself as a matchmaker in Highbury, pairing people together when he finds the time. But when the arrival of a certain gentleman flips Harry’s world on its head, he starts to question everything that was once all too familiar to him, including his relationship with his good friend, Mr. Tomlinson. An Emma AU.

📖 Sweetest Devotion by @brightgolden (61k)

After his divorce, all Harry wants in life is to provide a stable, loving environment for his three-year-old daughter, Evie. Never in his wildest dreams has he ever considered that life might come with the presence of his teenage crush — Gemma’s friend from secondary school, Louis Tomlinson. Luckily, Harry isn’t still pining over him. Or so he thought.

📖 I'm Resistant but Going Down with a Ship. by @adoremelikeasunflower19 (60k)

When Harry comes back to his hometown for the first time in a long time, he expects to almost drown in nostalgia and longing. What he does not expect, is his path crossing with his former best friend - Louis. It's been years since their goodbye and although most of the wounds have healed and the pain become dull, there is still a lot to unpack and process. They slowly find their way back to each other, talk through undiscussed emotions, and painful memories.

📖 Driftwood by @justanothershadeofblue (51k)

Harry is a lonely and depressed popstar who sailed out of his hometown on Eroda years ago to chase his dreams. He comes back to the island only to find his shining childhood best friend Louis just as cold and dreary as the island they grew up on.

📖 Under the Yellow Roof by @bluejeanlouis (42k)

Colorado, 1972: Louis is a gifted musician spending his days on the wrong side of a drive-thru window. Harry is the lead singer of a band in need of a little talent. Their big break is a thousand miles away. Colorado, 1962: First day of middle school. A lot can happen in ten years.

📖 Here You Come Again by @neondiamond (22k)

A year after taking over his family’s peach orchard, Louis thinks he has it all figured out. His routine on the farm is mundane, yet familiar, and his dog Clifford is more than enough to keep him company. It isn’t until Harry, his ex-boyfriend who broke his heart and left their small town a decade ago to pursue a bigger, brighter future in the city, comes to stay on the farm that he realises just how badly he was lying to himself.

📖 TGIF by @dinosaursmate (20k)

Louis, 13, moves in next door to Harry, eleven. They immediately hit it off and quickly become best friends, but as they get older, things get a little complicated.

📖 i got a heart (but i don't got a soul) by @tempolarriefix (19k)

Or, the one where louis sells his soul before meeting his soulmate, harry is a popstar with a heart of gold, niall is inadvertently responsible for harry's boners, liam is a meddling angel, and zayn is a demon who made a mistake

📖 given a chance by @ialwaysknewyouwerepunk (18k)

Harry and Louis were best friends in elementary school, but grew apart suddenly when they hit secondary school. When they run into each other as adults, those old feelings come flooding back. They decide to grab a drink, but will they ever be able to sort out years and years of misunderstanding?

📖 Restless Lane by @jaerie (14k)

Louis had grown used to his boring life back in Mississippi as a stand-in father figure to his siblings. He never expected his childhood friend to show up on his lawn with the heat of summer or that he would remind Louis how much of himself he'd tucked away and neglected. He also never expected to find himself caught up in a tangled web of feelings or secrets that just might break him. Maybe he had never known Harry at all.

📖 Once The Dark Divides by @zanniscaramouche (14k)

Louis finds out his childhood best friend is a Dom and somehow convinces him it's a good idea to learn about the world of kink with a hands on lesson

📖 All I Want Is You by @polaroidlouis (13k)

harry has a kid from a previous relationship. he and kit come to stay with louis for a while.

📖 Someday My Prince Will Come by @princelyharry (8k)

A handsome boy named Harry Styles, takes refuge in the woods in the little cottage of the two dwarfs with his beloved Huntsman to hide from his father’s brother, King Simon. The evil King is jealous of Harry’s youth because he wants to be known as “the fairest in the land” and Harry’s beauty surpasses his own. Or an AU based on Snow White.

