#also uses “vous” until they tell you otherwise

[electricboogaloosstuff]

I see a lot of people saying "french people are so rude". Here's what I think of this as a french :

- first of all, parisian people, especially customer service people, don't count. They are rude even from a french standard. You're not really ordering a coffee in Paris if the server doesn't make you feel like an idiot.

- second, swear words have not the same weight here. Some region will even use them almost as a punctuation. Not rude.

- third, we follow a bunch of rules that we do not disclose to tourists and take it as a personnal offense if you don't follow them. Yes, like mystical fae. Yes, we assume that you know them. So, from our point of view, YOU are rude.

- fourth, we tend to prefer honesty to people pleasing, and we also tend to not give informations about our refusal if we don't want or can't do something. Not rude.

[sainamoonshine]

Thank you for this response but I do not think you understand any of the points I made.

1. I never assumed I had the One True Reading as I literally began this post with “unpopular opinion”

2. I like your supposed worldbuilding in which the corporation rim would have somehow come up with a special neopronoun for bots, but I let’s be real they would not have done that. The french equivalent of the de-humanizing “it” IS the singular masculine. Like no joke functionally this is how that word functions in the language, it is BOTH the masculine pronoun AND the undefined default “I don’t know what gender to use so I will use the most basic pronoun” instead. Just as english translates both “vous” and “tu”, two vastly different concepts, into “you”, a solid argument can be made that french translates both “it” and “he” into “il”. Is it profoundly frustrating? Yeah! Has it been the cause for much arguing and attempts at reforms and change from various communities, such as feminists and queer people? Also yeah! Would that be the shitty way that the corporation rim would dehumanize its constructs without thinking about it much? I mean, in my opinion, absolutely yes.

3. You are using a scene from the book in which MB refuses to pick pronouns… to argue that it actually canonically would pick them?? Literally even if we go with a version of the story where the worldbuilding includes a specific neopronouns for bots, that is like… that’s what exists in the english text. And MB didn’t write down “it/its”, it wrote “Null”. In which way is that not congruent with my assessment that MB’s canon gender is “UGH”????

4. You are conflicting grammatical gender with neopronouns. These are different things. The books showcase a universe in which neopronouns are accepted and currently used, and I could see the french version of that. However, a universe in which grammatical gender has been removed from language entirely is a different thing, as the second one would be a completely different language down to the building blocks. Once again, grammatical gender and human gender are not the same concepts even if they use the same words. There have been many efforts to remove gendered language when speaking about people, usually either by adding ugly additions (ex: les étudiant(e)s) or by restructuring sentences to avoid using pronouns, but no such attempt has been made to avoid using grammatical gender towards objects. Any interpretation of the text in which MB is considered an object -> it gets grammatical gender applied to it idk what to tell you

Also: “MB is unified with its class by a pronoun that creates a space for artificial intelligence” lmao no it isn’t.

it’s never out of its depth with a bot until fugitive telemetry did you forget Miki???

MB starts the book associating with NO ONE. It is condescending to bots. It’s super prejudiced against comfort units. It’s got a complicated relationship with humans, and it is wary of other secunits. Let’s remember that it started out calling ALL secunits “murderbots”, it wasn’t its name for itself, it was its name for its category of construct. (It was also its name for itself but in a far more undefined way than what humans would have come up with).

Anyway look, I think we just straight up didn’t read the same books so maybe we should end it here. If you have at any point interpreted that MB feels related or belonging or fitting in with bots, or that it would voluntarity make a choice about its identity and communicate that choice, via language or otherwise, without being forced, like right off the bat we are having a core disagreement abt its characterization.

My unpopular opinion is that in languages with grammatical gender like french, it does make sense for Murderbot to be referred to by whatever pronoun is usually used for robots or constructs. (In french, therefore, grammatical masculine.) Because there are no traditional « it » pronouns in these languages for objects, and while there are neo-pronouns, they are things one must choose for themselves. Do you honestly think MB actually spent time thinking about its pronouns?! No it didn’t. On forms it picks « non-applicable ». When people ask it what pronouns they should use, its honest opinion is « why do you even need to talk about me. Just don’t fucking do that. Don’t think about me either. Just fucking stop perceiving me altogether! »

Thinking about what pronouns to use probably makes it way more uncomfortable than letting people call it what they’ve already been calling it. Making a conscious choice about its identity? And telling other people about it??? No thanks bye, it’s just gonna walk into the ocean now, see you never.

