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ckret2 · 2 months ago

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Chapter 69 (lol) of human Bill Cipher being a prisoner with terrible fashion sense: beach episode!!! Well, lake episode. Close enough.

And a few other people come to town.

Just after dawn, a sleek, nondescript black government SUV, now dusty from a long drive, parked in front of the Gravity Falls Police Department. Three agents in sleek, nondescript black suits stepped out.

As they left the car, Blubs came out to meet them, Durland trailing behind him. "Agent Powers, Agent Trigger! Good to see you again." He shook Powers's hand, then glanced at the new agent. "And you are...?"

"Agent Dale!" The rookie shook Blubs's hand next, beaming. "Very pleased to meet you. I was just saying in the car—you have a beautiful town here, just beautiful."

"Wouldn't stop talking about it," Trigger muttered.

Blubs chuckled. "Why, thank you. We're quite proud of it ourselves."

Durland said, "Say, Agent Dale—don't you agents usually have tougher-sounding codenames?"

"Agent Clyde S. Dale. Like the horse."

"Ohhh. Yup, that'll do it."

"Sheriff Blubs," Powers said. "I trust you have the requested materials?"

"Right inside," Blubs said. "We've got the readings on last week's gravity anomaly from McGucket's scanners, and reports on this weekend's power surge."

"No overlap between the incidents?"

"None anyone here detected."

"Hmm. Has anything else strange happened since we were last in town?"

Blubs hesitated. "Well—never mind all that." He quickly shifted topics, "Say, I like your 'honk if you want to be arrested' bumper sticker." ("Oh is that what it says?" Durland asked.)

Agent Powers said solemnly, "I can get you the contact information of the shop where I bought it. It's a very nice small business run by art students."

"Would you? That'd be delightful."

Powers paused before following the cops and his agents into the police department, glancing out at Gravity Falls' town square—the modest little main street shops, the town hall, the statue of the town founder, the distinctive water tower with the faded muffin graffiti, and the familiar mountains surrounding the little valley town.

And then he let out a long, frustrated sigh.

"Fine," he muttered grumpily, glaring at the town as though it were an old rival as annoyed to see him as he was to see it. "Let's just get this over with."

He followed Blubs into the police department.

####

"Attention, everybody," Stan said, standing in the entryway with his fists on his hips, Soos beaming behind him. "I've got some great news!"

Abuelita and Bill glanced up from one of Abuelita's soap operas; Mabel and Dipper craned their necks to see Stan from where they were having dinner at the kitchen table.

Stan announced, "It's finally time!"

Dipper and Mabel blinked. Bill said, "Great. I'll get the ritual daggers, you can set up the blood red candles. Dolores?"

Abuelita said, "I will put out the good sacrifice altar." Bill laughed in delight.

"Yeah, yuck it up, you two," Stan said. "We're going fishing tomorrow! I've got the bait, I found everyone's rods, Soos and I patched up the old boat, I even—" He paused at the sound of the vending machine opening. "Hey! Ford!"

Ford ducked in from the gift shop. "What?"

Stan chucked a hat at him. "I made you a fishing buddy hat! See, it's got your name! That's pretty good!"

"Oh." Ford inspected the letters haphazardly stitched onto the hat. "Why?"

"Fishing tomorrow! Half the summer's gone by, and we haven't gone fishing once! The guys from the lodge probably think I'm too ashamed to show my face. But it rained this weekend, the weather's just cleared up, now's the perfect time for fishing!"

"Oh," Ford said again, trying to drag his thoughts from magical tapes to fishing. "If you'd let me know earlier, I'd have built another fish-summoning beacon like the one on our boat." (Bill glanced curiously at Ford at the mention of an invention he didn't already know about; then stubbornly refused to be interested and dragged his gaze back to the TV.)

"No beacons! This isn't fishing for survival, this is about the sport! Asserting our manhood! Just the skill, strength, and patience of three men—and some women and children—against the lake!" (Soos beamed at being included amongst the men.)

Ford considered that. He didn't assert his manhood very often; usually he just sort of let his manhood hang around minding its own business, like an old cat that wants to be in the same room as you without socializing. It sounded like an intriguingly novel experience. "Okay, great. What time?"

"I want everyone on the road tomorrow morning! By six thirty at the latest."

The kids groaned.

"C'mon, dudes," Soos said encouragingly. "It'll be fun! After about three hours, once you're awake enough to think."

"No griping, we've gotta be there early to get a prime fishing spot," Stan said. "Tomorrow's a lodge fishing day. We're going home with a haul so big they'll be embarrassed they kicked me out!"

Dipper asked, "You mean the lodge for the Royal Order of the Holy Mackerel, right? Why'd they kick you out?"

Stan sighed, "Once the town found out about Ford, they realized I'd spent the last thirty years attending lodge meetings under his membership. Since I'd never undergone the—" He rolled his eyes and made finger quotes, "'sacred angler initiation rites,' they booted me. And they said I can't try to join again, just because of that one dumb little white lie! And my extensive criminal record."

Ford hurriedly crossed the living room to avoid blocking Abuelita's TV view. (Bill looked through him like he wasn't there.) "Stan got a lot more out of my membership than I did—once I'd finished my initiation I probably only ever attended three meetings. I tried to petition the Mackerels to let him rejoin."

"How'd they respond?" Mabel asked.

"They kicked me out too."

Bill scoffed. "Big deal! The Fishmasons and all their subordinate organizations are just a big boring social club that got you hotel discounts three hundred years ago. The mystique around them is more interesting than anything they actually do."

"Figuring that out is why I stopped attending after three meetings," Ford said. "I joined to learn about the dark secret underbelly of Western politics—not sit around eating charcuterie and fancy nuts while everyone talks about baseball and makes fun of me for not knowing what a fly ball is. It's a stupid term! Doesn't the ball always fly?"

"Really, they aren't even worth joining," said Bill Cipher, the only person to have ever been kicked out of seventeen separate Masonic lodges in seventeen separate bodies.

Reminded of the fancy nuts he was missing out on at this very second, Stan set his jaw in determination. "Yeah, well, they're a big boring social club that'll rue the day they kicked out Stan Pines! Out the door, six thirty, on the dot!"

"I don't have an alarm," Bill said. "Hey star girl, wake me at five."

Mabel shuddered at the thought of setting an alarm that early. "No way. You can borrow my radio."

"Hold on, I didn't say you're invited," Stan said. "We've already got a full boat! Me, my brother, the kids, and Soos and his girl. Nobody wants to sit on the lake with you for eight hours."

"I wanna sit on the lake with Bill!"

"Nobody but Mabel wants that."

"Relax! I don't want to sit on a boat with you underpainted clowns either," Bill said. "I just want to sit on the beach! I miss sunlight! Sunlight without being forced to hike through half the valley on no food or sleep."

(Ford decided that was his cue to make himself scarce. He scooted into the guest room.)

"Well," Stan said, "we're not staying thirty feet from the shore, we're not leaving anybody behind, and we don't trust you to stay put on the beach without your dumb magic bracelet—so how do you expect that to work."

"I'll just stay with Dolores."

Stan and Soos stared at Abuelita. Soos said, "Abuelita? Do you want to come?"

Abuelita considered it. "Sure. The weather is nice. I can catch up on my reading."

"Yes!" Bill hopped off the couch. "Then it's a plan!"

"Hey, hold on," Stan said as Bill breezed past him, "I didn't agree to—"

"Hey star girl!" Bill leaned into the kitchen. "Need your fashion services! I need a swimsuit before tomorrow."

Mabel gasped in delight. "What kind?"

"Whatever exposes the most skin without getting me arrested. I'm absorbing as much sunlight as possible."

"With sunscreen, right?" Soos said.

Bill turned and gave him a blank-faced stare.

Soos hopefully repeated, "With sunscreen?"

"Don't need it."

"You totally do, dude. Not many people talk about this? But having more melanin doesn't totally protect you from sun damage, it just slows it down," Soos said. "Trust me on this. When I was like eight, I went to this water park—

"Uh-huh, and three days later you were peeling off flakes of your own dead flesh," Bill said. "It's cute how you think you know more about humans from 23 years of passively being one than I do from 500,000 years of actively studying them."

"Oh."

"C'mon, star girl! No time to waste!" Bill grabbed Mabel's hand and tugged her off her chair.

"Wait, my sandwich—!" Mabel grabbed the rest of her dinner off her plate and shoved it in her mouth as Bill dragged her upstairs.

Abuelita shot him a dirty look as he passed, but turned back to her soap opera.

####

Just past five in the morning, Bill crept by the guest room door. He glanced through the wall as he passed; good, both of the Stans were in bed and sound asleep. Bill wouldn't have had a chance to get up to his mischief if Ford had decided to sleep downstairs.

He snuck behind the vending machine; paused to squint toward the future and confirm that when he looked at the stairs, he could only see himself using them anytime soon; then down to the elevator; and down, down to Ford's study.

Bill sighed in relief when the elevator slid open and he saw that Ford had left his study door ajar. He crept into the room, feet socked, hands gloved—Ford was the kind of paranoid to actually check for prints if he suspected anything, and Bill's triangular whorls were very distinctive—and looked through the objects piled on the shelves and furniture for any concealed sensors or cameras. The coast was clear.

He idly scanned the nearby shelves for any sign of his stolen time tape, didn't find it, but didn't expect to. That wasn't what he was here for.

He knelt in front of a half-disassembled filing cabinet, flipped through the files in the removed bottom drawer until he found several folders together about curses and hexes, and flipped through them until he found the one labeled "Curses & Hexes (w/ ingredients)". Good old Sixer, left everything exactly where Bill remembered it.

He rifled through the pages—"aha!"—until he found the paper he was looking for and pulled it out. Handwritten at the top of a ragged-edged piece of notebook paper were the words "Reverse Sunscreen". Bill read through the list of ingredients—"Oh, pepper juice, not pepper flakes, right."—then put the paper back.

He glanced back and forth between the past and present to ensure he put the files back exactly where he'd found them—again, considering Ford's paranoia, he might notice any difference.

And then he returned to the elevator and headed upstairs.

The whole time he was in the study, Bill didn't let himself glance at the back of the room where Ford's shrine to him used to be.

####

"Heya, pal," Bill said. "It's been a while! Where have you been hiding all summer?"

Gompers blinked up at Bill.

"I guess we both look different than we did the last time we met, huh? I think your makeover went better than mine, though! You didn't fall as far as I did." He didn't have as far to fall.

Gompers accepted the backhanded compliment with utter indifference.

"But hey, why talk about the past! Let's let bygones be bygones. Here." Bill knelt, pulled one of Ford's nutrition pills from the folds of his beach towel, and held it out. "A peace offering! A little snack for you."

Gompers eyed it warily.

"Come on, you've eaten worse things than this."

He delicately ate the pill out of Bill's hand.

"Thaaat's right. Tell me how you like that thing later."

Leaning on his car, Stan—the only other person who'd actually been ready to go at 6:30—looked over Bill's shirt and trout slippers, and asked warily, "You didn't forget that humans need to wear pants, right?"

Bill got to his feet, shoved his makeshift umbrella-cane under the same arm as his beach towel, and pulled up the hem of the puma shirt he'd stolen from the gift shop to reveal his bikini bottom. It was teal with little puffy gold triangles painted on. "Cover-up dress. Your arbitrary fashion rules are different for beaches."

Stan considered whether a t-shirt counted as a dress, decided he didn't know enough about dresses and he might as well give this one to Bill, and grunted. "Fine, you're legal."

"Am I free to go, officer?"

"Never compare me to a cop again."

"Stop acting like one!" Bill trotted off to his ride to wait for the other humans to assemble.

There wasn't room for all eight beachgoers in one vehicle; the Pines piled together in Stan's car, while the Ramirezes (including Melody—honorary future Ramirez—and Bill—magic braceleted to Abuelita) took Soos's truck. So that Abuelita didn't have to squeeze past the front seats into the back, Bill and Melody were assigned the back bench; when Bill greeted Melody and she only responded with a vague mumble and an averted gaze, he scooted closer to the middle of the bench, spread his knees to take up more space, and smugly pretended not to notice how Melody squeezed herself against the door.

By the time the Ramirez vehicle parked at the beach, the Pines family was already out of their car: Stan was glaring up the beach with his fists on his hips, the kids were unsuccessfully searching Mabel's supply bag for Dipper's sunscreen, and Ford was lingering back at the car, pretending to check the contents of their tackle box but actually trying to shake the sudden memory of weightlessness and water in his throat. As Bill passed, Ford muttered, "I'm surprised you wanted to get this close to the lake so soon. Considering." It had been less than a week since their joint near death experience.

"Why not? Nearly drowning was the most fun part of that hike." (Ford wondered whether that was a red flag, an underhanded comment about how unfun the rest of the hike had been, or just Bill being Bill; and, for his own peace of mind, decided it was probably the third thing.) "Looks like you got something fun out of the trip, too." Bill snapped the shoulder strap of Ford's waders.

Ford shoved Bill's hand away. "As long as I have them, I might as well use them."

When everyone caught up with Stan, he was scowling at four men, ages ranging from 50 to 80, wearing fishing vests and hats with the Holy Mackerel's distinctive stylized fish symbol. "Eugene," Stan muttered. "Eugene and his goons wanted to kick me out of the lodge for years. Just because I have a grating personality and am generally unpleasant to be around! And tried to get the lodge to pick a local affordable housing fund as our charity for fundraising one year!"

Ford gave Stan a surprised look. "You never mentioned you worked with an affordable housing charity."

"Yeah. The Compassionate Angel's Fund For Gravity Falls Tourism Business Owners Who Are Behind On Their Mortgage Payments."

Ford snorted.

Bill said, "I think you should've gotten away with it just for being funny."

"Don't even look at them," Stan instructed the group. "These jerks aren't worth it." The collected group studiously avoided looking at the Mackerels, except Bill and Abuelita, who didn't care.

As they walked up the beach toward the pier and veered around the Mackerels, Stan suddenly stopped, turned straight toward them, and said loudly, "Why, Eugene! What a coincidence! I almost didn't notice you!"

A tall, elderly man with a fishing rod over one shoulder and a black wooden cane in his other hand glanced over at the Pines/Ramirez party. "Oh," he said, with a voice like he'd found a fly stuck in gum on his cane. "Hello, Stan-ley. We haven't seen you out on the lake this summer."

Stan laughed loudly, as if Eugene had told a hilarious joke. "Oh, that! I was just waiting for perfect fishing weather! I'm not about to waste my time out on the lake on a bad fishing day!" He gestured behind himself, "Besides, I had to wait until my whole family was free to come along."

(Soos elbowed Melody and whispered excitedly, "He called us his family!")

Stan clapped his hands proudly on Dipper and Mabel's shoulders—who looked like they hoped the sandy beach would swallow them whole—and said, "I don't see your family, Eugene, where are they?"

"Dead." With mournful dignity, Eugene said, "I outlived my wife and all three of my children. Remember? You ate potato chips during my daughter's funeral."

Stan opened his mouth, shut it, and said, "Was that the really boring one that went like an hour?"

Ford, who didn't always have the best social instincts but could tell when Stan had screwed up, started shooing the rest of the family away from the scene, elbowed Stan, and said, "Let's get to the boat. You wanted to get a prime fishing spot, right?"

Eugene looked at Ford. "Ah. You must be the real Stanford Pines?" he said. "So I'm assuming, anyway. Apparently it's hard to tell you two apart."

Stan scowled; but before he could retort, Bill pushed past him to butt into the conversation. "Is it ever! Listen, take it from someone who's made this mistake—you've got to count the fingers on these two, every time."

Eugene huffed sardonically. "So it seems." (Ford self-consciously hid his hands in his pockets and shot Bill a dark look as he shuffled off with the rest of the family.)

"Say, while I've got your attention—name's Goldie, by the way—I couldn't help but admire your cane!" He tapped the tip of his umbrella against Eugene's cane. "I'm in the market for an upgrade from this substitute I've been using! That's no blackwood, right? That looks like true ebony."

"Good eye," Eugene said, surprised. "Yes, genuine Gaboon ebony."

"Must've dropped a lot of gold on this thing," Bill said appreciatively. "You've gotta tell me where you got it."

"I'm afraid I don't remember off the top of my head..."