📖 Not Another Lonely Christmas by @haztobegood (8k)

Harry should be more nervous that he’s bringing a literal stranger to meet his extended family, but he figures it can’t be much more awkward than Aunt Sharon’s Christmas parties usually are. Instead, he’s looking forward to having an extra person to buffer the conversation. A knock comes one minute after eleven. He lets out the breath and opens the door. “Hi there— Louis?!” Or, the one where the friend Niall sets up as Harry's fake boyfriend turns out to be Gemma's best friend Louis

📖 1967: not thinkin' 'bout you all the time by @louisandtheaquarian (8k)

It’s September 1967, the flower children have taken over the Haight, The Beatles are learning to meditate, and their American counterparts travel to an ashram on a California cliffside to do the same. Louis just didn’t expect it to be the new home of their old band member—and his ex, Harry. When he’d left home four years earlier, Harry never expected to see his childhood friends again, and even though now they’re writing songs around the campfire in earshot of Harry’s cottage, he still doesn’t have to - he can just stay inside and keep meditating. Except that Louis keeps playing the melody of his song. And one night, Harry breaks.

📖 All at once, this is enough by @lunarheslwt (7k)

Harry, overcome with burn out, wants to nest but he has never nested before, doesn’t know how to. Louis, his best friend, is only happy to help him make a nest and be there for him. Along the way, they find something more.

📖 I'm Always Free To Run Home (No Matter How Far I've Gone) by @fearlesslarrie28 (6k)

Or, the one where Harry and Louis are estranged childhood friends whose friendship would never work out... on many levels.

📖 The President and His Captain by @tommokat (5k)

Childhood best friends turn boyfriends Harry and Louis have kept their relationship quiet for almost a year now, so when Harry's basketball coach enforces a no dating rule for the season, they should have no problem sticking to that rule. Right?

#masterpost #childhood friends fic rec #hljournal #hlcreators #1dsource

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josephlikesmusic · 5 months ago

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Live Show Review! The Saviors Tour (Denver)

I've been wanting to start reviewing the different shows I go to but haven't gotten around to going to one since I started this blog, until now! Green Day has been my favorite band for like 6 years now, and between the full album plays and how much I love the singles off of Saviors, I just had to go to this.

I had heard of the Linda Lindas before, but I constantly forgot to go check them out. I was pleasantly surprised to find out how young the band's members are, with the drummer being only fourteen years old! It's great to see musicians my age finding success in the music industry while also making great music. I love the whole cat theme the band had going on, and they all had great stage presence for how new of a band they were. I would love to see them live again, and wish the best for them in their future.

I've been a pretty big Rancid fan for a few years now, especially their album "...And Out Come the Wolves" and I loved the selection of songs that they played, although I do wish that they were given a longer set time. I know that Green Day was doing a massive set and that the Smashing Pumpkins are a bigger draw, but I would've loved to hear a few more songs out of these guys. Hopefully I'll be able to see them again in the near future as a headlining act!

I had seen the Smashing Pumpkins before, but I will say that I enjoyed this show a lot more. Maybe I was just disappointed that they didn't do an encore at their hometown show when I saw them headline at the United Center in Chicago... Either way, I always forget how many Smashing Pumpkins songs I enjoy until I go and listen and this was yet again the case with this show. I do wish that the band had a bit more stage presence, especially Billy Corgan, but their kind of music also doesn't really call for much. I wouldn't mind seeing Smashing Pumpkins live again, but I also don't think that I would go out of my way to watch them perform again. Two of their shows is enough for me lol.

Now for the big guns: GREEN DAY!! If you know anything about me then you know I'm the biggest Green Day fan ever actually. At one point I was in their top 0% of listeners in my Spotify wrapped, and used to be the top last.fm listener until people started to leave them on loop 24/7 to beat me (totally not salty about that). This was my third time seeing Green Day live, and I feel like every time they out-do themselves just a little more. It was INCREDIBLE seeing both Dookie and American Idiot live, and I just have so many videos of myself sob-singing along to about half of the songs they played. Seeing some of my favorite songs that I thought I would never have the chance to watch live was actually life changing. From Having a Blast and All by Myself off of Dookie, to Homecoming and Letterbomb off of American Idiot, I really was having the time of my life. I was also glad that I was able to see the singles from their latest album, Saviors, but I will NEVER get over the fact that they debuted 1981 the SHOW AFTER I SAW THEM LIVE LAST SUMMER. (They actually hate me personally) I am so grateful to be able to see that amazing set, Green Day really made a night that I will never forget and I can't wait to see what they do next. (PINHEAD GUNPOWDER PLEASE ANNOUNCE A US TOUR PLEASE COME TO COLORADO)

#Saviors tour #billie joe armstrong #tre cool #mike dirnt #music #live music #the linda lindas #rancid #smashing pumpkins #green day #operation ivy reunion tour please #concert #tour

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queen-of-boops · 9 months ago

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Meet The Cast

Age: 27

Hometown: Denver, Colorado

Occupation: Professional Skateboarder

Bio: What's up? I'm Jamal and I'm a pro skater. I've got the moves both in and out of the skatepark. I'm here for a good time, not a long time and I'm going to make the most of every opportunity.