Lbr it probably thinks the only bots that get fancy pronouns are comfort units, and the pronouns are probably shoved into them by humans same as everything else. MB would meet a bot using a neopronoun and it would wish it could barf. Because in a language like french, he/him and she/her, when applied to objects, ARE fulfilling the function of the english « it ». Nobody is saying the table is a woman or related to feminity in any way outside of stand-up comedy; when it comes to objects grammatical gender really has fuckall to do with human gender even if we use the same words. Even animal species names have grammatical gender and everyone gets that there are male and female turtles even if the word « turtle » is a female word, it’s not that confusing.

(I know this is strange when your language has different pronouns for people and for objects, but understand that english uses the same word to indicate if I’m addressing one or many people, and that is confusing to me.)

TL;DR; stop harassing international fans for not getting the correct MB pronoun in english right off the bat. Yes in english calling it « he » or « her » or « them » is upsetting because it’s projecting an identity unto it. But same goes for trying to get a foreign language translation to use a pronoun intended to express or showcase an identity (or even a lack of one!). Murderbot has not thought about it this hard, refuses to think about it this hard -> and that is its only canon accurate gender identity.

[cuethetommo]

LOUIS VEEPS SHOW TICKETS

CURRENT NUMBERS:

11 Dec 2020 6:02pm PST: 478 on list, up to 249 have tickets (242 bought by 120 people)

UPDATE: I will be coordinating until 7:30 am PST. If you want to support a ticket, do it before then. The list will close then. I am going to bed tonight (I will be up early in the morning), do not worry that you don’t have a response from me. I will be emailing folks who don’t get tickets just after 8:00 am PST, so watch for that email.

Ok friends, I’m going to put all of this in one post for the moment.

I am doing two things:

Creating a list of folks who want a ticket to Louis’ show, but cannot afford it.

Collecting & Distributing $$ from folks for tickets (or matchmaking for folks who won’t want to transfer $$).

IF YOU NEED A TICKET:

You do not need to prove your worth or hardship. I’m assuming if you’re coming to me that there is a need. You do not need to prove anything to me. Nor do I think anything other than we live in a shit world ruled by capitalism and that’s why you can’t afford a ticket.

Send me a MESSAGE. Either via my ask box or chat. DO NOT POST A REPLY TO THIS POST.

Send your VEEPS EMAIL and Password.

I will add you to my list and send you a message that says I did.

Once someone buys your ticket, I’ll let you know.

I make NO PROMISES. I cannot control if folks donate. And it is first come first served.

SEE ALSO: this post about being safe on the internet.

Folks do not need to be following me to be added but I will not accept anonymous submissions. Also, I will no longer coordinate tickets for folks who have me blocked (there are a couple who messaged then blocked me and that just feels shitty).

IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO FUND A TICKET:

Message me and I’ll give you a set of credentials. You login to VEEPS, pay for a ticket, remove your credit card, and sign out. You can message the person you supported, or I’ll just tell them they were anonymously gifted a ticket. <- this way does not require that you be in the US or give a stranger $$.

Venmo me at CueTheTommo. Tickets are $20.70 each. If you include your URL, I’ll tell the person who supported them. If you don’t, I’ll assume you want to remain anonymous. I’ll tell you (on Venmo) who you supported and otherwise forget your name.

Most folks support one ticket for someone else and that may be the most beautiful thing of all.

---

I asked some friends to translate for me. THANK YOU FOR YOUR HELP! All of you who speak more than one language are the real legends. (These are the most common ones I’ve seen, but I am open to others.)

Translated by @believeinlarrysupremacy​

Certo, gente. Eu vou pôr tudo isso em uma só postagem por enquanto. Estou fazendo duas coisas: 

 Criando uma lista de pessoas que querem um ingresso para o show do Louis, mas não podem pagar. 

Coletando e utilizando o dinheiro de outras pessoas para os ingressos do show (ou combinando entre duas pessoas para aqueles que não se sentem confortáveis transferindo o dinheiro diretamente). 