"That's fine! Look it up—" (he twisted around to speak over his shoulder as Stan grabbed his arm and dragged him away) "—I'm sure we'll meet again!"

About fifteen feet away, Stan growled, "What was that?"

"Networking. I've got plans for that guy," Bill said. "Hey, did you hear him? Gaboon ebony?" He laughed condescendingly. "Easiest way to make a guy look like a moron, start talking about 'true' ebonies. Didja know the word 'ebony' comes from Egyptian? And when they talked about 𓍁𓈖𓏭𓆱, they were talking about African blackwood. Wood so hard it sinks and you have to tool it like a metal! Gaboon ebony is a flimsy usurper!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"But you don't pretend you do, and that's what makes you better than that guy." Bill tugged Stan down by the shoulder. "Listen, Fisherman. I can't tell you where the fish are biting but I can tell you where they're swimming. It'll give you an advantage, but you'll need to do the rest."

Stan squinted mistrustfully at Bill. "What's the catch."

"The catch is you have to accept my help. Do you want it or not?"

"And why are you offering?"

"Because I think these lodge guys are a bunch of snobs. And they should've chosen your charity. It was funny."

That, plus Stan had been the most reluctant to let Bill live; Bill had to convince him he'd made the right choice.

Bill gave Stan directions to a bunch of fish he could see underwater by the Island Head Beast's right earhole; and then, his good deed for the day done, he headed off to claim a spot on the beach.

Ford had gone into Tate & Backle's to properly purchase the clothing they'd borrowed after the eclipse, and Soos was helping set Abuelita up with a low beach chair and a large umbrella. Bill smoothed out a patch of sand about ten feet from Abuelita so he could lay out his beach towel and dump his supplies for the day beside it. While Mabel and Melody got the boat ready, Dipper wandered around looking for sunscreen to borrow. He saw Bill's tube, snatched it without asking, and generously coated his arms, legs, and face. Bill fought back a grin and pretended not to notice.

He tossed aside his t-shirt and fish slippers, settled down on the towel in his bikini, carefully squeezed several horizontal lines of reverse sunscreen across the front of his abdomen and thighs, and drew a few vertical lines in between to break them up.

Ford trudged over from the bait shop to tell Bill, "I thought you'd like to know those ridiculous fish slippers were thirty dollars."

Bill laughed. "Whoa! Seems like a lot of money for some cheap novelty shoes! It's too bad you decided to trap me in a position where I'm too destitute and powerless to make my own purchases, isn't it?"

"All right, all right." Ford's gaze caught on the bruise-blue line discoloring the skin from Bill's left shoulder to his right hip—had he gotten injured during one of his hikes the past week? Or had that always been there? Ford didn't think he'd ever seen Bill's body shirtless, maybe it had always been here—but then he noticed Bill's lines of sunscreen and barked a laugh. "I suppose you're not planning to rub that in."

"Brilliant observation." Bill began smoothing down the lines with a finger, maintaining the pattern he'd drawn.

"You wanted to come out here to suntan? I'm sure you're already aware of the cancer risks from tanning."

"If I'm in this body long enough to get cancer, I'll welcome it." Bill lay down, laced his hands behind his head, and gave Ford an obnoxious smile. "Anyway, basal cell carcinomas are delicious. There's something kinda romantic about them, you know?"

Ford ruminated on that with thoughtful bafflement, shushed the voice in his head trying to point out that Bill was waving ever more red flags, and concluded that perhaps humans weren't meant to comprehend the romanticism of skin cancer. "Fine."

"What's everyone standing around for?" Stan asked, trudging up to Soos and Ford. "C'mon, we're burning daylight! Let's..." He trailed off, staring at Bill.

His bikini top consisted of two triangular red cups. Each cup had an enormous staring eye.

"See something ya like?" Bill asked dryly.

Stan quickly looked away. "Ugh. That's indecent."

"What is?"

"That—design!"

"What's indecent about eyeballs?"

"It looks like...!" He gestured vaguely but emphatically.

"What? What does it look like? Tell me what it looks like, Stanley."

"Never mind!" He turned away with a huff and muttered to Ford, "Can you believe him?"

"I honestly didn't notice anything until you pointed it out." Ford waved back at Bill dismissively as he followed Stan toward the boat. "Enjoy your sunburn."

"I will! I haven't had a good sunburn in centuries! That's one of the best features of earthling bodies!" Bill got comfortable and shut his eyes.

Soos finished getting Abuelita settled, headed toward the boat—but hesitated as he passed by Bill. Bill opened an eye a crack to glower up at him. "What?"

Soos mumbled, "You could've just told me you wanted to get sunburned. I mean—yesterday."

"But you didn't ask if I wanted a sunburn," Bill snapped. "You just assumed I didn't know how they work. And that's the point: you assumed I was stupid instead of considering that maybe you didn't know my plan."

"Oh. Uh... sorry." Soos rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't mean to make you feel stupid."

Bill's irritation flared higher. He sat up. "I didn't say you made me feel stupid," he hissed, voice low, talking fast. "There's nothing that you could do to make me feel stupid. But that doesn't mean you aren't treating me like I'm stupid, does it?"

"Whoa—!" Soos raised his hands defensively. "Chill, dawg. I didn't mean—"

"What's the phrase, do ut des? 'Do unto others'? Your species's phrase. Don't treat me like I'm stupider than you and I won't have to return the favor—sound like a fair deal, Question Mark?" Bill stared up at him challengingly, brows raised.

"But th— I w— You..." Soos's protests that he'd been doing nothing but trying to do-unto-others Bill got jumbled all around under the force of Bill's spotlight glare. His shoulders slumped. "Sure," he mumbled. "Sorry."

"Good." Bill lay back down. "Get out of my sun."

Soos trudged away; and Bill took a deep breath, tried to get in a meditative mindset where he could shut off his mind, and focused on the feeling of sunshine on his body.

He'd just about managed to drop into a proper trance when Abuelita called sweetly, "Bill? Would you grab a bottle of water for me?"

His face twitched toward a frown as he was dragged back to full consciousness. Hadn't Soos left them close enough for her? Some grandson.

"Bill?"

He tried to think of an excuse to stay where he was; then growled in irritation and sat up. "Okay, okay." He couldn't afford to offend the chef with access to the poisons.

The bag with the water bottles was right behind Abuelita's elbow; but maybe her joints were stiff. Bill knelt to unzip the bag. "Another bodice ripper?" he asked, glancing at her book.

"A powerful sorceress queen has been captured by her enemies. She just learned they are led by her former apprentice."

"I can sympathize with that." Bill dragged the bag up next to Abuelita's knee so he wouldn't need to grab another bottle for her later. "Who's the love interest—guileless guard? Heroic rescuer?"

"The apprentice."

"Sympathy's gone." Bill glanced toward the boat to see what the rest of the household was up to.

They'd already reached the spot Bill had indicated and started fishing. Soos was excitedly reeling in his line; the boat listed to one side as everyone crowded around him to see what he'd brought up. Stan dipped a net in the water to scoop up his catch.

It was a boot.

Everyone's faces fell in disappointment.

Except for Ford's, who gleefully snatched up the boot he'd kicked off during the eclipse when he fell in the lake. He dumped the water out of his boot, switched places with Soos, and began fishing the same spot.

Abuelita said, "My grandson has been very nice to you."

Bill looked at her warily.

"Hasn't he?" She had a polite smile and daggers in her eyes.

He had the oddest feeling that this was going somewhere dangerous. "Yeah yeah yeah, sure he has," Bill said. "Nothing but nice. I think I'll take a little stroll, stretch these legs! See ya!" He stood to escape.

He only got a step away before the enchanted bracelet pulled tight around his wrist. He turned around to stare in amazement.

Abuelita had wrapped the slack of the bracelet thread around her hand.

Bill had made a severe miscalculation.

"So," Abuelita said. "Why are you being mean to my grandson." It was a trap all along. She'd agreed to be handcuffed to him so she could corner him for an interrogation.

"Whaaat," Bill said. "Me? No way! I'd never!"

Abuelita stared at him patiently.

"I don't even talk to him," Bill said, trying to think of a conversational escape route.

She raised a brow.

Got it. "He's just too nice, you see! I don't know how to talk to a guy that nice," he lied. "Makes things awkward!" How could any grandmother complain about her grandson being called too nice? "Yeah—not Jesús's fault at all. I don't hold it against him."

"Ah," Abuelita said, "you aren't used to people being nice to you?"

Sure, they could go with that, try to get him some pity. "Yeah! You know how it is. King of Nightmares, scourge of the multiverse—I'm not a popular guy."

"But you have friends, don't you? The scary ones you brought with you to town last year? Are they not nice to you?"

Bill hesitated, trying to figure out his story now. "Sure—they're nice to me. They're my friends! They love me! They'd do anything I say!"

"Oh. So, you're only comfortable with people being nice to you when you can control them." Abuelita smiled sweetly.

Swift, efficient, and brutal. Bill gaped at her.

"I'm glad you have nothing against Soos," she said. "And that you won't be rude to him."

Bill snapped his mouth shut. "Of course not." He gave Abuelita a tight smile. Played like a fiddle. Even though he'd been lying, she still managed to make him look like a loser. How embarrassing. "If you don't mind, I've got a sunburn to get back to."

"I'm not stopping you." She let the extra thread on the bracelet cuffs unwind from her hand and drop to the sand.

Bill trudged back to his towel, snapping as he went, "I hope this is one of those books you hate where the couple only gets hitched because they've got a baby coming."

"The sorceress has magical birth control."

"Course she does."

Bill flopped onto his towel again and stared at the sky. Ouch.

####

(I've been promising Agent Powers AND a beach episode for ages, and we finally get to them both at the same time. Let me know what y'all think so for!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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chaoticallyfluffy · 3 months ago

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I want more of the JL acting like normal celebrities.

Batman and Chappel Roan working together on a competitive cooking show against teams of Kylie Jenner and Danny Devito, Kanye West and Kesha, Taylor Swift and Superman, etc. They are a surprisingly good team who work together great. They end up winning the whole thing and a bunch of wholesome memes start trending about the two of them adopting you after your awful parents kicked you out. Superman and Taylor Swift are surprisingly a TERRIBLE team. They’re disqualified because they never finished cooking their meals as they were too busy arguing. They are memed to be the parents who kicked you out and desperately need a divorce.

Wonder Woman going on a survivor-like reality show about a bunch of celebrities stuck on an island together and all the contestants are whining about things like “My hair is so frizzy and Chad is SO hot, I don’t want him to see me like this omg” While Diana has already chopped down multiple trees, used the wood to make a cabin for everyone, hunted a wild boar which is currently roasting over a campfire she also made with the leftover sticks and leaves, and cracked the coconuts from the tree. The rest of the show is mostly a normal reality show. The other contestants never have to lift a finger and can peacefully gossip and have drama while being well fed, housed, and hydrated. The only real difference is that every few minute the camera switches to Diana wresting a grizzly bear or catching fish with her bare hands.

The masked singer where there’s a person in a colourful parrot costume singing on stage and everyone has to guess who it is. People have guessed many celebrities like Oliver Queen, Bruce Wayne, or even Lex Luther, but they mostly guessed famous singers because the guy is GOOD and there’s no way he doesn’t sing professionally. He sang songs like “Party in the USA”, “Call Me Maybe” and “Never Gonna Give You Up”. People were going crazy trying to figure out who he is. The time finally comes for the reveal. The man slowly takes off his parrot head and... it’s Batman. The crowd goes wild.

The Flash (Barry) and Green Lantern (Hal) make a podcast and spend the entire time going on long rants about their respective interests. Flash talks about forensic science and chemistry for an hour while GL hums in interest or asks questions every once in a while. After that GL rambles about airplanes and engineering for another hour while Flash enthusiastically nods and adds in related stories every so often. Twitter diagnoses them with autism.

Captain Marvel has a TikTok account where he posts himself trying suggestions from his fans. Some of his most popular videos include him juggling a bunch of chainsaws (perfectly, btw), pranking JL members, bedazzling Mr Minds prison jar with fake crystals and speech bubble stickers that make it look like Mr Mind is saying things like “I’m DUMB”, and his most popular by far, citing The Santa Clause rules to Black Adam and convincing him that since he killed his father technically that makes him his new dad (the horror stopped Black Adam in place mid battle, giving Marvel the perfect opportunity to punch him in the face. The punch has been slo-mo’d and memed to oblivion). His Batman mandated PR team has been begging him to stop for months but in response he posts himself TikTok dancing (terribly) in front of a green screen in the background showing an image of the emails while asking for more suggestions.

If anyone has any ideas like this or fics to recommend plz tell me In the comments, I love the Justice League just casually being celebrities.

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loudclan-clangen · 2 months ago

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Fish in a birdcage for Rosehip amd Dodwood tho

YES

Bee is not one of the rogues himself, but two of his sons are! Also one of Butterfly's sons, and two of Coal's sons that he had after Fiercestripe left. They aren't really important to the story so they don't get names or anything, but I think that it makes everything a little bit more tragic that Fierce is fighting her nephews who she would have loved to watch grow up and might recognize her from when they were young.

2. Kingfur and Sockeyepelt would both be pretty devastated if Chumtail dies, she's similar to Dashpaw in that she's kinda the mediator between her two more polarized siblings. Really everyone who's up on the chopping block is the most stable of their family, meaning everyone is going to be very NORMAL after this, I'm sure. Also thank you!

3. Yes! There will be stickers of the mediator kids (especially now that you've asked). I'm drawing sketches based on what people have requested, and I'll make a post letting everyone know when they go up. Currently I have Weed, Siltsplash, the Mediator Kids, and some couple stickers in the works.

There were many factors in Fiercestripe's decision. 1. Thorn was 4 moons old by the time Fiercestripe left, so she was well past carrying size (especially with Fiercestripe being a small cat). Even if Wildfirecry could carry her, or she walked on her own, it would slow their pace significantly and require them to take more breaks, leading to the farm cats likely catching them. 2. If Fiercestripe had taken Thorn then the farm cats would have more justification to track them down and forcefully bring them back. It's one thing for a she-cat to leave, it's another for a she-cat to take her mate's kit with her. (part of why the farm cats have made it to loudclan now is because they're chasing a pregnant she-cat). 3. Wildfirecry hadn't agreed for Fiercestripe to come with him. He was a stranger who had stayed a couple nights with the farm cats and was just as likely to turn her away or harm her as he was to allow her to come with him. He would have been a lot less likely to agree to travel with her if she came with the responsibility of a kitten. 4. Wildfirecry and Fiercestripe did not have an easy journey. They didn't have a destination or a set path, they just wandered from place to place for years until they were convinced to join Loudclan. It's pretty likely that had Thorn been brought with them she would have frozen, starved, drowned or been eaten by a predator given that Wildfirecry was the only one with any hunting or fighting skill, and kittens aren't as tough as grown cats. All in all, bringing Thorn along wasn't really an option. Fiercestripe's only choices were leave Thorn or stay with the farm cats and hope that another outsider came along later when Thorn was grown. (Thorn's story is a bit different, Frost and Spider were outsiders who joined the farm cats later in life, so Frost knew how to hunt and fight, thus allowing them to wait for their kits to grow before they left.)

I designed them on my own! I find pretend genetics very fun and it gives me a chance to think more in depth about the rough backstories I have for these characters and how their childhood would have affected the way that we see them act in the story.

#loudclanasks #loudclan #clangen #line art and flat color are finished for Moon 29 Part 2!

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marlynnofmany · 2 months ago

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I Know A Guy

The post office on this space station was close to the landing docks, nice and convenient, so several of us went to check our mail while Captain Sunlight met with the sister ship. Not all of the crew had mail drops set up, but I did; this station was a big hub that we stopped at with some regularity. Perfect for relaying the occasional news from home.

And care packages, as it turned out.

I opened the box with some curiosity, sitting on a bench while the others waited in line and the spaceport bustled around us. Inside I found multivitamins, a letter from my parents, a type of cereal that I’d loved as a kid, and a smaller box with a sun logo.

“Ooh, what’d you get?” Paint asked, trotting over with her own box clutched to her scaly orange chest.

“A lot of stuff,” I said in distraction, turning the sun box in search of words. No luck. I opened it to find a fist-sized yellow globe and a base with lots of buttons. And an instruction booklet, thankfully. “Oh, it’s a sun lamp!”