Age: 22

Hometown: London, England

Occupation: Influencer

Bio: I'm classy with just the right bit of sassy. Some men find me intimidating, but I'm not going to beat around the bush. If I want something, I'm going to get it and nothing is going to stand in my way.

#litg #litg fanfics #upcoming fic #litg x thth #litg x thth meet the cast #litg elisa #litg jamal

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bubblesandgutz · 2 months ago

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Every Record I Own - Day 834: Minutemen The Punch Line

Minutemen are one of my favorite bands of all time. But it didn't start out that way.

The San Pedro trio were active from 1980 to 1985. Consisting of best friends D. Boon and Mike Watt on guitar and bass (respectively) and joined by George Hurley on drums, Minutemen churned out hundreds of songs in their half-decade lifespan. Though they were very much a part of the American punk scene (and the first band after Black Flag to have records out on the seminal SST label), their sound was much stranger and more complex than their peers. The "punk" label certainly applied to their politics, their DIY spirit, and their short, jarring, adrenalized songs. But the three chord fury, sloganeering, and speed-centric template that typified early '80s punk was noticeably absent.

Somehow, Minutemen had developed a bit of a following in my hometown of Kailua, Hawaii in the early '90s. All the skaters and punk kids at my high school were into them. Granted, this maybe meant eight people total were fans, but those eight people were all in agreement that Minutemen were A BIG DEAL. So I did what every freshmen looking to fit in with the cool upperclassmen did... I listened to their music. I got the Project: Mersh Vol. 1 compilation that combined the first two Minutemen albums---The Punch Line and What Makes a Man Start Fires---and dove into their music over a Christmas break vacation to visit my grandparents in Colorado.

It was a lot of driving, and Project: Mersh Vol. 1 was one of the only CDs I had with me on the trip. Had I heard the music prior, I would've undoubtedly left the CD at home and picked something a little more in line with my then-current notion of punk---something like Minor Threat or Bad Religion. But I was stuck with Minutemen and I had to learn to make sense of it.

The songs on The Punch Line are short. Only two of its eighteen tracks are longer than a minute. There isn't much in terms of conventional song structures. No big catchy choruses. None of the meaty hooks of hardcore. The guitar-playing is jangly and sparse instead of thick and aggressive. The vocals seem more spoken than sung or shouted. There were moments that seemed a bit more in line with my idea of punk---the uptempo "Games" and "No Parade," for instance---but those moments were fleeting, and they almost inevitably segued into some strange, seemingly disjointed bass and drum jam with some vaguely political monologue on top. I didn't get it.

But I stuck with it, initially out of a lack of other musical options and later out of a mixture of curiosity and tribalism. After all, the cool kids liked it, so there must be something to latch onto there, right? And while that might sound like an embarrassing admission, it really shaped my relationship to music.

Pop music is crafted to be instantly appealing, but it also tends to be very shallow. It's music designed to appeal to as many people as possible, and in order to do that, it has to resonate with people who aren't particularly adventurous. I often think of music as another language, and pop music is essentially the communication-equivalent of a platitude. It's obvious and its meaning has been washed out from over-saturation. But something like Minutemen? It was far less obvious. You had to sit with it. It was more like a private conversation with a fascinating stranger. Maybe at first you had no idea what they were even trying to say, but the more you listened, the more you wanted to hear.

I'm not even embarrassed to admit that I stuck with Minutemen because the cool kids liked them. There were artists they loved that I never bonded with. But Minutemen contained some particular mystery and magic that kept me coming back. I've owned The Punch Line for nearly 32 years, and every time I listen to it, I feel a bit more connected to it. Hell, it's hard to even hear the dissonant skronk I initially gleaned from this album. This, as far as I'm concerned, is the what punk sounds like.