SE VOCÊ PRECISA DE UM INGRESSO: 

Você não precisa provar que não tem dinheiro ou que está passando por uma situação financeira complicada. Eu suponho que, se você veio até mim, é porque foi realmente necessário. Você não precisa me provar nada. Só penso que vivemos em um mundo difícil governado pelo capitalismo e é por isso que muitos não podem pagar por um ingresso. 

Me envie uma MENSAGEM. Pode ser pelo ask box ou pelo chat. NÃO FAÇA ISSO RESPONDENDO A ESSA POSTAGEM.  

Me envie seu E-MAIL e sua senha do VEEPS. 

Eu irei te colocar na minha lista (de pessoas que precisam de ingresso) e te mandar uma mensagem confirmando isso. 

Assim que alguém comprar seu ingresso, vou te avisar. 

NÃO ESTOU PROMETENDO NADA. Não posso controlar se as pessoas doam ou não. Será por ordem de chegada, ou seja, quem falou comigo primeiro, receberá o ingresso primeiro. 

Por favor, se informe sobre como se manter seguro na internet. 

Não precisa estar me seguindo para ser adicionado na lista, porém não vou aceitar pedidos anônimos. Também não irei mais disponibilizar ingressos para aqueles que tenham me bloqueado (algumas pessoas me mandaram mensagem e, em seguida, me bloquearam e isso foi péssimo). 

SE VOCÊ GOSTARIA DE FINACIAR UM INGRESSO: 

Me mande uma mensagem e eu te enviarei os dados de uma conta. Você faz o login no VEEPS (com esses dados), paga pelo ingresso, remove os dados do seu cartão de crédito quando finalizar a compra e sai da conta (sign out). Você pode mandar uma mensagem para a pessoa que você ajudou ou eu digo que alguém a presenteou anonimamente. Dessa forma, não é necessário estar/morar nos Estados Unidos ou dar dinheiro a alguém que não conheça.

Translated by @solouncolorynotusojos​ 

Bueno gente, pondré esta información en un solo post por el momento. Estoy hacienda dos cosas: 

Creando una lista de gente que quiere un ticket para el concierto de Louis pero no puede pagarlo.

Juntando y Distribuyendo dinero de otra gente para comprar tickets para quien todavía no tiene (o encontrándole un match a la gente que no se siente cómoda transfiriendo dinero $$) 

SI NECESITAS UN TICKET:

No necesitas probar que no tienes dinero o que estas pasando una situación difícil. Estoy asumiendo que si estas recurriendo a esto, es porque de verdad lo necesitas. No necesitas probarme nada a mí. Solo pienso que vivimos en un mundo de porquería gobernado por el capitalismo y esto es lo que hace que no puedas comprar un ticket. 

Envíame un MENSAJE. Por medio de mi ask box o por chat. NO LO HAGAS RESPONDIENDO A ESTE POST. 

Envíame tu VEEPS EMAIL y contraseña. 

Te voy a agregar a mi lista (de gente que necesita tickets) y enviarte un mensaje con una confirmación de que te he agregado. 

Te voy a avisar una vez que alguien compre tu ticket. 

NO HAGO PROMESAS. Yo no controlo si la gente dona o no. Y la lista funciona para que quienes me pidieron un ticket primero, sean los primeros a los que se les done un ticket. 

Por favor infórmate acerca de cómo mantenerte segurx usando Internet 

No necesitas estar siguiéndome para ser añadidx a la lista, pero no voy a aceptar pedidos anónimos. Tampoco voy a coordinar tickets para gente que me tiene bloqueada (Ya que hay gente que me ha mandado mensajes y luego me bloqueo, y eso no está bueno) 

SI TE GUSTARIA REGALAR/PAGAR POR UN TICKET: 

Mándame un mensaje y te voy a pasar los datos de una cuenta. Vos tenes que ingresar a VEEPS (con esos datos), pagar por un ticket, remover tu tarjeta de la cuenta una vez finalizada la transacción y luego salir (sign out) de la cuenta. Puedes enviarle un mensaje a la persona a la que ayudaste, o yo les puedo decir que alguien hizo una donación anónima. (De esta manera no es necesario que estés en Estados Unidos ni que le des dinero a unx extranx.) 