“It even looks like a little sun; how nice! Is it warm, or just bright?” Paint gave it an appreciative look while she opened her package.

“Not sure yet.” I skimmed the instructions and decided to leave that for later. “It’s thoughtful, though. I think my parents were concerned that I’m not getting enough Vitamin D up in space. And other vitamins.” I rattled the bottle.

“That’s a lot of vitamins.”

“Yup. And look, they found the discontinued cereal! I thought it was gone for good.” I carefully opened a corner and fished out a palmful of the maple syrup flavored crunchy goodness that I hadn’t had in years. It was just as tasty as I’d remembered.

Paint sniffed the air. “I don’t recognize that smell. What kind of food is it?”

“Breakfast food,” I said. “I think it’s wheat based, so it’s basically made from ground-up seeds, and flavored with sweet tree sap.”

“That’s … creative,” Paint said.

“Delicious, too. Most tree saps aren’t worth eating, but this one is.” I crunched another mouthful. “Want some?”

“No thank you,” was the prim answer that I’d fully expected. “But look what I got! Fancy heat stickers!” Paint held up a stack of vividly colored starburst shapes, fanned out like playing cards. “I’m going to see if Sunlight, Coals, and Eggskin want any.”

“Thoughtful of you,” I said, closing up the cereal. All four of the lizardy Heatseekers on our ship enjoyed warm things. The ambient temperature was always kept at a comfortable compromise for the various species onboard, but a handy little warm sticker that wouldn’t get in the way was bound to be appreciated.

“Oh, they’re even scented,” Paint said, rubbing one against her snout. “I’m going to have to order more of these.” She sorted through the stack, checking scents and color variations.

Mur and Zhee were still in line, stuck behind a Frillian who was shipping many things to many places, so I settled in to read the note from home while I waited. It was a nice update on the various goings-on of the extended family; all reasonably good news, nothing earth-shattering. Somebody got a scholarship, somebody had twins, somebody was doing well in a competitive bumper-ship derby league, and was incredibly excited about it. There was a lot of detail about that one. I got the impression that this particular second cousin had given everybody a rundown at a family gathering, so now they all knew more about the best types of shrapnel shielding than they probably wanted to. Sounded like the favorite was a human-made version, combining tech that other species had already come up with. The force field worked with the ship’s scanner to predict which parts of the shield would need the most power for a given impact. My cousin was a big fan.

The quiet slap of tentacles on the ground accompanied Mur. “Well that was a long wait,” he said. “But now I’m all set for media for the foreseeable future.” He held a data chip in one tentacle.

Zhee was right behind him, hissing in what sounded like joy instead of irritation for once. He set a box down between his bug feet, not waiting for a bench, and tore it open with his pincher arms. Inside was something that looked like another kind of data chip, and something with straps that I couldn’t begin to figure out.

“Excellent,” Zhee said. “The correct version, the highest quality, and Trrili does not get to listen to it, heathen that she is.”

It took me a second. “Oh, that’s music?” I thought back to the impassioned rant about Trrili’s incorrect opinions on traditional Mesmer leg-singing. I hoped Zhee played it quietly. “And is that — I want to say ‘headphones,’ but—”

“Personal speakers, yes,” Zhee said as he stuffed it all back in the box. “I will be able to listen to the glorious arias in privacy.”

Paint nodded. “Great idea.” She’d heard the leg-singing when I did, and probably wasn’t eager to hear the artful screeching again.

I was trying to guess whether Zhee would be offended if I asked where his ears were, since it occurred to me that I didn’t actually know. But the others were gathering up their things to head back to the ship, and I decided to put it off until later. Maybe I’d ask Eggskin the medic instead.

Something occurred to me as I put the letter back in the box. “Hey guys, pose for a second. I want to send my family a picture with some of my cool alien coworkers.”

The three of them agreed that they were awesome and worth photographing. (Their responses ranged from excited to confident to egotistical.) A few moments later, I had a fantastic group selfie to send with my letter back. Paint’s open-mouthed lizard smile was adorable; Mur stood tall on his blue-black tentacles; Zhee loomed over all of us with the lights shining off his purple exoskeleton; then there was me grinning in the front. I’d definitely be keeping a copy of this.

We made our way back to the ship where it was parked next to a similar lemon-shaped courier ship with folded solar sails. The two captains hadn’t gone inside yet, which made me wonder what they were discussing with such intense expressions.

As we approached, Captain Sunlight was saying, “I may know someone who can help us out, but I’d hate to give him the satisfaction.”

She broke off when Paint trotted up to give her a handful of heat stickers and to show off the blue-white one she herself was wearing. Apparently it smelled like a plant I’d never heard of.

“Thank you; that’s very thoughtful,” Captain Sunlight said. “Those sound like just the thing.” She picked out a green one and pasted it to her own chest, where it contrasted nicely with her yellow scales.

Zhee and Mur tromped into the ship. I lingered, curious. “Is all the ship business going all right?” I asked.

“For the moment,” the captain said as she stowed the rest of the stickers and the backing for that one in her belt pouch. “Just considering our options with some monetary considerations.”

Captain Kamm waved a tentacle. “Both ships are on the family plan for damage insurance, and the rates have made an unpleasant jump.”

I shifted the box to my other side. “Do we need to earn more money?”

“No, it will be all right.” Captain Sunlight shook her head. “I have a lead on a better deal. I just need to make a call or two.”

Captain Kamm ushered us all into our ship, wasting no time. Paint disappeared to share her heat stickers while the two captains adjourned to the lounge. I put my things away and hurried back. No one had told me to mind my own business, so I was going to listen in before writing a letter to send back home.

I was quick, but Captain Sunlight was quicker. She was just ending the holo call when I arrived. A green-scaled Heatseeker gazed earnestly from the projection, urging her to get back to him as soon as she could.

“If you can get better shields, I can promise you a savings of at least 15% compared to your current plan!”

“Yes, thank you,” Captain Sunlight said. “I’ll see what I can do. Say hi to the elders for me.”

He said he would, and she turned off the projection with another deep sigh. Captain Kamm sat next to her, weaving tentacles together thoughtfully.

Captain Sunlight tossed the communicator onto the table and sat back with folded arms. “Of course it couldn’t be that simple. He talks a good game at every gathering, but oh no: prerequisites.”

I sat down at the end of the couch, absently petting Telly who was curled up in the center. In proper cat fashion, she responded by stretching to take up even more space. I was thinking about what the captain had just said about shields.

I asked, “Does he need a certain kind in order to get us the better deal?”

Captain Sunlight waved a hand. “Just a higher degree of resistance to micrometeorites. The shielding we have is perfectly serviceable, but it’s apparently not enough for the good rates.”

“Would we need to overhaul everything, or would it be enough to layer another kind over what we have? Like, say, a kind that connects to the ship’s scanners?”

The captain gave me a look. “Do you have a specific type in mind?”

“Possibly,” I said. “Are you familiar with bumper-ship derbies?”

Captain Kamm twirled a tentacle. “That’s some of the human ‘adrenaline junkie’ nonsense, yes?”

“I think there are some Smashers and other races that really get into it as well, but yes,” I said. “The letter from home I just got mentioned the shielding they use.”

I explained what I knew while they listened intently. Paint came in to join us and sat on the other side of Telly, who took the extra attention as her due. By the time I was done talking, everyone in the room was looking optimistic.

“Go ahead and reach out,” Captain Sunlight said. “We don’t have to rush off anytime soon. With any luck, we can get all this settled at once.”

“Here’s hoping!” Captain Kamm said, touching four tentacle-tips together over her head in what looked like the Strongarm version of crossed fingers.

“I’ll see if I can route a call through to home now,” I said, getting up.

Telly meowed in protest at the movement, then crawled onto Paint’s lap and rubbed her head against the heat sticker, purring audibly. Paint looked delighted.

I left with a wave, hurrying off to my quarters with plans to make a phone call, potentially save the day, then set up the sun lamp for the benefit of a certain fuzzy little heat-lover as well as for my own sake.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

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mekkthemighty · 2 months ago

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So just came from seeing Wild Robot and a few things, SPOILERS for books and movie ahead btw

I will preface this by saying it was a fantastic film that I absolutely loved, the visuals were mindblowing and made me jealous of the practiced skill of the animation team

Anyway my biggest complaint for the movie (and I get why they did it) was the moment where the literal power of love wakes up the deactivated Roz, I really liked the book Roz that genuinely was still a robot to her core, emotionless and robotically logical but nevertheless falling into the patterns of motherhood due to her AI learning from nature

They did the power of love in the books too, it helped the animals overcome their fear and work together to pull off some epic battle tactics which weren't in the movie, like for the final fight of book one they had Nettle the bear's self sacrifice to take out the RECO only to be saved by the river fish was awesome, and all the birds raining bird poop all over the sensors of another one only to lead it blind into a muddy bog so it can be kicked to death by the moose, final battle in movie (while visually fantastic) lacked any of that strategy the animals learned from Roz

I had hoped they'd have focused more on the "helping others is a survival skill" aspect and the learning curve that took her from robot to wild robot, but the themes of motherhood were beautifully done

Oh and ROZ's camouflage skills, where was the intentional mud and moss coating of her body making her look like a cyborg treant, I mean they do the character design with moss and dirt by the end but they just accumulate over time naturally... instead of Roz just slathering herself with it and being a bush around which the animals all gossip

Also one last note, in the book Longneck is killed by a human with a rifle, Robots can't harm living creatures is a major plotpoint in the books, its a barrier Roz has to overcome and the RECOs are even subject to it which is why the animals had a shot against them in the first place, this is a plot point that the movie Brightbill even states out loud right before a robot pops out and shoots Longneck, like wtf

Other things I wish they kept from the book:

Brightbill turning Roz off and on again and temporarily thinking he committed matricide

Roz vs the bears during the learning curve

The learning curve

Roz and Brightbill bonding over the shared experience of being the only surviving "egg"

Roz being the goddamn prometheus of this islands critters literally teaching them to harness fire

Things the movie added that I liked

Brightbill acting like a robot

Fink the fox being a fully realised character (tho at the cost of some other favs)

Felling the tree to redirect the river to stop the forest fire

Vontra, just everything about it

The stickers for 10% off your next universal designs purchase

Brightbill helping build the lodge

"I am low on power, have made unsanctioned alterations to my code, and have been damaged in ways that have likely voided my warranty" "what she means is she loves you"

Pinktail Possum was great and so were her kids

"Are you here to kill us?" Whether your answer is yes or no, you're about to get yeeted by a moose

"HELLO I AM ROZZUM UNIT 7134 DO YOU NEED ASSISTANCE!" While chasing down random animals

Roz "I am not a mother I am a robot, I must be recalled at once"

Pinktail "no you're a mom now"

Roz "understood I am a mom now"

Still a great movie just wish they kept Roz a robot through and through and just kept with the whole "she doesn't need to have emotions to be a good mom" thing

Definitely recommend a watch of it

#wild robot #robot #peter brown #the wild robot #book vs movie

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rainylana · 1 year ago

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“Can’t sleep?”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: you and eddie can’t sleep.

warnings: mentions of postpartum, mentions of abuse and eddie’s dad, so much fluff it may kill you, mom reader! dad eddie!

When he couldn’t sleep, he watched his baby. Watched her breath, stir in her sleep and make little noises and huffs. He’d pull up an old rocking chair wayne had given him, sit there with a pillow behind his back, often falling asleep. Tonight was one of those nights.

Her nursery was rainbow themed, pinks and purples everywhere with big, white clouds. Her crib had stars painted on them and glow in the dark stickers on the ceiling. In the day time, the room was bright and colorful, but it was dark now, only the glow of the neon stickers above his head and a revolving fish nightlight on the nightstand across the room.

His eyes dropped closed, but he didn’t want to fall asleep, didn’t want to miss a moment of watching his darling angel sleep. Little Joanna Munson.

Being a father had completely changed his life for the better, but it was also the scariest thing he’d ever had do to. He worried about so many more things, things he’d never had to worry about before. But the most overwhelmed thing so far was the love that he had in his heart. He didn’t think he’d love anything more in the world than you when the both of you met, but his heart grew another size when you gave birth to her, and he was absolutely, unconditionally in love with his baby, so much that it almost hurt.

It made him love you so much more, so grateful for giving him something so precious, something that was a part of him to live on. He was indebted to you, forever grateful. He worshipped you like a god, admired all the things your body could do. You struggled with postpartum a lot, something he tried his best to understand, helped as best as he could. He tried his best to take care of Joanna as much as he could, not that he minded it. She was only two months old, but he knew she was incredibly smart. She was already wrapping her tiny hand around his finger, pulling at his hair and staring at him with her big, brown eyes that she had gotten from him.

“Can’t sleep?”

He looked over his shoulder, smiling softly when he saw you. He shook his head, beckoning for you to come over. You did so, sitting on his lap and cuddling up to his chest, smiling at your baby in the crib. He leaned his head against yours, wrapping his arms around your body as he slowly rocked the chair. “What you doing up?” He asked quietly.

“Woke up and you were gone.” You yawned. “Knew you were in here. Has she stirred any?”

He shook his head. “Nah, she’s fast asleep.”

You closed your eyes, his soft breathing a lullaby for you, his body warm and comforting. Eddie still wouldn’t close his eyes, trained on the pink onesie and head of hair that he could see in the dark. Sometimes he cried when he watched her, he wouldn’t dare tell you that, but he did.

“I’m so in love with you.” Eddie squeezed you. “I can’t ever thank you enough for giving me this life. I don’t deserve it.”

“Yes, you do.” You said sleepily. “How many times do I have to say it? You deserve this, us.”

He kissed your forehead, his cheek against your ear. “I never thought I could love anything as much as I do her. It’s terrifying, loving someone so much.”

“I know.” You opened your eyes, finding your daughter in the dark. “It’s so overwhelming, isn’t it? Sometimes I think my heart is going to explode.”

He nodded in agreement, parting his lips in deep thought. That’s it exactly what it felt like. His heart was going to explode. “She’s so perfect, isn’t she? And so small.”

You chuckled, your feet curled up on his thigh. “Thank you. I take most of the credit for that.”

“Honey, you get all the credit.” He smirked. “She’s your exact replica. You can definitely tell she’s your baby.”

“She’s your baby, too, sweetheart.” You looked to him, cupping his cheek. “She may have my hair and my nose, but she’s got your eyes, and that is a telltale sign that she’s your baby.”

His heart warmed at your words, his cheeks blushing in the dark. “Yeah, she does, doesn’t she?”

You smiled tiredly, grabbing his jaw with your fingers to pull his lips down to yours, giving him a sweet, delicate kiss. “You’re a wonderful father, Eddie.”

He rested his forehead against yours. “I’m terrified I’m gonna end up like my old man.”

“Eddie,” You sighed. “I promise you that’s not going to happen.”

It was his worst fear, a nightmare that he feared would eventually come true. He’d drive you away, raise a child that he’d beat and abuse, who would later grow up to hate him. He didn’t want his family to repeat the one he’d had before.

“Hey,” You noticed the swell of his eyes in the dark. “Eddie, look at me, baby.” You held his cheek. “You are not your father. You’re not going to be your father. You’ve got me and her to keep you steady, just like you keep me steady, right? We’re a team. You don’t let me fall, I don’t let you fall.”

He let a tear fall, nodding and whispering a choked yeah. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, kissing his cheek as you held him tightly through the night.

#lana’s shit post #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things #stranger things season four #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson drabbles

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tightjeansjavi · 1 year ago

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♡ Barbie Girl ♡ | AU!Joel Miller x f! Reader

A/N: this was such a fun lil idea to pursue and I love the idea of Joel wearing pink just cause he knows how happy it makes Sarah ♡

~word count: 1.5k~

Summary: Joel, Sarah and Tommy go to the Barbie movie opening weekend

Warnings: none, lots of fluff, Joel is a feminist icon, soft dad vibes, Joel is a girl dad himbo, he’ll do anything to make his kid happy, Sarah is an icon on her own, Tommy is Tommy of course but he’s so himbo too, AU that takes place in 2023, Joel is a progressive dad, Sarah loves him for it, little bit of flirting with Joel and the reader, no age gap, some spoilers for the Barbie movie! (+18 for language) minors dni.