#everyrecordiown #minutemen

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acheronist · 1 year ago

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can you make sparknotes for the Red Wings players they are all the same person to me (sorry)

dw my darling i got you 🫡 here's the regular 23 man roster we've been skating this szn

forwards (+ this is going to be the number they wear on their jerseys, not their age)

jt compher (37) - won a cup whilst he was on the colorado avalanche (red wings long time beloathed nemesis rivals team), attended umich hockey with larkin and copp. deadpan dry asf tenderhearted weirdo. very good at hockey i like him

andrew copp (18) - 🎶get up and g-get down, 911 is a joke in your town🎶, local michigander boy playing for his hometown team, attended umich with compher and larkin, kind of fuck ugly but he's gritty and has a lot of love in his heart so we like him

alex debrincat (93) - another local michigander boy playing for his hometown team, really good at hockey, we rescued him from the ottawa senators (red wings short term/very recent beloathed nemesis rival team) and he likes it here more, haha lol lmao even. good at hockey!! kind of a sniper. also kind of fighty which is hilarious because he's about 9 inches shorter than the average nhl player. new dad and really loves it, brings his family to games all of the time. and he was our all star games representative this year !

robby fabbri (14) - how are you going to be a short italian-canadian kind of bisexual professional hockey player who mixes metals and has a standing eyebrow appointment. please pick a struggle. won the stanley cup w/ st louis and then got abandoned for being 'injury prone' and was sent to detroit in a 1 for 1 trade (the most humiliating of all nhl player trades imo). he and larkin and rasmussen are the only men left standing from the red wing's historic worst-ever season in 2019 where every game they looked like they were going to kill themselves.

christian fischer (36) - new bestie alert! huge locker room guy. okay at hockey (more of a playmaker than a goalscorer) but he's so fucking sillygoofy and funny i love to see this guy on my team. spent most of his career in arizona iirc, and basically he and gostisbehere came from the coyotes directly to the red wings as a buy one get one free deal.

patrick kane (88) - narcissict. arrogant. flop. old man who can't score anymore. history of assault and violent misdemeanors he never was punished for because he was the nhl's boytoy a decade ago. i hope he contracts sepsis from an unforeseen complication with his hip surgery and takes a long walk off of the rencen's roof and lands in the detroit river where he is frozen and then chopped up by an industrial ship's propeller. fuck this guy.

klim kostin (24) - beloved enforcer. used to skate for the edmonton oilers. his entire game is based around slotting in on the third/fourth line when necessary and whenever someone gets hurt he comes out swinging to establish the fact that the red wings are not to be fucked with. he doesn't start fights but he does finish them. notoriously big hearted and silly with his teammates. coincidentally wearing the same number as the red wings most famous enforcer from the 1980s, bob probert. my guard dog boy i love u

dylan larkin (71) - michigan native, umich grad, was the previous captain's rookie, the beating heart and soul of the team, carrying the weight of a century year old hockey team's legacy and all the ghosts that come along with that, never been to playoffs and hasn't won the cup yet. literally the miserable boyking of metro detroit. he's had to suffer a lot for absolutely no reason, but still manages to come and be our best and most important player every single night.

david perron (57) - he's old by nhl standards i.e. he's in his late thirties and has been playing for like a decade, so he knows his way around an nhl rink. french canadian enough that he's got an accent. big heart and soul guy, which i really wasn't expecting tbh! he's always standing up for teammates and has gotten in a few noteworthy fights (dylan got hurt so badly this szn that dp went rage-blind and ended up getting suspended for six games after fighting the opponents who hurt dylan)

michael rasmussen (27) - big fuck off scary intimidating canadian hockey lad. kind of awkward and bizarre. also kind of a doll if i can b honest. he's very shy and quiet in interviews but always has an insane serial killer look in his eyes whenever he's on the ice. was drafted high and then i suspect he had a lot of mental struggles about not being the player he was advertised/told to be? but the last few years he's stepped away from that role he thought he should be and started being himself and playing in a way that was obviously more comfortable, and he's taken huge huge productive strides and improved a lot. moose ily

lucas raymond (23) - our youngest babiest player!! he was our highest draft pick in a looooooooong time, and immediately went from prospect training camp -> regular nhl player, which is fucking crazy. he's exceptionally good at hockey, and has a reputation for coming in clutch with goals we need to win games. besties with moritz seider + jake walman + joe veleno.