Puedes enviarme (VENMO) el dinero a CueTheTommo. Los tickets cuestan $$20.70 (USD) cada uno. Si incluis tu URL le voy a decir a quien se beneficie con tu ticket, quien se lo está dando. Si no me pasas tu URL, voy a asumir que quieres permanecer anonimx. Te voy a decir (en VENMO) a quien has ayudado y luego olvidarme del asunto.

Translated by @cathuniverse​

Ok, Je vais mettre le tout dans un post pour le moment.

J’ai fait deux choses:

Une liste de gens qui veulent un ticket mais qui ne peuvent pas se le payer.

Reçoit et redistribue de l’argent de gens qui on donner pour aider à acheter des tickets. ( ou mettre en contact deux personne pour les gens qui ne veulent pas envoyer directement de l’argent). 

Si vous avez besoin d’un ticket:

Vous n’avez pas besoin de prouver votre situation financière. J’assume que si vous me contactez c’est qu’il y a un besoin. Vous n’avez rien à démontrer ni est-ce-que je pense autre chose que l’on vit dans un monde difficile en ce moment qui est gouverné par le capitalisme et c’est pour ca que vous ne pouvez payer votre ticket. 

Envoyez moi un MESSAGE. Par ma Ask Box ou le chat. Ne postez pas une reply a ce post. 

Envoyez moi votre VEEPS email et votre mot de passe

Je vais vous ajouter à ma liste et vous envoyez un message vous confirmant que c’est fait

Quand quelqu’un achète votre billet, je vais vous avertir..

Je ne fait AUCUNE PROMESSE. Je ne peux pas contrôler si les gens font des dons. C'est le premier arrivé premier servi. 

VOIR AUSSI: ce post a propos d'être sécuritaire sur internet.

SI VOUS VOULEZ CONTRIBUER FINANCIÈREMENT: 

Si vous êtes à l'extérieur des Etats-Unis, je vous envoie une combinaison d’un identifiant VEEPS et vous pouvez vous connecter, acheter le billet pour quelqu’un puis supprimer vos informations de carte de crédit.

La plupart des gens font le don d' un seul billet pour quelqu’un d’autre et c’est possiblement la plus belle chose a voir.

Translated by @they-feel-the-same​

Ok, Freunde, für den Moment fasse ich alles in einem Post zusammen. 

Ich werde zwei Dinge tun:

Eine Liste von Leuten erstellen, die ein Ticket für Louis‘ Show möchten, es sich aber nicht leisten können.

Geld für Tickets sammeln und verteilen (oder matchmaking für Leute, die kein Geld überweisen wollen. 

Wenn du ein Ticket brauchst: 

Du musst mir nicht beweisen, dass du es dir finanziell nicht leisten kannst ein Ticket zu kaufen. Wenn du dich bei mir meldest, gehe ich davon aus, dass ein Bedarf besteht. Du musst mir absolut nichts beweisen. Ich werde auch nichts anderes denken, als dass wir in einer beschissenen Welt leben, die von Kapitalismus regiert wird, und das der Grund ist, wieso du dir kein Ticket leisten kannst. 

Schicke mir eine Nachricht. Entweder über die Ask Box oder im Chat. ANTWORTE NICHT AUF DIESEN POST! 

Schicke mir deine VEEPS Daten. Email und Passwort. 

Ich werde dich zu meiner Liste hinzufügen und dir per Nachträglich Bescheid geben, dass du draufstehst. 

Sobald jemand ein Ticket für dich kauft lasse ich es dich wissen.

Ich mache KEINE VERSPRECHUNGEN. Ich habe keine Kontrolle darüber ob die Leute spenden. Wer zuerst kommt, mahlt zuerst.

Beachte bitte zu deiner eigenen Sicherheit folgende Punkte: benutze eine Fandom Email-Adresse, nicht deine private. Entferne persönliche Details aus deinem VEEPS Profil. Ändere dein Passwort sobald du dein Ticket erhalten hast. 

Ihr müsst mir nicht folgen, um zu der Liste hinzugefügt zu werden, aber ich werde keine anonymen Anfragen annehmen. Ausserdem koordiniere ich keine Tickets mehr für diejenigen, die mich blockiert haben (es gibt ein paar Leute, die mir geschrieben und mich dann blockiert haben und das fühlt sich einfach scheisse an). 