July 2023, Austin Texas

Joel Miller never would consider himself to be a ‘girl dad’ as the younger generation would refer to him as. He had to literally look up what the word ‘DILF’ meant when Sarah told him one day after school that all of the moms thought he was attractive. He had Google on speed dial just so he could feel like he was ‘hip’ again. 36 years old and he felt older than ever. Sarah was a big help of course and steered her dad in the right direction political wise. Her dad was a good man of course, but nothing made her happier than when she had his full support as a young woman. Before the Barbie movie came out, Joel and Sarah spent every weekend volunteering at a local women’s shelter. The bumper of his truck was decorated with women-empowering stickers including a sticker that said, ‘Abortion is Healthcare’ and ‘Women’s Rights Are Human Rights.’ He didn’t stop there of course. He also had a BLM sticker, ‘Dismantle White Supremacy’, ‘Eat The Rich’ and he still had a Bernie sticker front and center.

The weekend that the Barbie movie came out, Joel had already pre ordered tickets for him, Sarah and Tommy as well who had multiple pink shirts for Joel to choose from. Sarah had insisted that they all had to wear pink and Joel would do just about anything to make his baby girl happy.

“Are ya sure your old man doesn’t look silly in this?” Joel gestured to his hot pink tee-shirt with a soft huff as he observed his appearance in the mirror.

“Dad, why do you think you look silly? Pink is totally your color!” Sarah responded with a genuine smile as she playfully placed the Barbie baseball cap on his mess of brown curls. “Do you or do you not feel Bonita?”

Joel stifled a chuckle, shaking his head as he fixed the cap on his head. “I feel Bonita.”

The drive to the movie theater consisted of listening to a Barbie inspired Spotify playlist off of Sarah’s phone. Joel and Tommy proudly knew every word to the Barbie Girl song of course. Once they arrived to the theater, Joel was awe-struck at the amount of people who were dressed in pink and he felt less self-conscious about his hot pink shirt when he saw numerous guys and dads wearing pink shirts as well.

At first he was confused when a group of women around his age said, “Hi Ken” to him and Tommy, and “Hi Barbie” to Sarah who immediately responded with a wave and, “Hi Barbie!” She gently nudged her dad with her elbow as he stood there blinking, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Dad, you gotta say hi Barbie! Back.”

“Oh. OH! Shit, sorry sweet pea.” He cleared his throat under his breath before he raised his hand with a sheepish smile. “Hi Barbie!” He was looking right at you out of all of your friends. You were dressed head to toe in pink and you mirrored the same sheepish smile that he did. Joel turned to his daughter afterwards, cheeks feeling inflamed. “Did I do alright? So, I say that everytime someone says hi Ken?”

“You did great, dad! Yeah, so everytime a Barbie says, ‘hi Ken!’ You say, ‘hi Barbie!’, and when a Ken says, ‘hi Ken!’ You say, ‘hi Ken!’”

“Yeah, brother. It ain’t that hard.” Tommy chimed in and wrapped his arm around Joel’s shoulders and gave them a light squeeze.

“Shuddup Tommy.” Joel grumbled under his breath.

Your friends from your college days insisted that you join them to go see the new Barbie movie. At first you were against the idea until you read reviews and once you saw it was a movie that empowered women, you were all in. It was your idea in the end to dress head to toe in pink and you and your friends each had a comfort Barbie in your purses as well.

When you saw Joel Miller across the way looking confused as all hell when your friends said ‘hi Ken!’ You thought he was adorable for two reasons. One being he clearly was wearing pink to support his daughter and two, he looked proud of himself after saying ‘hi Barbie!’ To you and your friends.

“Now, that’s a real man if I’ve ever seen one!” Your one friend, Jessica excitedly whispered to the group as if she was back in her highschool days in the passing period hallways.

“Okay, but his brother? Jesus Christ, if I wasn’t married I would be all over that!” Avery chimed in with a giggle.

“How do you know that they’re brothers? They could be two dads taking their daughter to the movies.” You responded with a shrug as you pulled up the tickets on your phone.

“Nah, they look related and besides, the one with the baseball cap was looking right at you babe!” Jaimie commented with a small grin as she nudged your side gently.

“No, he wasn’t.” You responded with a light laugh and shake of your head.

“Girl, he looked like a blubbering fish when he saw you.” Your friends all affirmed.

Your friends were right on the money with that one. Joel Miller was doing his absolute best to check you out in the most respectful way he could while he was in the line for popcorn. Sarah of course caught the way her dad was looking at you, and she was determined to get him to muster up the courage to talk to you after the movie.

The movie was everything Sarah had imagined it to be. She laughed, she cried and Joel and Tommy had teared up during some of the scenes. Especially when Barbie and Ken travel to the real world and the first thing she experiences is being cat-called and objectified by men. The patriarchy was alive and well outside of Barbie land and as a straight man, Joel recognized that he and Tommy had an easy life compared to their female counterparts. This didn’t mean that they agreed with it. In fact, Joel and Tommy were fully against the patriarchal system.

Sarah found herself hugging her dad tightly as the credits rolled and he was gently smoothing down her curls and kissing the top of her head. Sometimes Joel felt guilty over the fact that Sarah no longer had a mother figure in her life, but it was moments like these that reminded him that he was just a dad doing his best for his kid who he loved so dearly. “I love you so much, baby girl. I’ll always fight for you. Okay, kiddo?” He whispered softly with his lips against her temple.

Sarah hugged him tighter. “I love you so much dad. Thank you for always being there for me.”

Tommy was tearing up again.

The three Millers took a selfie with the Barbie poster just outside the movie theater with their faces squished into the frame. The picture was being taken while you were standing outside of the women’s bathroom waiting for your friends. You watched as Joel struggled to get his phone at the right angle, so you took it upon yourself to go over and help. “Hi Kens, hi Barbie! Would you guys like me to take a picture of you?”

Joel already felt his cheeks begin to heat up. “Hi Barbie. That would be great if ya could. Can never get these damn angles right with this thing. I uh—I like your outfit. It’s very Barbie.” He commented softly.

“Thanks, Ken. I really like your baseball cap.” You responded with a genuine smile as he handed you his phone. You took a few steps back so that all three Miller’s would be in the frame. You took a few photos before handing him his phone back just as your friends were departing from the bathroom.

“Hey, Barbie? Before you go, my dad is way too shy to say it but he thinks you’re super duper pretty.” Sarah proclaimed without skipping a beat.

Joel was beet red now as he scrubbed a hand down his face, fingertips scraping across his beard. “Sarah! You can’t just—” He sighed with a nervous smile. “Okay, it’s true Barbie. I do think you’re super duper pretty. Cats out of the bag thanks to my daughter.” He gave Sarah a playful warning look and mussed up her curls.

“Well Ken, it’s your lucky day because I think you’re really handsome. Do you wanna see Oppenheimer with me next weekend?”

“I would absolutely love to go see Oppenheimer with you next weekend Barbie.” Joel didn’t hesitate to respond.

“It’s a date. See you next weekend, Ken.” You exchanged phone numbers before you made your way over to your friends who were waiting for you.

“This Barbie has a date next weekend!” You told your friends the good news and they all excitedly cheered for you.

As soon as Joel and Sarah got home, Sarah dug out her old box of Barbie’s and brought them down to the living room, while Joel had found all of the Barbie DVD’s that Sarah insisted he keep. They spent the rest of the evening playing with her Barbie’s and watching the Princess and the Pauper; Sarah’s all time favorite Barbie movie.

Tag list: @chaotic-mystery @saradika @cavillscurls @thetriumphantpanda @sinsofsummers @morning-star-joy @cupofjoel @dinsdjrn @korynnekorynne @kirsteng42 @last-girl @tessa-quayle (you will love this one)

Creator divider made by @saradika

Barbie divider made by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

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drunk-on-dk · 10 months ago

Text

[11:16 PM] | Yoon Jeonghan

pairing: bestfriend!Jeonghan x afab!reader tags/genre: angst, slow burn, friends to lovers (?), maybe fluff?, maybe suggestive? (minors DNI), college au, frat au, mentions of alcohol (drunk cheol appearance), the reader is a bit emotional, no specific pronouns but mentions wearing a skirt w/c: ~1.4 (a bit long for a timestamp I'm sorry) summary: Jeonghan has always been your Valentine, even if he's only been your best friend all these years. a/n: this is an excerpt that was taken out of my WIP Over the Country Club [teaser link here], which I didn't plan to include and sort of used to think of how I want to develop their dynamic a bit more. I still thought it would be fun to share! Happy Valentine's (and carat) day!

“There you are! Don’t you know I’ve been looking everywhere for you?” The shrill voice that rang from behind you was easily recognizable as your best friend’s. His tone was unfamiliar, a mix of disappointment and concern that made your eardrums trill in embarrassment knowing you must have worried him. Selfishly, you don’t bother to respond nor look in his direction, too embarrassed to face him and expose your likely swollen eyes.

It’s not like he’s bothered to spend any time with you tonight anyway. You didn’t think he’d even notice you were gone.

Jeonghan comes to a hesitant stop behind where you’re sat on the curb, sneakers smacking on the dewy pavement just inches away from you, definitely close enough to hear your sniffles. A quiet hiccup escapes you, pulling a sigh from Jeonghan who evaluates you carefully.

Admittedly, if Jeonghan hadn’t spent the last thirty minutes running around the frat house in a frenzied search for you, he might have teased your slumped form that was dressed in a ridiculous Valentine’s Day get-up. The red tinsel headband with spring hearts was crooked on your head, your hair slightly frizzy from the humid air of the yearly Cupid’s Arrow party his frat held, and fingertips nervously tugging at your comically short miniskirt.

Jeonghan advised you not to wear that skirt tonight, not that he ever intended to dictate what you wore, but just out of friendly concern. You know, since you might get cold, and definitely not because he had a hard time controlling his wandering eyes. No, friends don’t do that.

As per usual, you were excited about this party; you had a plethora of festive accessories - including that silly headband you were presently wearing - that you’d dig through a bin for, fishing out an item for you and Jeonghan to wear. (Every year you’d beg Jeonghan to wear something festive, he’d typically settle for the fuzzy pink ‘xoxo’ socks you had, but this year he let you put little heart stickers on his cheeks).

“Everything OK?” His voice is soft, deciding to set aside his frustration that you’ve been MIA. Jeonghan squats down behind you to place a gentle hand on your back, feeling you tense slightly at the contact, but you don’t pull away from him, which he takes as a good sign. “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you mumble, your voice sounding a bit hoarse, revealing that something is in fact wrong. Jeonghan sighs again, this time you feel his breath fan out against the back of your neck, making your skin prickle at the warmth.

There’s a pause as if Jeonghan is thinking deeply about what could have caused you to be upset. “You were with all the guys when I last saw you. Was it Cheol? Did he say something stupid?”

“Jeonghan,” your voice is whiny, and it would almost be embarrassing if it wasn’t your best friend you were talking to. Seungcheol didn’t upset you. Well, maybe he inadvertently did, which is why you couldn’t admit to Jeonghan that he might be onto something. You forget that Jeonghan knows you better than anyone does.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Jeonghan clicks his tongue, an incredulous laugh escaping his lips. “That bastard. Do you want me to go knock some sense into him? He’s on another level tonight, seriously can’t keep his mouth shut.”

You’re almost frantic, turning around to grab Jeonghan’s wrist when you feel him stand up to go confront his frat brother, who was also one of your closest confidants other than Jeonghan.

Seungcheol who may have had too much to drink tonight and may have been a bit loose-lipped when he pointed out the fact that, slurring, “You know, Y/N. Jeonghan’s really messed up your game tonight. Won’t let anyone hit on you, even told the whole frat that you were off limits for Valentine’s, and he’s practically ditched you with me. What’s that all about? Kinda fucked up if you ask me, dude.”

When Seungcheol made his comment, you had rolled your eyes and shoved some crackers his way, encouraging him to sober up. He was talking a load of bullshit. That was until you really sat back and thought about it, how no one has approached you tonight. Not even one soul, and at this point you settled on the fact you’d unceremoniously go home alone later tonight. It hadn’t bothered you at all, not until your eyes narrowed in on Jeonghan who was busy flirting in the corner, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach at the sight.

God, was that a confusing feeling. Enough to send you into a panic, sending you stumbling outside in search of fresh air. Instead of finding solstice, it almost felt as if the cool breeze knocked some sense into you, tears welling in your eyes thinking ‘fuck, it is annoying that Jeonghan hasn’t spent any time with me tonight. It is annoying that I’ve been apparently branded with an invisible ‘off limits’ sign. And why is he there flirting with someone instead of hanging out with me?’

Not that you planned on leaving, but you needed to collect your thoughts a bit before heading back inside. You hadn’t realized you were gone for that long until Jeonghan came looking for you.

Hence, which is why Jeonghan feels his heart breaking when he sees your expression, a small hand wrapped around his wrist and red-rimmed eyes silently pleading as if to say ‘don’t leave.’

Like the softie he is for you, Jeonghan pauses, urging you to speak when he quietly utters, “Something’s wrong, and I can’t help you if I don’t know why.”

“It’s seriously nothing,” you breathe, finally gathering the courage to stand up from the curb. You let go of his wrist to properly brush yourself off. You know Jeonghan doesn’t believe you, so you muster up your best lie. “Just a few tipsy tears over the fact it’s another year without a Valentine. Nothing to worry about.”

It’s a big lie, you’re practically sober, and not once have you ever been bothered by the lack of a true Valentine. However, after seemingly contemplating your words for a moment, it must be convincing enough for Jeonghan, who pulls you into a comforting embrace, lips pressing against your forehead just like he usually does when you’re upset over something.

“That’s not true,” he mumbles into your hair, a teasing smile evident when he squeezes you a bit too tightly, earning a discontent groan from you. “You know I’m always your Valentine. Forever and always your Valentine.”

To which your heart skips a beat, what is supposed to be an innocent comment evokes a foreign feeling in your tummy for the second time tonight. It was true, long ago you two had pinky promised in grade school that you’d always be each other’s Valentines, not knowing the true nature of the holiday at that time. It was a curse you clearly had to deal with for almost your entire life.

As you attempt to push him away, his nimble fingers tickle your sides in an attempt to cheer you up. Jeonghan stumbles away from you when you successfully break away, loving the way you huff in frustration at his teasing, his impish laugh quelling the weird fluttering feeling through your body.

“Shut up, Yoon Jeonghan,” you use his legal name, evoking an incredulous chuckle from him as you stomp towards the house. It’s a feeble attempt to get as far away as possible, trying to hide what you assume is an incriminating blush on your cheeks.

“Slow down, Valentine,” he sing-songs behind you, following closely as you re-enter the house, and immediately pulling you in for a bone-crushing back hug, guiding you back towards your typical group of friends.

Thankfully, you find Seungcheol in a much more sober state, but you almost wish he was long gone, face-down in his bed instead. Especially when his sharp eyes narrow in on you and Jeonghan, curious and analyzing as Jeonghan clings to you. It wasn’t out of the usual, it was just that Seungcheol started paying closer attention, and you felt seen for the first time ever during your friendship with Jeonghan.

“You sure you’re doing OK?” Jeonghan asks, his voice low as he leans closer to your ear, making sure you hear him over the booming music.

It was then you knew you absolutely were not OK. Regardless, you twist your body as best as you can in Jeonghan’s grip, head craning so that you're face-to-face with your best friend. His worried eyes indicate that he’s still concerned, leaving you to breathlessly (nervously) respond, “Yeah, I swear I’m OK. Thanks for always being my Valentine, Hannie.”