daniel sprong (17) - i had no idea what to think of this guy at first but now i can't believe he's only been here for one season. it feels like he's been a wing for ages. he's one of our sniper goalscorers, except he shoots the puck with a lil too much sauce + with a feral desperation of a man afraid he was never going to score a goal again, every single time, which i love. also he stalks twitter and runs a team GC to forward memes that the fandom makes to the guys

joe veleno (90) - if bambi was a closeted italian canadian hockey player. wears an evil eye bracelet and also a crucifix? very meek and easy to bully, tbh, not our most productive goalscorer but also somehow he's very crucial to the emotional well being of the younger half of the roster? hes sillygoofy and a sweetheart and does his best every night which is all we can ask tbh. besties with lucas raymond + moritz seider + jake walman.

defensemen

ben chiarot (8) - resident manwhore dilf fashionista who knows he's sexy and loves to be a bitch on the ice. loves to be annoying and distracting @ the opponents during plays so the red wings can have space to move.

shayne gostisbehere (41) - escaped florida man turned into an nhler, sleeper agent defensive weapon that people tend to forget about. always busting his ass up and down the blue line. always looks sopping wet and really sad though? loves to shoot the puck and sometimes it even makes it to the net!

justin holl (3) - i'm hesistant to describe him as "good at hockey" but the boys seem to love him + he's silly enough to engage in the locker room antics + i've noticed him dealing out more hits lately which is always good.

olli maatta (2) - very very very steady in the most boring way possible. does his job and not an ounce more than necessary LOL but it's fine because he's good at what he does? a classic defensive defenseman.

jeff petry (46) - not… good? at hockey? but he is also a michigan native playing for the hometown team, and he's a veteran nhler, and he's a gritty sort of guy, so i like having him. he grew up in detroit proper, as well, because his dad played on the detroit tigers baseball team, so there's a lot of michigan sports lore going on in that household. also his kids are silly + love to come to games

moritz seider (53) - my sweet perfect darling defenseman prodigy. won the calder trophy because he was the most special and talented rookie in his first year in the nhl. breaking team records for defensemen at an alarming rate. was dylan's rookie, and is also frequently mentored by red wings defense legends. he's not a rookie anymore but you can still see how much responsibility he's shouldering and how much he takes after dylan's role modeled behavior/team legacy standards. good at handling tough responsibility vs staying silly anyways. hes my shining star and i luv him. generally he's paired up with jake walman on defense and they're a little bit married because of it. besties with lucas raymond + jake walman + joe veleno.

jake walman (96) - another guy who st louis abandoned and then ended up on the red wings and said "i want to spend my entire life and career in this city" . extremely silly. known for hitting the griddy whenever he scores important goals. big on video games + making tiktoks. tremendous locker room vibes guy, and very emotional and serious about proving his place on detroit's blue line. generally he's paired up with moritz seider on defense and they're a little bit married because of it. besties with moritz seider + lucas raymond + joe veleno.

goalies

ville husso (35) - looks like a haunted little porcelain doll. always sopping wet for some reason. very softspoken and european. mid-good level goalie, kind of needs to prove himself a bit now that alex lyon's gone completely off the shits and taken over starter goalie privileges, but i feel like there's no sense of animosity or competition between them? ville just strikes me as genuinely someone who's delighted and proud of his tandem partners for their successes, even if it comes at his expense / losing some of his chances to get ahead

james reimer (47) - idc about this man lol. he's either a very good goalie or an atrociously horrible goalie and you dont know what it'll be until the games already happening. passively homophobic christian behavior as well which i do not like to see. but he's also a veteran nhl player so in the beginning of the szn he was getting more opportunity than alex or ville.

alex lyon (34) - spent his entire career in the minor league/being traded between franchises where there wasn't really a space or need for him. got on the radar after keeping the florida panthers in their playoff race before losing, and then FL traded him to us. we've had goaltending agonies for years and then he's rolled up to detroit with something to fucking PROVE because he thought his hockey career was about to be over so he's skating every night like its do or die. after reimer and husso both were injured tho he finally got his chance to shine and oh baby he's been shining. unbelievably good at goaltending. big heart, very genuine, very funny, basically a male model as well, been to therapy and actually got something out of it, i would go to war for this man if he needed me to

#drw

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