Wenn du ein Ticket sponsern möchtest:

Schreib mir eine Nachricht und ich leite dir die Daten einer Person auf der Liste weiter. Du loggst dich bei VEEPS ein, bezahlst das Ticket, entfernst deine Kreditkarte und loggst dich wieder aus. Du kannst dann entweder der gesponserten Person direkt eine Nachricht schreiben und ihr mitteilen, dass du ihr Ticket gekauft hast, oder ich melde mich bei der betreffenden Person und lasse sie wissen, dass jemand anonym ein Ticket gespendet hat. <– auf diese Weise ist ein Wohnsitz in den USA nicht notwendig und du brauchst niemandem Geld zu überweisen. 

So viele Leute sponsern ein Ticket für jemanden, was einfach wundervoll ist.

[mrsalwayswrite]

Safe (Eugene Roe x Reader)

Based on this post by @problematicfavesareproblematic​ because its too cute and I can’t help myself apparently. 

This is also my first Eugene Roe fic!! Yay!

All translations are via Google...someone please tell me if they are wrong! 

Warnings: angst? fluff? 

Words:1500

Tag list: @happyveday​ @evelynshelby​ @sydney-m​

<gif not mine, thanks Pinterest>

 "Get everyone in the trucks! Go! Go!" Winters commanded his men, walking down the line of waiting vehicles. 

 Doc Roe looked up from wrapping a bandage around a man's shoulder. He watched the men scurry around like ants after a child kicked their home in childish glee. 

 Operation Market Garden was collapsing around them. Since learning about the operation, while the other men cheered at the idea of Berlin by Christmas, Roe felt nauseous. Something about the operation did not sit well with him. Call it intuition or a sixth sense, he just knew it could not be that simple. Before they dropped into Holland, he had convinced all the medics he knew to bring extra bandages and morphine, anything they could get their hands on. He hoped it would be enough. 

 "Can you get up?"

 The Private grimaced, face pale. "Thank you, Doc. I'll find a seat myself."

 "We'll find you some morphine at the aid station." Roe nodded at the Private before starting along the line of trucks, eyes and ears open for the call of a medic. 

 He caught sight of Spina helping a limping Private onto a truck bed before climbing in himself to continue administering aid. As he continued, he checked people off his mental list. He saw Shifty, Moore, Liebgott, Ramirez, Tanner, Talbert...more and more raced back to the trucks, some with blood tainting their skin and uniforms. He would have to check on them later. 

 There was one face in particular he had not seen yet. 

 The further he walked, dodging men retreating, the more his heart pounded in his ears. She was supposed to be in the back. She was supposed to be safe. 

 "Non, non, non, où es-tu?" He whispered to himself, panic creeping under his skin. (No, no, no, where are you?)

Ever since she had been wounded in Carentan, Winters had kept her from the front lines unless absolutely necessary. Usually, she was holed up somewhere and watching the men's backs, using her sniper skills. Shifty may be their sniper on the ground, but she was their sniper from above. Their guardian angel. If she had been sent to assist...the situation was worse than Roe had previously thought. 

 Sometime between Toccoa and Aldbourne, he something shifted between them. He could not pinpoint an exact moment. It was somewhere in the lingering touches, the soft smiles exchanged, the comforting words and stories to cheer one another up...somehow, he had fallen in love. Now he needed her just as much as air. She was his lighthouse, his beacon of hope. She had to be safe. 

 Glancing to his left, he headed towards the truck with what looked like most of her platoon in it. "Luz! You seen y/n?"

 Luz looked down at him from his seat. "No, Doc. Last I saw she was protecting the retreat." Remorse and concern filled his eyes as he answered. They both knew what that meant. She would be the last to evacuate, the last to safety, the one most likely left behind. 

 Roe started running. 

 "Merde." He swore, eyes darting everywhere for a sign she was nearby, that she was alright. She had to be. It was that loyalty that he both loved and hated in her, how she would make sure "her boys" were safe, protecting their backs and lives, and in the process, be willing to sacrifice her own. 

 "Y/n! Y/n!" He began calling out in desperation. Ignoring the stares of some of the men, he wrestled internally with his own panic. His cries bordered on hysterical at this point. 

 They had never spoken those three little words to each other. Never put a name to what existed between them. They just were whatever the other one needed. Over the past two years, that grew until they were each other's world. How they sought each other out. How in a group, they always looked for the other first before anyone else. The quiet nights they cried together. 