#jeonghan fic #yoon jeonghan #seventeen fic #seventeen angst #svthub #yoon jeonghan fic #jeonghan angst #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan seventeen #jeonghan

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hogmilked · 1 year ago

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what's ur process for identifying cars? like what features do u look at and so on?

oh hell yeah i assume you’ve seen my other blog lol, yeah a lot of it is just years of paying attention to them and design trends, so i can usually place a general era and brand based on what logos i see, what some companies design languages were at different times, body styles, stuff like that. so even if i can’t identify an exact model, i can look at a big long boxy sedan in usually rather muted colors with a long hood but sleek profile with rectangular headlights and a specific hood emblem and know it’s a cadillac from the 70s or 80s. if i don’t know more than a brand and general era i’ll usually have to do a bit of googling but just having that preliminary knowledge helps narrow it down.

for a lot of relatively common or newer cars i usually just recognize them, i’ve hyperfixated on cars for almost 20 years, used to get tons of car enthusiast magazines and still engage with a lot of enthusiast media, so i kind of just know a shit ton of them. then it’s usually just googling to check my work/intuition and get an exact year or range of years. like i identified a toyota 4runner and specific generation of it in a video where a lot of the more obvious identifying features were only visible for a second, but in that second i recognized it even at a glimpse because i am just somebody who could recognize a car from a taillight in the dark when i was like 9. or in cases where it’s a closeup shot, like the toyota highlander from the daffy duck fish sticker post, all i had was a cut off bit of the text and the bottom of a taillight, but i know the highlander model and could estimate the general era of car based on the shape and moulding of the body contours and taillights, and narrowed it down further based on differences in the tail light housings between generations

i know that was a long explanation that probably made only so much sense but the tl;dr is autism :3

#mothman answers #thank you anon for the question!#gonna reblog it to the related sideblog too #maybe even pin it

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luveline · 2 years ago

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hii!! how are u??

i was wondering if you could write something with one of the marauders/ steve in which the r is wearing pimple patches and they mistake it for stichers so they roll with it and but a pack of stichers for r, who is all like “🌝 what”. idk if this is too confusing, sorry!! tysm <33

thank you so much! this idea was so cute and sweet 🥺 james x fem!reader

James is already unloading the plastic carrier bag of shopping when you reach him.

Sirius likes to joke that you and James are both like eager puppies when you see one another. James figures he isn't half wrong, and he couldn't care less, receiving your unbridled affection eagerly. Your arms are quick to hug his elbow, your lips dropping a smattering of dainty kisses up and down the outside of his bicep.

"Hullo," you murmur, "I missed you."

He preens at your touch. "I missed you too, trouble."

You reach out to right a tipped bag of mixed veggies and your hand skirts close to the bag, where James has left your stickers. He doesn't care if you have spots, honestly, but he's noticed that you stopped putting your stickers on top of them, and wondered if maybe you'd run out, so he'd picked up a new box while shopping.

"I have a small gift for you," he says.

"What is it?"

"I'm about to show you," he says with a laugh. He fishes the stickers from the bag, and leans his head on top of yours as he passes them over. "They only had shiny ones."

You accept them with a slow closing hand.

James holds his breath. "Wrong ones?"

"No, I mean, yes? James, what are they for?"

"Your face? You stopped putting them on, so I thought you'd run out. You know, you were putting them on your spots."

"Oh." You take a deep breath brimming with fond pity. "Jamie, thank you, but the ones I put on my face aren't stickers."

"Uh…"

You tap his shoulder. He turns to face you head, pleased when you tuck a curl behind his ear delicately. Your smile is transformative though small, a sorry, sweet sort of thing that makes him want to lean down and kiss it up into a grin.

"The ones for my face are called 'Dots for Spots'," you say gently. "They're like little blister plasters, I got them from the chemist. I'm sorry, I thought you knew."

He's embarrassed, sure, but that makes so much more sense. "Oh! Sweetheart, I thought you were– I think I've made a twat of myself."

"No," —you rub your hand down the side of his neck— "you haven't, of course you haven't, that's so sweet that you were thinking of me."

"Aren't I always?"

You snort. James isn't the type to lie in self pity, and instead cracks the seam on the plasters to pull out one of the sheets of metallic stars he remembers from his school days. You lift your chin, and he sticks a gold star over the small suggestion of a recurring spot, the one that gives you the most trouble. You look very cute, and you're very grateful, but he buys the real ones off the Internet that night for you anyways.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter imagine #the marauders x reader #the marauders fanfiction #the marauders fanfic #the marauders

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junk-heart · 1 year ago

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Finally made an experimental batch of stickers^^

If I were to actually sell them they'd go in 3 packs: ej pack, cute pack and fish-bird pack

They came out too big (first picture are ejs in comparison to an a5 sketchbook, they're literally longer than my hand), and next time I'll make them opaque cause they look quite sad on any surface that isn't close to white since they're translucent

It's kinda funny that I had to cut them all out by hand:"")

Already gave most of them to my friends for the wear and tear test, they only ones left are ej-s, so if you're in Belgrade city centre you might see them stuck somewhere (I'm yet to do that though)

#eyeless jack #eyeless jack fanart #stickers #creepypasta fanart #creepypasta #my favourites are badly drawn pigeons #and ofc all Jacks

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darth-mortem · 10 months ago

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Here is Valentine's Day GhostSoap fanfic 😌

Someone sends Soap anonymous valentines, and it would've been fine if not the text inside which disturbs him greatly. 1999 words.

Yeah, it's my knives on the photo :)

Johnny brought the mail into the house and began to lazily sorting the envelopes, newspapers, and flyers. Today, February 14, was the last day of his leave, and he had to go back to the base in a few hours, but for now he was at home and enjoying it.

“Maw!” Johnny shouted towards the kitchen. “Ye hae a letter from Aunt Agnes!”

He put the envelope aside, took the next one, and was surprised to see his name on it. Soap had no idea who could have sent him a paper letter, even to his parent’s house address, not to the base’s.

You can keep reading here or on Ao3

“Maw!” Johnny shouted again. “Did ye tell anyone I was ‘ere?”

“No, dear,” Mrs. MacTavish said, looking out of the kitchen, “as ye asked. And what’s th’ matter?”

“Someone sent me a letter wi’ no name ‘n’ no return address." Soap rubbed the back of his head in confusion.

“Well, mibbie someone wanted tae confess his feelin’s tae ye on Valentine’s Day.” The woman gently stroked her son’s head. “Let’s go tae eat, dear.”

Johnny opened the enigmatic envelope in his room after breakfast. There was a postcard in the shape of a heart with standard greetings on one side. MacTavish grunted, turned it over, and everything inside him went cold. There were inscriptions made from letters cut out of magazines or newspapers, stickers with skulls, and an uneven heart made from photos of various knives. Feeling an unpleasant pressure in his chest, Johnny started to read crooked lines of words.

The first were lines from a song he knew very well:

‘Valentine is done

Here, but now they're gone

Romeo and Juliet

Are together in eternity

We can be like they are’

After them, there were a few more words. ‘See you later,’ Soap read, ‘bye.’

It looked like a treat. It was a treat, and Johnny involuntarily looked around and then peeked out of the window, as if he expected to see the person who had sent this eerie postcard there. Of course, there was nothing suspicious on the street. Soap stood there for a few minutes, collecting his thoughts, then stuffed the postcard into his already packed bag and went downstairs. Whoever this madman is, he won’t spoil MacTavish’s last hours of his leave at his parent’s house.

Anxiety began to grip Soap again, as he was already flying back to the base. He wasn’t alone in the helicopter; there were other soldiers whose leave was over. Johnny stared at them involuntarily, wondering if the sender of the menacing valentine was among them.

“Hey, MacTavish!” One of them called, and Soap shuddered. “How did you spend your leave?”

“Ah was at home,” he answered. “Ate maw’s food, slept a lot, went fishing wi’ my da. And what about ye?”

The rest of the flight was spent in cheerful conversation, and Johnny relaxed a little. Gaz met him at the airstrip, eager to tell him all the latest news from the base as they made their way to the residential block.

“Well, I have to train rookies.” Kyle said when they got to the building. “See you later, mate!”

He left with a waving farewell, and Johnny’s insides went cold again because he immediately remembered the text of the creepy postcard. He walked down the corridor nervously, looking around, and almost ran into his room, slamming and locking the door behind him. Turning around, he breathed a sigh of relief, closed his eyes for a second, and then...

There was a postcard in the shape of a heart on the floor. It wasn’t far from the entrance, so it could be assumed that someone had pushed it under the door. Johnny carefully picked it up, turned it over, and read the text made from letters cut out of a magazine. ‘Be wary, my dear, as you walk alone,’ it said, ‘for on this night, you're never truly on your own.’

Johnny panicked again. Everything indicated that someone was watching him; someone knew where he was and what he was doing. Perhaps it was someone from the base, or he had connections here, a friend who, at his command, slipped the postcard into MacTavish’s room.

Soap was not given much time to think about all this. Price knocked on his door and ordered him to go help Gaz. Johnny wanted to say hello to Ghost first, but the captain told him that the man was busy with paperwork and, given the amount of it, wouldn’t be free until the evening.

Johnny walked to the training ground, looking around and tensing if anyone got too close. Gas noticed his strange behavior and, finding a free moment, took him aside.

“What’s wrong with you, mate?” Kyle asked. “You’re twitchy since returning from leave.”

“I’m fine,” Soap tried to smile. “I just need tae get used to it all again.”

Gaz didn’t believe him but didn’t ask any more questions, and they went back to training. The rookies needed a lot of attention, especially after one of them fell on the obstacle course and injured his arm. Kyle took him to the medical center, leaving Johnny to continue the training. He didn’t return until dinner because he had to write a report on the incident.

Objectively, nothing at the base had changed, but now MacTavish felt that someone was constantly watching him. He caught glances at himself and wondered if this person was the mysterious sender of the creepy valentines. That’s how the whole day passed, and, realizing that it couldn’t go on like this, Soap took the postcards and went to Price’s office.

“I need tae tell ye something, sir,” he said, approaching the captain’s desk.

Price looked at him intently and pointed on a visitor’s chair. He also noticed that something was wrong with the usually cheerful and friendly sergeant and worried about him.

“What happened, son?” He asked gently, looking at nervous Johnny.

“I think someone is stalking me,” MacTavish answered, sighing heavily. “I received a postcard tae my parents’ home address. And then I found another one in my room ‘ere at th’ base.”

With that, Soap placed both valentines in front of the captain. He took them, examined the inscriptions attentively, and looked up at the nervous sergeant.

“Son,” Price spoke cautiously, “what made you think they were sent by a stalker?”

“And how else?!” MacTavish exclaimed with resentment. “He knows where a'm, knows mah home address! And thae inscriptions? Thae ur true threats!”

“Well, the inscriptions are really weird,” the captain admitted. “And about the other... Tell me, son, who knows where you were on leave, who loves skulls and knives, and who gets a themed magazine every month?”

“Ghost,” Soap answered without thinking and froze with his mouth open. “Fucking hell… I’m an idiot, yeah?”

“That’s your words, not mine." Price got up and went to the exit. “Close the door when you leave.”

The captain left his office, and the sergeant grabbed a document from his desk, turned it over to a blank side, and started to write something concentrated.

The door of Ghost’s room was locked as usual, and Soap knocked until it was opened to him. He burst in, turned to the lieutenant, and saw that he looked very sad. It was visible despite the balaclava on his head.

“What do you want, Johnny?” Ghost asked, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Simon,” the sergeant exhaled, catching his breath, “it’s for ye!”

Ghost silently took from his hands a crookedly cut paper heart, on which was written: ‘I like ye too.’ Johnny watched his gaze change, and then the lieutenant looked up at him in confusion.

“Sorry for bein’ sae late,” Soap sighed and made puppy eyes. “I’m just an idiot, ‘n’ only now guessed that those postcards were from you.”

Johnny didn’t say that they scared him to not sound even more like a fool. Instead, he took the first valentine out of his pocket, turned it over, and, smiling, pointed to one of the knives that formed the heart.

“I like this one,” he said.

“You have a good taste." Ghost finally calmed down and smiled under his balaclava. “It’s the best one, and I hoped that you’ll choose it.”

He went to the closet and came back holding the knife from the picture.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Johnny.” The lieutenant said.

“Och, Simon…” Soap blushed like a boy, accepting the gift. “Thank ye! It’s sae cool! Och, hauld yer horses a second…”

The sergeant started rummaging through his pockets until he found a quid coin in one of them. He handed it to Ghost, and he took a symbolic payment so that the gift of the knife wouldn’t cut the relationship between him and Johnny.

“I have something for ye too,” Soap said. “I’ll bring it now!”

He ran to his room and soon returned with a neat box of chocolate chip cookies that his mother had baked for him. Handling the gift to Simon, Johnny rushed into the break room of TF 141 to make them tea. When he finally got back and sat down, the lieutenant looked at him and asked:

“Johnny, why did you make your valentine on the page from the annual budget of our unit?”

“What?..” Soap froze, blinking his eyes. “I… dinnae know, I just..."

The sergeant remembered that he took the first paper he saw and didn’t look at what exactly it was.

“Price will kill me,” he said finally. "So, mibbie, I deserve one kiss before death?”

“Maybe you want more than one kiss?” Ghost answered the question with a question and rose up the edge of his balaclava to the bridge of his nose. “Do you want to stay with me tonight?”

“Och, I want to!” Johnny smiled cheerfully and a little stupidly. “Will ye take off yer mask ‘n’ show yer face?”

“Negative,” the lieutenant answered composed, and took the cookie from the box.

On the morning of February 15, Johnny woke up in Simon’s arms. He really didn’t take off his balaclava; actually, it was the only thing he didn’t take off. His clothes were mixed with Soap’s on the floor by the bed. It was still dark outside, but the wake-up call had already ringed, so the lieutenant and the sergeant stirred and reluctantly started to get up and get dressed. They went to breakfast together and sat down at the table opposite Gaz, who came to the mess hall first.

“You’re kind of weird today, mates,” Kyle said, looking at the sergeant and the lieutenant.

“We just didn’t get enough sleep,” Johnny answered lazily, and then understood what he said. “I mean, separately, each in their room, you know.”

Soap coughed, and Gaz slowly looked from him to Ghost and back.

“And where is Price?” The lieutenant asked, changing the topic of their conversation.

“He took sandwiches and went to his office,” Kyle answered. “He said that he had to check and hand over some papers to the general.”

Johnny paled, but he didn’t have time to do anything. Price was already entering the dining room, and, seeing MacTavish at the table, he shouted angrily:

“Soap, you, son of a bitch!!”

“Better run,” Kyle advised, sipping his coffee.

“Yeah,” Johnny nodded and then looked at Ghost. “See ye later, Simon.”

Johnny jumped over the table, rushed to the window, and threw it open. Blowing Ghost an air kiss, he jumped out and sped away, followed by surprised looks from the soldiers and rookies.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Gaz asked Ghost.

“Negative,” the lieutenant lied.

“Oh, really?” Kyle absolutely didn’t trust him. “And since when does MacTavish call you by your name?”

“I don’t remember,” Ghost said, annoyed. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“So I can call you ‘Simon’ too?" Gas didn’t stop asking questions.

“Try it, and I’ll shoot you.” Ghost barked, took his tray, and went away quickly.

“Yeah, each in their room,” Gaz grunted, then smiled and finished his coffee.

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astrowaffles · 5 months ago

Text

Pride Month

Gojo peered out of the window. “Your neighbour’s got a pride flag out,” he observed. “You’ll fit right in here.”

“Well, it’s pride month,” said Megumi.

“I like to call it Megumi Month!”

“Show me your lockscreen.”

“What?”

“Show me your lockscreen.”

Confused, Gojo held out his phone. Had he changed his password? He couldn’t remember. If he hadn’t, that meant Megumi could still unlock it.

Uh-oh.

Megumi didn’t unlock it, he just turned it on and spun the screen to face Gojo. “Look at it.”

“At…my lockscreen?”

“Your lockscreen, showing what?”

“Me….and Suguru?”

“Yes, you and the evil mastermind. And why is it you and the evil mastermind?”

“Because we were best f-“

“Boyfriends. You were boyfriends. Happy pride month.”

“He wasn’t an evil mastermind. He was pretty stupid, actually.”

“He’d have to be, to date you.”

“We weren’t dating!”

“Uh-huh. I believe you.”

-------

OR: megumi moves into his apartment ft. gojo being nostalgic, itadori being a ray of sunshine & nobara being lesbian

“MEGUMI!”

“WHAT!”

“WHERE DID YOU PUT ‘LEGALLY BLONDE’?!”

“Dear god,” Megumi muttered, beginning to rummage through the nearest cardboard box.

“I HEARD THAT!”

Megumi rolled his eyes and rummaged further. “He could just look for it himself,” he complained under his breath.

Gojo finally gave up on screeching through the wall and came in through the kitchen door. “I heard that too, you know.”

“And?”

“And it was very rude?”

“Didn’t ask, don’t care,” Megumi sniffed, finally fishing the movie from where he’d packed it. “Why do you want this?”

“Don’t ask silly questions and you won’t get silly answers,” Gojo sniffed back.

Megumi glared at him.

“Okay, okay, it’s to watch,” Gojo relented. Then he pouted. “You don’t even have a DVD player, do you?”

“No, because I’m not ninety years old,” Megumi told him. “Put it in the laptop if you want.”

“Oh, so you’re old enough to have a laptop with a DVD slot but not a DVD player?”

“The laptop’s old!”

Gojo pulled a face. “And you’ve still got it? I would’ve bought you one if you asked…”

“I like this one,” Megumi said defensively.

Gojo eyed it. “It’s because of the stickers, isn’t it.”

“They don’t come off! I don’t want to throw them away!”

“I knew it,” Gojo sighed, and turned it on. It made a slightly disturbing whirring noise as the fans immediately began frantically cooling the struggling machine, and the DVD slot didn’t come out until the second attempt. “I’ll buy you some new stickers, so let me get you a better laptop.”

“You’re the only person in the world who asks to be allowed to buy new stuff,” Megumi pointed out.

“You’re the only person in the world with his own apartment at eighteen,” Gojo countered.

“Apart from you.”

“No, I had a penthouse,” Gojo corrected. “Now keep unpacking and let me watch the magic of Reese Witherspoon.”

Megumi didn’t fight him; he’d expected way more stress, and way more tears, from Gojo today. While Gojo wasn’t often an openly emotional person, moving his ward/son/annoyance into a separate flat would usually be enough to tip him over the edge. Megumi had been prepared, ensuring the tissues were the first thing set up on the kitchen counter and the laptop was unboxed in case Gojo had needed to watch Titanic.

As it was, Gojo was probably self-medicating with Legally Blonde - either that or he was pretending to self-medicate with Legally Blonde in order to avoid helping with the unpacking. Megumi didn’t mind, since Gojo usually just got in the way and messed things up and left food all over the carpet anyway.

Gojo peered out of the window. “Your neighbour’s got a pride flag out,” he observed. “You’ll fit right in here.”

“Well, it’s pride month,” said Megumi.

“I like to call it Megumi Month!”

“Show me your lockscreen.”

“What?”

“Show me your lockscreen.”

Confused, Gojo held out his phone. Had he changed his password? He couldn’t remember. If he hadn’t, that meant Megumi could still unlock it.

Uh-oh.

Megumi didn’t unlock it, he just turned it on and spun the screen to face Gojo. “Look at it.”

“At…my lockscreen?”

“Your lockscreen, showing what?”

“Me….and Suguru?”

“Yes, you and the evil mastermind. And why is it you and the evil mastermind?”

“Because we were best f-“

“Boyfriends. You were boyfriends. Happy pride month.” Megumi threw the phone back to Gojo, who caught it, disgruntled.

“He wasn’t an evil mastermind. He was pretty stupid, actually.”

“He’d have to be, to date you.”

“We weren’t dating!”

“Uh-huh. I believe you.”

“We weren’t!”

“Like I said, I believe you.” Megumi went back to rooting through boxes. “Did you pack this one? It’s full of shit I don’t want.”

“Language,” Gojo chided absently, eyes fixed back on the laptop.

“I’m 18.”

“I’m nearly 30, so what.”

“So shut up.”

Gojo gasped, very loudly and very dramatically. “Megumi! After all I’ve done for you, working hard as a single parent with ten jobs-“

“You have two jobs and they’re practically the same job. Teach jujutsu, use jujutsu.”

“-And I did it by myself! No childcare-“

“What was Shoko? Or Nanami? Chopped liver?”

“-And two kids, one of whom couldn’t even read-“

“I could read!”

“-Who said I was talking about you?” Gojo said wickedly.

“Well it wasn’t Tsumiki, she can read better than you,” Megumi shrugged.

“After all I’ve done for you,” Gojo repeated, “The least you could do it have some manners.”

“I have manners!” Megumi protested.

Gojo stared at him. “Are you absolutely certain, dearest?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“A-ha! Avoiding the question!”

“Prioritising my answers,” Megumi corrected. “I still have manners.”

“Suuure you do, buddy,” Gojo nodded, and went back to his movie.

Overall, June was a sucky month to move house in. The temperatures were high and so was the humidity, making everyone hot and sticky by the time the boxes were all inside. Megumi’s furniture hadn’t been delivered yet, having only been bought a few weeks ago – Gojo had insisted on paying for it all, even though Megumi had finally gotten access to a lot of the money stored up in his accounts from various relatives, jobs, and – of course – Gojo himself. He’d have even more when he finally turned 20.

Flies buzzed around Megumi’s empty rooms, making both Megumi and Gojo swat irritably at the ones that tried to nestle into the spikes of their hair.

Gojo watched Megumi carefully extract a particularly fat one from the back of his neck. He’d grown over the last few years, tall and broad, looking more and more like Toji every day. Maybe in a few years, when Megumi finally settled into his body and stopped tripping over things and looking confused with his new long limbs and wide shoulders, he’d gain enough muscle to make him almost indistinguishable from his biological father. There’d been a few times recently where Megumi, with the quiet footsteps taught by Gojo himself, had caught Gojo off-guard and had almost had his head blown off. All he really needed was a lip scar.

Gojo shuddered at the thought.

“You okay?” Megumi asked, noticing Gojo’s slightly horrified expression.

“Just thinking,” Gojo assured him.

“I didn’t know you could think.”

“You learn something new every day with me!”

“I wish that was true,” Megumi sighed. “Then maybe you would’ve been a passable teacher.”

“Okay, rude-“

Gojo’s tirade was cut off by Megumi’s new doorbell, ringing clear through the heavy, warm air.

“Must be Itadori,” said Megumi – who, in true Megumi fashion, absolutely refused to call anyone by their first name.

“HEEEEEEY MEGUMII!” Yuji yelled as soon as the door opened. In true Yuji fashion, he’d jumped at the chance to sound a bit closer to his friends.

“Hi,” Megumi replied, reaching out a hand to take some of Yuji’s bags. “Need some help?”

“Sure, thanks!” Yuji handed some off, and then turned sideways in order to fit through the door with the rest of them. “I didn’t know what to bring so I just brought it all!”

“All of what?” asked Megumi, cautiously peering into one. “Is this pride bunting?”

“Sure is! I thought we could combine the housewarming with a pride party, since we can’t go out without being recognised…”

It was true. After reaching peak celebrity status in the jujutsu world, their fame had even spread to the ordinary people, who hailed them as super-cool special reinforcements or whatever the media had chosen to frame them as. In an area so thickly populated with sorcerers as this was, it was frankly incredibly irritating trying to leave the house for a big event like Pride.

“I love that idea,” Gojo announced, having paused Legally Blonde to welcome his student. “Does Nobara know?"

"It was actually her idea," Yuji admitted sheepishly.

"Of course it was,” Megumi sighed. “When’s she coming?”

The doorbell rang again.

“She’s already here, isn’t she?” Megumi put down Yuji’s bags and went back to the door. “Hi, Kugisaki.”

“Hi, Fushiguro,” said Nobara, who had agreed to call Yuji by his name but insisted she wouldn’t be familiar with Megumi unless she got the same energy back. She was very, very salty about it.

“HI NOBARA!” Yuji yelled.

“Inside voice~” Gojo sang, shutting off his laptop now everyone was here.

“Sorry!”

“Jeez, let me in then,” Nobara demanded, bustling past Megumi. She didn’t have any bags with her, but from the way she immediately set about rustling through Yuji’s, she’d probably just made Yuji bring hers.

Megumi closed the door before more insects found their way in. “I like how you asked me about this party before you brought the decorations.”

“Oh, shut up,” Nobara told him. “Actually, no. New order: shut up and put this flag on your wall.”

It was a custom-printed lesbian flag, complete with a cutout of Gojo’s face.

“Oh my god, this is the best thing ever,” Gojo enthused, taking it before Megumi could reach out. “I want it on the wall forever.”

“Let’s start with it on the wall, y’know, at all,” Nobara snarked.

“I’m not a lesbian,” Megumi pointed out. “Neither is Gojo.”

“Neither am I!” Yuji volunteered. “I like the colours though.”

“You are all honorary lesbians for today,” Nobara announced generously. “Here, take a pin.”

She passed a small box around. Megumi stared at the ‘WOMEN SCARE ME’ pin he’d pulled out. “I want to swap.”

“No can do. ‘Sides, that one’s perfect,” Nobara shrugged.

“I’m attracted to women!”

“Yes, but can you be normal around them? No. Put the pin on.”

Megumi sighed and stuck it to his jacket; Yuji enthusiastically did the same with his ‘PRO CHOICE / PRO FEMINISM / PRO CATS’.

“’Three raccoons in a trenchcoat’,” Gojo read off the badge he’d been passed. “I like it.”

Nobara climbed onto some of the stacked boxes in order to string her fairy lights across the room. “You can keep these,” she told Megumi. “You need some decoration in here.”

“I’ve only just moved in!” Megumi argued. “It’s not gonna be perfect!”

Yuji was seeing how many boxes he could stack before they started to lean. The answer was six; he stood on tiptoe to slide his Bluetooth speaker on top. In the end, Gojo – ever annoyingly tall – had to help him put it securely on the middle of the top box.

“Good to know I’m still of use,” Gojo sighed.

“You’re not,” said Megumi. “Retire already.”

“Just because you said that, I’m gonna work another forty years.”

“Fuck you.”

Gojo’s dramatic gasp signalled another monologue coming on, but he was cut off by Nobara falling off her boxes.

“Fuck!” she yelled. Gojo didn’t correct her.

“When I got my first apartment,” Gojo reminisced, ignoring Nobara’s clattering in the kitchen, “I didn’t know housewarming parties were a thing.”

Him, Megumi, and Yuji were sat in a triangle on the floor, waiting for whatever Nobara was creating. By the sounds of it, she was attempting to remake the oven.

“I thought you said you had a penthouse?” Megumi pointed out.

“What? Oh, yeah, when I was 18. I got an apartment when I was ten.”

Yuji gasped. “Cool!”

“No, not cool, Yuji,” Gojo told him. “It was very boring.”

“Is that even legal?” Megumi questioned. Gojo shrugged, which wasn’t very reassuring.

“Dunno. I liked it, though.”

“Did you have fairy lights?” asked Yuji.

“No.”

“What about a fruit bowl?” Nobara called from the kitchen.

“Does anyone even have a fruit bowl nowadays?” Gojo asked.

“Fushiguro does, apparently.”

Megumi turned to Gojo, horrified. “You bought me a fruit bowl?”

“Apparently…?”

“I can’t believe this.” Megumi looked ready to murder someone – and that someone was almost definitely Gojo.

“You never know what you’ll need,” Gojo tried to argue, shuffling away from Megumi as best he could.

Megumi made a rather threatening gesture and then rolled his eyes. Nobara reappeared holding a tray of cupcakes.

“Look, Megs! Blue, pink and yellow!” Gojo pointed out, probably hoping to get back into Megumi’s good books. “Just like the ones I made you!”

“You didn’t make these ones, did you?” Megumi asked suspiciously.

“No-one made them,” Nobara confirmed. “Well, someone did, but it was someone in a factory.”

“Can I have one?” Yuji asked, tentatively reaching for one.

“No, Yuji, I brought them out for us to look at them,” said Nobara sarcastically, lowering the tray so the three sat on the floor could reach them.

After Gojo had gotten sick of telling extremely uninteresting tales of his childhood and had told enough of Megumi’s that he ran the risk of having his mouth taped shut by his own ward, Yuji started a horrendous game of ‘Guess Who?’. The category was ‘Jujutsu Sorcerers’, and soon devolved into hysterical impressions of various sorcerers they had met, including Nobara’s stellar impersonation of Nanami.

“I wear fake leopard print and I’m better than you,” she mimicked, voice forced deep and hands around her eyes to imitate goggles or glasses.

Yuji, arguably the closest person to Nanami, guessed Inumaki. Nobara nearly screamed with frustration.

“I think we should play something else,” Megumi suggested, watching Nobara attempt to attack Yuji without any weapons on hand. Yuji, whose main weapon was his hands, was frantically blocking and looking unduly terrified.

“Like what? Hangman?” Gojo pondered.

“Only if one of us actually gets hung,” Nobara offered, looking meaningfully at Yuji. “Inumaki,” she muttered scornfully under her breath.

“Maybe not,” Megumi backtracked.

“We need to do something gay,” Nobara sighed. “Otherwise what’s the point?”

“What percentage gay?” Megumi asked.

“Well if you’re doing it it’s 100% gay,” Nobara told him. “You can’t help it, you’re just built like that.”

“Says you, Miss Oh-No-Makki-Don’t-Do-That-Yourself, Let-Me-Lift-It-Even-Though-You-Have-Visible-Biceps-And-I’m-Built-Like-A-Mop-“

“Shut up!”

“Um?” Yuji interjected. “Maybe we could just watch a gay film or something?”

“I vote Luca!” said Megumi immediately.

“Awh, I wanted to vote one of the Haikyuu movies,” Yuji pouted.

“I wanted to vote this one,” Nobara said, waving the website for something niche - and probably unnecessarily emotional - around.

“I vote Legally Blonde,” said Gojo, like an idiot.

By the time they were all settled around Luca – which Megumi had literally fought tooth and nail with Nobara for – Yuji was dropping asleep and Gojo was tapping on his phone.

“Turn your typing sounds off,” Megumi told him.

“No,” said Gojo, but the sounds didn’t come again.

Yuji hummed and snuggled closer to Megumi. Nobara, on Yuji’s other side, looked extremely offended but didn’t say anything.

Gojo dropped his head onto Megumi’s shoulder. It wasn’t as much of a neck stretch as it used to be; Megumi had become an excellent pillow even if he wasn’t a good height for resting your elbow on anymore. Yuji started snoring in evident agreement.

“You guys suck,” said Nobara. “I can’t even reach Fushiguro to lie on him.” To compromise, she simply threw herself across both Yuji and Megumi’s laps until her head was in Gojo’s. “Much better,” she informed them, and closed her eyes.

“Is this gay enough for you?” Megumi asked.

“Fushiguro. You’re a man. I’m not being gay at all.”

“Damn. Try again next year?”

Gojo laughed. “You can try again when you get your own apartment, Nobara. Just make sure to invite me so I can take pictures of the cuddle pile.”

“Are you kidding? If you’re there, it’ll be impossible to get you out of the pile long enough to take a picture,” Megumi objected.

“Good point,” said Gojo. “Try again next year instead?”

“Yeah,” said Megumi. “Try again next year.”

“Next year it is,” Nobara agreed. Yuji just hummed and snuggled even closer.

A03 | Exclusives | Tip Me | Commissions

#jjk #megumi and gojo #megumi fushiguro #jjk fics #jjk fic recs #gojo satoru #itadori yuuji #nobara kugisaki #a03

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mariamariquinha · 13 days ago

Text

Bossa Nova (Benny 'Borracho' Magalon x f!reader) - Eleven

Ten

Summary: You've made a decision.

Word count: 7.544.

Warnings: Cursing, talks about police work corruption, irresponsible use of alcohol, people being idiots and work-related situations. If I forgot something, sorry :/

Author’s Note: I remember that I said that there would be some fake dating stuff and there will, but not right now. I'm working on chapter 12 already, so it was a small change of plans but not a change of path.

I'll try to update on AO3 as soon as I can! Sorry for any mispelling mistakes as well; always safe to remind that English isn't my first language.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

****

The Los Angeles Sheriff's Department has just completed an operation that arrested a ring of robberies in luxury properties last Saturday. Police-grade weapons, special clothing and technological equipment that facilitate the breach of property security systems were seized.

You closed the fridge and stared at the 7-Eleven television curiously, a bottle of sparkling water in hand.

One of the gang's most notorious victims is technology entrepreneur Theo Park, who was in the house at the time of the incident and was attacked by the robbers.

“To bad things that come to good. If I hadn't been there, maybe they would have gotten away with it and not left enough evidence to get caught. I’m very grateful for LASD's dedication to solving this case.”

Theodore had once said that he appeared on an experimental college TV show and, after that day, he decided he would lose some weight so he wouldn't look so bloated on screen. He seemed to have learned his lesson; despite reporters shoving microphones in his face, he looked flawless.

“It's amazing how the rich get justice so fast, right?”