 "Richardson! Is y/n with you?" 

 The man glanced around the back of the truck that he was waiting to jump into. "No, Doc. She missing?"

 Roe did not wait to reply. He kept moving. He had to. Otherwise the growing terror in his mind would consume him. "S’ll vous plaît, Que Dieu la laisse être en sécurité. S'il vous plaît."  (Please, God let her be safe. Please.)

 "Doc! Over here!" 

 He zeroed in on Toye's call at the last truck. Pushing anyone who got in his way, he raced to where Toye stood watching. Once Toye noticed him coming, he sat back down, turning back to the person sitting next to him. 

 Rounding the side, he felt his heart and mind restart as he saw her. She sat next to Toye and some other Private on the uncomfortable wooden bench, her beloved rifle in her lap. As if sensing him, she looked up to meet his gaze. A soft smile -his smile- touched her lips. The panic and terror threatening him vanished like a mist in the wind. 

 "Mon amour." He breathed out, relief flooding him. There was dirt smeared on one side of her face and a small cut on her chin. Otherwise she appeared fine, even if her clothes looked disheveled and dirty beyond saving. She was alive. (My love.) 

 Without a further word, he jumped up into the truck and knelt down in front of her. "Hey, you." He held her face in his hands, gazing into her eyes for a long moment before pressing their foreheads together. 

 "Hey you." She whispered back, her hands cupping his own face. He could taste her breath on his lips. "I'm alright, Gene. I promise."

 Leaning back, he ran a hand through her hair, wondering what happened to her helmet. Then he felt something wet and sticky on his fingers. Pulling his hand back, he saw blood on it...her blood. 

 Immediately he went into overbearing doctor mode. 

 "What happened?" He demanded, turning her head to the side and trying to find where the bleeding stemmed from. 

 "I'm fine."

 He glared at her before resuming his inspection. Carding his fingers through her hair for an extra second, he began inspecting underneath, silently praying it was minimal. He could not lose her. There was nothing gushing so that was a good sign. She still seemed coherent, her eyes were not dilated, other good signs. 

 "I just hit my head a little on a brick wall when one of those explosions went off. It's not a big deal."

 "Doll, shut up and let the man look you over." Toye drawled from beside her, watching the two in amusement. 

 Roe rolled his eyes as she stuck her tongue out at Toye. She winced when he touched a particular spot on the side of her head, hair matted with blood. After a moment, he leaned back on his knees and began digging through his medic bag. 

 "There’s a laceration but it doesn't look deep. You're lucky." He wrapped a bandage around the cut and her head to hold it there. Suppressing a chuckle, he continued to wrap it as she narrowed her eyes at him. She hated being fussed over. In his opinion, she could deal with it. She needed to get better...for both of their sakes. 

 The truck suddenly lurched, beginning its escape from Holland and the disastrous mission. 

 Roe shoved the Private next to her over, ignoring his protest, and slipped to her other side. Quietly he took her hand in his as his eyes scanned the others. He had been so focused on her; he did not even think about if any of the other men in the truck were injured. Luckily none were. 

 "I'm sorry I scared you. I had to help." She murmured, voice barely above the rumble of the trucks. 

 He sighed, squeezing her hand then pulled her closer into his side. "I know, mon amour, I know." He looked down, meeting those eyes he adored. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

 She laid her head on his shoulder. "No, but you can't protect me from everything. This is war."

 "I can try. Tu es tout pour moi. J’ai besoin de toi à mes côtés. Toujours. Je promets après cette guerre de continuer à vous aimer et à vous chérir comme vous le méritez." The words poured forth, needing to be said, needing to be spoken aloud, even if just for his own sake. Though he meant them with all his heart. (You are everything to me. I need you by my side. Always. I promise after this war to continue to love and cherish you as you deserve.)

 "Gene, you know I don't speak French. It's not fair cause I wanna know what you're saying."

 "I'll teach you, y/n. I promise." He could not help but press a chaste kiss to the top of her head as they bounced along the road.

 Looking at the blue sky and clouds above, he prayed he would be able to fulfill both of his promises to her, that they would both make it through this war. Most of all, he prayed for her to be safe, even at the expense of his own life. 