You blinked a few times and turned to the cashier, who was also watching the TV. You neither agreed nor disagreed; you approached the counter, placed the bottle on top and fished out a pack of licorice candies, which you also slid towards him.

“You work there, don't you? At LASD?”

Because he would know, right? Of all the other thousand times you went there and bought the same thing, without fail, and the other times you were looking for some alcohol after work. You would open your wallet and every time your badge would come into view. It wasn't really a badge, you wanted to argue as you held out the credit card to him and looked up, but you didn't know if it would make any difference to say that.

“Mm-hm,” You answered and he nodded.

“Huh. I don't doubt that your boss didn't carry this Park guy on his lap.”

Again, you didn't respond. Outside, in the parking space very close to your car, there was a pickup truck with a nice Confederate Flag sticker and the owner had entered the store a little before you, so you didn't want to take any chances. The cashier swiped your card and handed you a bag with the things you bought. You thanked him, wished him a good day and he told you the same.

You sat on the curb for about twenty minutes on the block before your building. You took out a piece of licorice candy and chewed it leisurely, observing the movement of the early hours of the morning and mentally calculating that you should soon get in, take a shower and remind yourself that you would be late for work, that there was something else you should do before going there. Yes, the work, the same one that would be buzzing with excitement at the conclusion of a case with so much repercussion, and that would remind you enough of things that you were willing not to remember.

Well, you should expect that; should learn to let it go.

Still, you thought about what you could do strategically: you would get in late, people would be already minding their own business, so you could get in easily.

It wasn't like Theodore was going to give up on the climb to become a popular person in the city alongside the most popular people in the world.

****

You had your eyes closed, face to the ceiling, hitting the back of your head on the elevator wall. Before you could hear the doors close, you heard voices getting closer to the point where they were inside the space with you; when you opened your eyes and lowered your head, you saw Nick, Benny, and Connors walking in.

They paid attention to you for half a second and looked away; Benny had a look that lasted longer, one that made you run your hand over the back of your head and stare at the ground.

“Hearing?”

The question made you snap your eyes up again, spotting O’Brien eyeing you curiously.

“... No,” You shook your head, forcing a small smile. “Got something to deal with this morning.”

“Mm,” He hummed. “Something important, eh?”

You didn’t know why you did it, but you swiped your eyes to Benny for a split second and spotted him pinching the bridge of his nose with a discreet sigh. When you turned back to Nick, nodded a little – a deep breath to not say the first thing that passed through your mind.

“It was.”

But there was a weird, sticky atmosphere. Connor’s hair was wet, they all smelled like shower – probably had a long night out, arriving that late at the station. You could tell, from the way Murph would be looking at anything but you, that there was an attempt to access you, a curiosity to know how you would react to the recent news, or to be in the elevator with them when everything was pretty much fresh in everyone’s minds.

The doors opened, like a breath of air along that tension. It was your floor. You shared a small nod with them, walked to the corridor… then stopped, turning to them and held the doors from closing.

“I-” You cleared your throat. “Congratulations on the case. You guys-” You looked at Benny again, saw him frowning at you, which made you frown back. “You did a great job.”

“Thanks,” Connors said when the silence stretched and no one, not even Nick, said a thing. It was weird to verbalize, weird to touch. Whatever confused expressions were splayed on their faces, it certainly was splayed on your face as well.

You nodded a little, feeling rubbish and robotic at the same time, and then you let your arm go, standing like an idiot in front of the closing elevator doors and giving all of them one last look.

****

Of course Big Nick or Connors would notice, but no one felt like verbalizing it. Untouched territory, like a silent agreement, that it wasn’t their business to poke through your drama with your ex. Maybe that was why Benny felt so weird with time, so invasive towards you even if he knew he was right – you were still someone who happened to be in Park’s life, there was no denying it.

They were on about three hours of sleep – hungover. They managed to hold off on the scoop until the morning, at least until the paperwork was signed; Benny remembered that they handed in the papers and Z had already found the girls to celebrate. Well, celebrate was a strong word. Benny went and enjoyed it, but little; he was home around 3, took a while to fall asleep and had a late morning. Nick needed a ride because he slept in the hotel room, so the two went back and found Connors in the parking lot.

It was strange. Benny spent days talking and listening to his ex's testimony, checking information about him, going deeper and pretending he didn't know anything when Z mentioned that the guy had graduated from Caltech, as if Benny didn't research for that already. And Theodore, fuck, he was an ass, but an ass still trying to be nice. He was polite, but his phrases and his words were a touch harsh, bordering impatience. He would look at him, then at Connors or Henderson or Nick, do an once over, put a tight smile on his face – like trying to fit in way-too-small shoes because it was pretty.

Benny saw that your face wasn't happy, and even if it was, there wasn't a sense of genuine relief in you. It wasn't like you didn't want the case to be solved, but it seemed like you were already fed up and wanted to take a band-aid off at once. Congratulate on the case, smile, leave. Don't give them a chance to ask anything, disguise it.

When the case was closed and they happily went to Theodore’s penthouse to give him the news, he said he would give them something, like a bonus for the Department or other things they might have wanted – you know, to compensate. Benny told him that they couldn’t accept because it would be categorized as a bribe, but then Theodore looked at him like he grew a pair of extra ears on his head like an alien, as if that even made sense.

After a while, he wondered if Theodore was confused because he thought with common sense about LASD or if it was because you, who was already married when you became official there, told him things about the Department's relations.

Still, when they arrived that morning, Theodore had delivered a breakfast basket to them – one that was already somewhat cold, but intact.

If it were up to Benny alone, it would continue like this until the end of the day, and the next day after that.

****

He called.

It was a new number, one you didn’t recognize, but you were already expecting calls from unknown places. You picked up, excused yourself from the chat you were having with Lennon about some material he delivered, went to the corridor – you said it was important, family matter.

For a few seconds after your ‘hello?’, no one said a thing. It was so quiet that you wondered if it was one of those marketing bots or something, so much so that you had already taken the phone out of your ear to put an end to the call. Before you could do it, though, a voice cracked up on the other end, and you stopped dead in your tracks, a big frown on your face as you recognized who it was.

“... Hello?”

And you still had the phone away from your ear, staring at the screen in confusion, and when he insisted one more time you just blinked a few times, looked around and took a few steps deeper into a less crowded area.

“Yes?” You asked, voice low and discreet, the phone slightly pressed against your ear as if someone could hear him, as if it was shameful to speak with him in the first place.

“Oh, hi,” He said. “I… Erm… Am I interrupting something?”

“... I’m working…?”

“No, yeah. Yeah, yeah, totally, I could’ve imagined, I… Sorry.”

You felt a tone of impatience, at the same time that you felt irritated with yourself for wanting to ask how he was, how he felt. You could see that calling you was impulsive, Theodore only got nervous like that in situations without any planning or with too much planning.

Fuck, yeah, you were mad with yourself – you shouldn’t get attached to whatever you used to know about him.

“Can I help you with something?” You asked instead, pinching the bridge of your nose and squeezing your eyes shut for a second.

He got quiet on the other end, sighing and ruffling through what seemed to be like papers or whatever. You looked around again, just to be sure, and felt that pinch of irritation growing.

“Theo-”

“I thought you had changed your number, so I didn't think you would answer,” He excused with a small voice, one that silenced you. “Now I don't know exactly what I wanted to talk about.”

“Maybe you better think about it quickly, I have to get back to work.”

Another sigh.

“... You went to the hospital that day. Aile-I was told you went there,” The mention of the occasion made you throw your head back in frustration and suppress a groan. “And that you got hurt.”

It was your turn to stay quiet, unsure of what to say. Your hand was good, better; it wasn't that serious of a burn and, in general, you would have a few months of recovery for the mark to disappear. Still, you unconsciously flexed your fingers, remembered Aileen's face when the coffee spilled on you.

“... So what?”

“So what? Hell, you could’ve sent me the bill or whatever.”

“I could?”

“Well, yes.”

“So you called to offer me money for my injured hand?”

He was growing frustrated – you expected him to. You could sense him gritting his teeth, clenching his jaw.

“... You went there, maybe you wanted to know how I am.”

“And how are you?”

“Good.”

“Okay.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you good?”

“I’m fine.”

“Your hand is okay?”

“You don’t need to pay me for my hand.”

“I don’t want to, I just want to know if your hand is okay. Technically, it’s on me that it got burned.”

“Oh, so that’s the secret for a good relationship? Taking responsibility for your partner’s faults?”

“That’s not-” He paused, huffed. There was a noise you could hear, like a chair cracking, and then the sound of steps on a wooden floor. “I’m not with her anymore. Although I’m probably taking that responsibility, it wasn’t me who threw coffee at you.”

You blinked dumbly at that, staring at the floor without a single reaction to process what he just said to you. It should be simple: he’s not with her, you could’ve supposed it would happen, that has nothing to do with you. But Theodore told you that, let it hang in the air, waited to see what you would do.

“... All in all, I just want to know if you need anything… That’s on me. The least I can do is pay for the hospital bill that I know was expensive as fuck. They call themselves Samaritans but they fucking rob people.”

You needed to suppress a laugh or a giggle or any indication that what he said was slightly funny. For what felt like an eternity, you just kept looking at the floor, then at your own feet, squirming to prevent any insistent feeling to bubble inside of you with the prospect of him realizing that Aileen wasn’t the best for him, or just him being let down.

Not that you expected him to be humbled by it, but still – you could dream.

“... I don’t need anything. Thanks for asking, though,” You offered, voice more calm and genuine.

“Okay,” He took a deep breath. “Listen, I know you’re out of this almost death experience transformation or some shit, but it was nice of you to come by. Despite everything, you still checked on me and… Well, I won’t forget that.”

You considered him for a while.

“Maybe you should.”

“Should what?”

“Forget that.”

“Why?”

And that was that tone, that… subtle implication. You knew what he was doing – what he was fucking implying. He used to do that when he flirted with you, when you two were doing some dirty talk in bed, when he was trying to get inside your pants. It wasn’t that good in high school, but the experience he probably gathered in college made him bold, confident; that shit worked.

So when he asked ‘why?’ with that low, teasing underlining, you wanted to punch him in the face.

“Because you should. Because I’m your ex. Because it brought me problems. Because it will make you put words in my mouth and meanings to my actions that are absurd.”

“Absurd like you still caring about me?”

“Yeah, exactly like that.”

Theodore went quiet, probably nodding to himself.

“I need to go now,” You pressed. “And don’t surprise me pulling up some shit like you still having my number and calling.”

“It isn’t some shit. I’m just thankful,” That almost sounded too false, but it just made you feel like it was really forceful. “In debt, too. I know it sounds crazy but whatever you need anything, I-”

“I’ll hang up.”

You did. Right away, at the snap of a finger – out. If he still needed to say something or add or keep up with that bullshit, you really didn’t want to know. You hung up on him, left him mouth agape or whatever, then stared at your black phone screen with that same ugly frown you had when you noticed it was him.

Your head was starting to hurt, you could feel the sting deep inside. After almost two years – two years – and the bastard called right when his little girlfriend dumped him. You deserved this, didn't you? Surely that time you stole parking cones or vomited on the college lawn wasn't going to go unpunished.

Because you were always so nice to everyone, always following the rules. Motherfucker. Cocksucker. Bitch. Cunt. Jerk. Asshole.

“You good?” Lennon had a puzzled expression on his face, watching you fuming and huffing while entering the lab again.

You threw your phone on your desk, sighed tiredly at him. Good news, Theodore is alive. Bad news, Theodore is alive.

“Yeah, just some stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

But maybe Lennon should – he should worry, should give you some clarification, should fuck you again. Thing was: he couldn’t do any of it. He was an amazing friend, one with his own worries and responsibilities, and he wasn’t your mentor to give you advice. And yeah, maybe you hinted something to him, and then he turned you down by saying he was seeing someone – that guy from the 15B, remember? – and he liked them, so you could get your shit together and let him be, feeling bad for not remembering whoever this person was.

So you got angry and worried alone – you got pissed alone. You went to the bathroom, saw yourself in the mirror, and felt like punching yourself in the face. And for what? For answering an unknown call? For listening to Theodore? For feeling that bad after Isla’s case? For, fuck, asking how Theodore was? For wanting to…

Fuck, wanting what?

You looked at your head again. A large scar was forming there, one that was uncomfortable. It wasn't that bad, nor that destructive, but looking at it was a reminder of how you shouldn't be so nice to the wrong people. What did that bring you, anyway? Turn the other cheek and listen to your ex tease you about it?

You clenched your fist and placed it against the marble of the sink for a while, eyes closed.

It wasn’t him; no, it fucking wasn’t. It shouldn’t be.

It was on you. You, you, you. Fucking you.

****

“... And, you know, he’s kind of a bitch so-”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Which is why I wondered if there was the slightest chance of you knowing anything about it.”

“Mm-hm.”

“So… do you?”

“... Mm.”

The laptop screen began to lower against your will, so that before you could take your hand off the mousepad, the edge reached your fingertips and it hurt. You hissed, but before you could complain, your brother shoved the thing away to the other side of your kitchen table.

“Hey!”

“Did you hear what the fuck I said?”

The pain dissipated at the same time as you looked at his face with a frown -- he was irritated. If you were honest, and there was no reason to be any other way, you would say that in fact no, you didn't hear what he said. You hadn't been listening to what people were saying since Theodore's call, because suddenly you were in a hurry and needed to get away, anxious to put your mind together around the fact that he was still having this effect on you.

“... No, I didn’t,” You sighed in defeat, relaxing your face to a defeated expression and leaning back in your chair, eyes lowering to the table. “What was it?”

“Theodore is on a new project with-”

“Be briefer. Maybe if you didn't go around so much, I-”

“He spoke to you.”

You went from defeated to tense. Honestly, and that was as far as you could go with that wake-up call, you wouldn't have thought that Theodore would make a big deal out of that phone call: it was one of the reasons you felt bad about reacting so intensely to it, in fact, because he didn’t give you the same importance as you did and that was pathetic.

Your face gave away the answer your brother needed, but he didn't hold on to his anger for long; with another sigh just like yours, he sat down in front of you and ran a hand through his hair worriedly.

“Just don’t tell me you’re reconsidering.”

“... Reconsidering?” You asked, and it took you a beat to get what he meant. When you did, you raised your eyebrows. “Do I sell myself for so little?”

“You do. You answered the phone.”

Fair.

“I didn’t know it was him. I was expecting another call from-”

“From Linda Ricci.”

Okay, now this conversation was starting to get weird because you were sure you would hear if he mentioned that name first. You hadn't told people that you were considering, at least in a healthy way, the possibility of leaving LASD. God, you were still coming to terms with the idea of doing this. But suddenly your brother knew the name of the person you spoke to, what you were thinking about doing, and that left you a little scared. He didn't give in, however.

“He told me,” He added. “Which is crazy, because I’m sure you didn’t tell him that if you didn’t tell me or anyone else about it.”

It sounded like an accusation, which could be also something fair because as far as he was your brother, you honestly didn’t put up with the intimate details of your relationship with Theodore. He cheated, you two split – that was all he needed to know, alongside with legal terms of your prenuptial contract. It was the kind of thing that made someone resentful, but his brother never blinked more than twice at his personal life, so perhaps the possibility of Theodore being the messenger of such intimate news of his life after so long was frustrating; between a cheating ex-husband and a negligent brother, who would be the first to know the good news about your life?

“... Can you not tell dad? Or mom?” You tried with an easy demeanor, even if your tone was clipped. He was ready to open his mouth to deny, though, so you rushed to add. “I didn’t even tell my boss yet!”

“And when are you planning to do that? When we all get worried sick about your well being in that fucking job?”

You took a deep breath, leaned back in the chair. The email was open – the answer was there. You saw it.

You glanced at the closed laptop, then at him.

“Soon.”

****

“Is it because of what happened?”

Byrne was definitely not a very sensitive guy, much less an emotional one, but the question seemed to have a natural compassion background like seeing a puppy at an adoption fair. You had asked for the first few minutes of his shift to talk about the subject, at zero hour when no one would arrive for a while, and you sat in front of him with a serious expression.

The question didn't make you change that, actually; you raised your eyebrows and sighed, but it was more like a spontaneous reaction to a subject you didn't want to talk about than an explicit denial.

“Depends on what we're talking about,” You threw the ball at him, who narrowed his eyes at you.

“... About the DEA case,” He said after a while, leaning back on his chair. “The recent events wouldn’t give you time to recalculate like that. Tell me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like a well-thought decision, one you wouldn’t make out of spite.”

“That’s a good observation.”

“Not as good as the one you’ll tell me.”

Then you smiled – a bitter, large grin. You measured his reactions with caution, licking your lips and reconsidering what to say. After a beat, you arched an eyebrow and averted your gaze to your hands, both of it splayed out over your thighs.

“... I'm not a very virtuous person, Doctor, and I like to believe I'm not a moralist. Despite this, I have never given anyone reason to doubt my integrity as a professional,” You raised your eyes at him. “Maybe, at some point, but nothing that time wouldn't prove otherwise.”

“You talk about your alliance with Major Crimes.”

Alliance. You needed to prevent a snort at that.

“My partnership, yes,” The correction made him retrieve a little. “And, look, I understand how things work. I'm not an idiot and much less indifferent to them, but I think there comes a time when they stop being just things and start putting you on the main stage.”

For a moment, as soon as you closed your mouth, you remembered Emma, just as you remembered Walsh and his pitiful speech to the cameras. That made you frown.

“You, doctor, are here because the Department's credibility went to waste after what happened. People have always questioned LASD's methodology, but what happened was much greater than common sense about what we do.”

“Are you talking about Emma?”

“I’m talking about being put in the hot seat for sabotaging the case.”

He shut down again, this time considering your stern tone with more caution. You already left her with a cracked friendship, you wouldn’t want it to be worse than it was.

“... You didn’t, I assume.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“But you know I could work it out. I'm not Emma, but it's no secret that Major Crimes doesn't have much room for imposition with me here.”

Which was quite funny to think about, but you did as he did and just took it as it was – a single comment. You nodded, averted your gaze again.

“Not only that, but I appreciate your consideration. Rest assured that, despite everything, they should have the right to speculate. Maybe it was my innocence that I thought I didn't have the tendency to go over anyone to gain an advantage, especially people I've worked with for so long.”

Not that that would actually solve it, but you also didn't want to repeat Emma's attitude and put yourself as someone who was harming someone else's work, even if Nick and company had a lot of capacity to do that on their own. You thought about it. You thought about Benny. He could also harm you with what happened at the hospital, he could make conversations with Byrne less cordial and make Nick push you away even more, to the point of making the murmurs even worse than they already were.

So you said something else to put him at ease.

“It's not Major Crimes that's going to get me out of LASD. Everything that happened and happens makes me sure that I got out of LASD myself.”

****

Gina got the news with a frown, but her hug said that she was proud.

Lennon smiled, placed a small kiss on your forehead – just don’t become a stranger, he said.

Your departure was silent: no parties, no goodbyes and, please, no speeches. Despite all your years at LASD, leaving in an atmosphere of so much falsehood would be worse than dealing with more personal problems mixing with professional ones.

So no one in the lab other than Gina, Lennon and Byrne knew. From what you heard, Cillian would break the news as soon as he found someone else, and two days later he informed you that that other person had already been found. Efficient and fast, just how he liked everything to be.

You considered talking with Nick in the meantime – considered apologizing to Benny, like, properly. But every time you grabbed the phone and dialed their number, every time you thought about texting but saw the flirting stuff Benny used to send you or clipped orders O’Brien sent over, you would chicken out.

You just didn't want drama.

****

Byrne was fucking dramatic, the kind who was probably a theater kid in school before deciding to be a scientist. He had been probing the work of Major Crimes since he had set foot in the LASD, so each and every interaction came with a passive tone that bordered on rudeness, but always hovering with unharmonized friendliness.

It wasn't like Emma – with Emma there was a flow, a rhythm. She and Nick had known each other for a long time, it was just different. Byrne was ruthless, regimented, too close to an OCD diagnosis, and two feet on the spectrum of control obsession. He didn't like them and had made that clear from the beginning; for him, the defeat of Major Crimes was a personal gain, which could be reasonable, since no one there made much of a point of being pleasant.

That day, however, Cillian was radiant, smiling. He asked for permission to enter the office and had both hands in his pants pockets, almost bouncing in tune with what seemed to have been a great weekend.

It should have been – for him, of course. He practically hummed the news, or sort of purred like a cat.

“I received very ecstatic news that our lab partner is leaving us,” He said, looking at Nick and only Nick, wanting to have every single drop of reaction or bother or anything. “She received a particularly undeniable opportunity at Ricci & Co.”

Benny was sure you didn't use the term 'irrefutable'. He just knew that you weren't that definitive about things, or that at least you wouldn't talk to Cillian that way. In any case, it seemed certain that it was a good thing financially and professionally speaking: they already had the opportunity to scratch Ricci & Co. when they worked on an old case. Family business, the kind that wasn't limited to university newspapers like Theodore Park and with big, New York glass doors.

It was an immediate rational thought, one he only processed with more consideration when he saw Henderson exchanging a confused look with him.

“Since when?” Connors asked with a clipped tone.

“Hiring processes at Ricci last, I don't know, thirty days?”

“You know that's not what he asked,” Nick pressed, which made Cillian hide a smile behind a satisfied sigh.

“She gave us two weeks' notice and made sure to finish as many ongoing cases as possible. Today is her last day.”

Benny remembered what happened at the hospital, made mental notes of any sign you might have given as if the whole situation wasn't already a big enough warning. He remembered your tired, defeated expression, your slumped shoulders; you looked sick, apathetic. Then he went over Isla's case, the conversation in your kitchen, your look of fragility at his rejection.

Your defeated stance with Walsh humiliating you in front of everyone, your lost look when he made you sit in a room to solve the problem. Maybe he didn't know that these little things were pushing you out of LASD, that every frustration or disappointment or tiredness was draining you enough to make your decision.

“I see that everyone is very upset, which was expected, so I made a point of letting them know and avoiding gossip or side conversations. I believe there is a lot to think about, especially because this is a personal gain for her but an almost irreparable loss for the Department.”

“You know, Byrne, this is a good chance to stop beating around the bush and be direct with what you want to say.”

“Well, Detective O'Brien, I think everyone here is smart enough to know what I'm talking about. Please be aware that as much as I would have made a point of cutting even our toilet paper budget to match the offer she received, I should have warned you that I am not willing to sacrifice the sanity of my employees for what appears to be a whim of yours.”

Everyone was quiet, expectant – Nick was being called out by a guy who knew shit and, as far as they all knew what kind of thing O’Brien would say, his silence made a wave of shock wash through all of them.

“She was kind enough to say that it wasn't because of you, but I've been watching her movements for some time. No day off to photograph a crime scene that wasn't in her jurisdiction, small bribes with dinners, requests for preferences in evaluating evidence… This isn't exactly professional. A good reason for someone with decency to reconsider, though.”

“You know this agreement always had two sides.”

“Yeah, but only one of them was self-aware of it and clearly the wrong one made the right decision. Should I tell you which side you are on or are we on the same page here?”

It was an exaggeration – at least it seemed like one – but deep down Benny knew it wasn't. In fact, it wasn't like a feeling, just an obvious awareness, the kind that everyone knew about but didn't talk about openly. Big Nick was no longer in the sheriff's good graces. Major Crimes received a portion of annual investment that didn't come that year, and since the last meeting with superiors, Nick wasn't very satisfied with the way things were going. It was off. Odd.

If it was the case of what they did that influenced you to leave, it might sound very absurd but it wasn't impossible, even if Magalon firmly believed that you wouldn't give in for so little.

Byrne wanted the excuse to give Nick a hard time – unfortunately he wasn’t totally wrong about it too.

When he left without a word, using the silence as a way of having the last bit of speech, there was a swagger on his steps, like a weight leaving his shoulders. He knew for sure that was how you saw them all, how you accessed them: full of themselves, always without a worry in the world because they could handle it.

Nick threw a stapler on the panel near his desk, muttered a small ‘fuck’. Tony could even be the one to be at least pleased about it, but no one felt like sharing their opinions on the subject.

There wasn’t a worry about you leaving – it was about how it wasn’t something O’Brien couldn’t control.

****

The idea was a drama-free exit and you knew that Gina and Lennon would be able to comply with your wishes with as much effort as they could. When Cillian let everyone know at the weekly meeting, you got a few hugs and handshakes, but everyone there knew you well enough to be cordial up until that point. You were even relieved. Apprehensive, but relieved. Everyone said so many good things about Ricci & Co., Ballard even showed up at your lab during the day and told you that 'this technology thing was cool', that it 'suited you'.

He was nice. Warmed your heart with the gesture.

Lennon arrived there towards the end of the day and handed you an envelope. As no one had time to buy you a gift as they were busy because they just didn't know you were leaving, some people from the lab raised a donation and gave you around 450 bucks.

“You didn't have to do that.”

“It wasn’t my idea. Rob from IT always had a small crush on you.”

That made you smile and almost made you cry.

And maybe your last day at LASD would turn out perfectly fine if it were like that, if you only said goodbye to people with silly, happy memories, so that you could miss it a little while you were tied up in the good parts of working there.

Looking back, you should have been more insistent about saying no. Not because it sounded like a bad idea from the beginning, no, but mainly because you knew how nights like that could end and you should be just a little less carefree just in case. Lennon invited you for some drinks – Gina too. Took you, what? An hour? And then what was supposed to be only a small gathering with only the three of you turned into a ‘remember when we got our asses busted for going to that bar?’ and before you could decline, the three of you were smashed in the backseat of an Uber to meet some Gina’s friends at that same bar.

It was like the old days, the trio fresh out of college, excited from the perspective of being in LASD, all excitement and fervor to be your best versions. Theodore wasn’t with you when that happened – he went to get you from the bar, yes, but if he was there in the first place, you wouldn’t be that drunk or have that much fun.

And you had enough fun. You weren't very drunk, but you had that buzz, that feeling of excitement and anxiety; for a while, you managed to forget your apprehension about saying goodbye to LASD, about taking a direction in a place where you didn't know anyone. For a while, only. With dancing, beers, a shot or two like the cops used to do. With music too, voice high and hands moving in the air.

You would certainly need to deal with your relationship with alcohol after that. That was something for tomorrow, however, or the day after tomorrow, or next week or next month. Fuck Theodore. Fuck him and his fake concern and his phone call and his fucking money. You didn't need any of that. Look at you: a young spirit, hot, single, with friends, having fun. He didn't have that. He would spend his life licking the balls of rich people to invest just a little of their time in him, humiliating himself for crumbs to grow in life… And you wouldn't. Nooooo, not you. You would be great. She would be a fucking analytical security manager for mansions up and down the Coast, earn your money and be respected. That's what you were going to do. And no thanks to that mediocre piece of shit. No thanks to Walsh or your work for even more pathetic and idiotic detective messes.

You were almost a wreck, but okay: your reflection in the mirror was more inviting than you thought it would be. Gina was already vomiting, one of her friends holding her hair as those tequila shots took effect. You watched the scene in your reflection for a while, then heard your friend turn to you and say that it was late, that it was better to leave. You nodded. You turned to the sink, turned the tap on, watched the water drowning your palms in.

She got Gina on one side and you on the other. This was your chance to leave too. Yes, you've already had your relaxation, you've had fun, and you could go and rest. But then you glanced in the wrong direction at the wrong time and spotted Benny a few tables away with Connors and Henderson.

You looked around – Lennon was distracted, probably didn’t even notice them. You had this… frown on your face, this… sense of inadequacy. Should that be your second chance to say something? Because, well, it didn’t take long to admit the coincidence.

Benny turned slightly amidst laughter and the two of you held each other's gaze for a while. The laugh turned into a smile that turned into a grin, that turned into a straight line, then a frown. You felt embarrassed, called out, caught out. Suddenly you were too sticky, too uncomfortable, ready to run away.

Gina slipped through your arm when her friend announced she would take her. You stood still, watching them both stumble out of the bar with a lowered gaze. Flexing your fingers, you forced a big smile on your face when Lennon came jumping up and down, offering you another shot of tequila.

They would leave, you decided. They would leave and you would be able to relax. You didn’t owe them a thing.

****

You were sitting in the gutter nursing a can of Coca-Cola that was already hot. Lennon had already left sometime around one, and it was reckless of you to let him go alone with another guy, but before you could worry anymore, he sent you a photo in the mirror of his own house. Damn, you could be closer to Gina's friends, they were really good people.

You should have gone with her, even, and not stood there saying that you were fine, that you would order an Uber and go home alone. Firstly, you were clearly not well. The drink had gone bad, you were drunk and everyone obviously knew it was the stupidest thing in the world.

Still, you sat there, watched the streets fading into blurs of light and dark. Another peak at your phone and the driver was 15 minutes away, taking turns, expecting you to cancel the ride. It wasn’t like you were going to throw up in his car or whatever – you just wanted to go home.

“Seems warm.”

His voice made you grunt, bowing your head down in defeat. When you looked up, he was standing right beside you, both hands inside his jacket pockets while he eyed your hunched figure.

“Because it is,” You grumbled, taking another stubborn sip. “Borderlining my sobriety, so… cheers.”

“Yeah, I think we can agree that you have a conflicted relationship with alcohol.”

“Calling me an alcoholic?” You frowned, to which he just shrugged. He raised his eyes to observe the street surrounding you two, nonchalant as ever, and after a beat of silence you just scoffed to do the same. “Too bad you saw it too late, I guess.”

“What? You think I wouldn't fuck an alcoholic?”

“I’m not-You know what, eat shit, Magalon.”

But he didn't go. Damn, he wasn't. He remained there, moving the sole of his boot on the concrete here and there, sighing as you held your head with both hands. After a few minutes, your cell phone buzzed: the driver canceled.

“Lemme guess-”

“Why are you still here?”

“I have a tolerance for the number of bodies to find in one night,” He arched an eyebrow, tilting his head to you. “Just imagine if the first thing I see in the early hours of my morning is a reckless drunk girl who took an Uber at 2 am.”

“Right, okay. Got it.”

“Yeah, so.”

“But I’m good. I’ll find-”

“Another Uber to go back home?”

You glared at him, then made an effort to get up from your seat and feel the whole world spinning in your head. That almost got you on the floor again – you lost your balance for a second, got up too fast.

“You know what,” You raised both hands in the air. “I’m done. I’m totally done. Say what you mean or leave me for you to find me dead in the morning.”

Benny shook his head, taking in your state with what seemed like frustration.

“I don’t remember you being so annoying. Last time you drank a little too much-”

“We kissed. I know the lore, Magalon, I was there. But we are not gonna kiss now, if that’s what you’re intending to.”

“I don’t wanna kiss you right now.”

“Good.”

“But I want to take you home.”

It could be the alcohol. Well, there was a good chance it was alcohol. Anyway, when he said that in such a genuine way, with a more accessible and light tone of voice, as if he was comforting you, you felt your eyes water and an almost uncontrollable urge to cry. He noticed it too, noticed the way you wavered, blinked hard a few times and stayed curiously quiet.

You averted your gaze to the side and sniffed with a dry nose, doing a hard job to keep the tears at bay.

“Do I look like I need to be saved by you? Like, all the time?”

He didn’t walk closer, didn’t try to bring any kind of physical comfort – Benny shrugged, kept it cool. When you looked at him again, he wasn’t giving you anything but a straight face.

“At this point in time, you could say it's just a coincidence that we're in the same place when you screw up. And luckily, of course, I'm not such an asshole that I'd let you go off on your own.”

And then he said something that made you waver even more.

“I like you. In a very stupid way, but I admire you as a person and as a professional. The difference between then and now is that you're hitting the goalposts for a longer time because you're too stubborn to understand that it's not always your responsibility.”

That would make you really cry, but you didn't, opting to swallow dryly while locking your jaw so that your lower lip wouldn't tremble and you wouldn't falter. He was too good at it, it was even annoying. You didn't see Nick or Tony having that same kind of ability to read people, even though it was naturally intrinsic to the anatomy of a good detective.

The cold night breeze hit you, making you shiver and flinch a little. He then took a single step closer, pointing at his own car down the street.

“Home. Let’s go?”

****

No pressure tags:

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@eclecticfashionbookszipper

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#benny borracho magalon x reader #benny magalon x reader #benny borracho magalon #benny magalon fic #den of thieves fic #den of thieves #maurice compte #female reader

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