[jcmorrigan]

more Blakeworther headcanons!! i want you to go ham with em too!! :D

Go ham, huh? So...I probably went the opposite direction of what you wanted or expected. But I just read “Our Coffin Is a Twin-Sized Bed” (Blakeworth fic, REALLY ANGSTY) and I loved it but it also made me very depressed. Anyway, it put the idea of CHARACTER DEATH in my head, and so I’m like...what if you took Vincent, Victor, and Albert, and you have an AU where each one of them dies, and how would the other two react?

Except I want to have my cake and eat it too. That prompt on its own is a bit...disheartening. So I had to treat myself by saying that each time, the death was actually a fakeout, and whoever “died” turns up just fine later. Which made for extra reunion headcanons!

Get ready for: the one where each one of them “dies” and the other two grieve in their own special way, only for the “dead” to have been fine the whole time

VINCENT

·      They were setting up bombs in a facility owned by Myers, hoping to bring down one of the bigwigs – possibly Monseiur M himself – in the explosion. Albert and Victor finished their rounds, then came back outside to wait for Vincent. Vincent radioed that he was almost finished – and then the whole building went up in smoke.

·      It took Victor and Albert a few minutes to process what had happened. He…he had to have gotten out, right? There’s no way Vincent would die on this mission.

·      But he doesn’t show up.

·      Watching the conflagration, agape and wide-eyed, Victor and Albert reach out to draw each other closer, hoping it just isn’t what it looks like.

·      Eventually, there are sirens, and they have to escape back to the mansion.

·      Albert finds the nearest piece of furniture he can sit on, sinks down, and starts sobbing. It doesn’t help that this is HIS house they’re living in, this is HIS chair Albert’s crying on, and he’s not even here.

·      I’m not actually sure if Victor’s eyes have tear ducts, but he is similarly distraught. He sits down beside Albert, trying to reassure him, “We’ll be okay. He’d want us to keep going. We’ll…we’ll be fine…”

·      His voice cracks. He can’t deal with this. Now he’s holding onto Albert not only for the sake of comforting him but of getting comforted.

·      They rattle around Vincent’s house for the next few days, utterly depressed. Everywhere they go, every corner they turn, they’re reminded of the spaces where he’s not.

·      Albert is caught talking to himself – and berating himself in a bad imitation of Vincent in order to simulate their arguments. Victor can only listen for so long before he’s too emotional and has to leave.

·      “You promised me you wouldn’t do this,” Victor says as he kneads a bedsheet between his fingers.

·      Eventually, the two of them hold a small service. They construct Vincent a grave out back in the yard. Each says a few words –

·      Victor: “I still don’t regret it. Not a day.”

·      Albert: “If you think I wanted to win our rivalry this way…you were wrong. I’d give anything to have you back.”

·      When behind them they suddenly hear “If I’d’ve known you two would get this morose, I wouldn’t have bothered to plant those explosives in the first place.”

·      They turn around, and…he’s here. Vincent’s here, looking quite grumpy.

·      “I thought it would be fairly obvious that I wasn’t dead. You two really went all out on this?”

·      Albert: “You’re not an exact replica with Vincent’s memories, are you? Actually, I have no problem if you’re an exact replica with Vincent’s memories.”

·      Victor and Albert run to him, embrace him tightly. Vincent’s rolling his eyes because these idiots got themselves worked up for nothing – but he’s lying if he says he isn’t really, really touched by how much they missed him. He’ll have to be careful not to make them worry in the future.

 VICTOR

·      Assassins have the mansion surrounded. Victor urges Albert and Vincent to go on ahead without him. He’ll catch up. But first he has to buy them time.

·      Albert and Vincent head to a motel three towns over – only to hear that the mansion was cleared out, then raided by authorities, and after the cyborgs were put down, no living people remained in the house.

·      “No,” Vincent says. “He’s fine. He’s FINE.” And he won’t hear otherwise.

·      Not even after a week.

·      Albert is starting to grieve, but Vincent keeps yelling at him, “STOP! HE ISN’T GONE! YOU’RE BEING AN IDIOT!”

·      Vincent is angrier than Albert has ever seen him in his whole life. The more days go by that Victor hasn’t turned up, the edgier Vincent’s mood gets.

·      Albert has to lock himself in the bathroom if he wants to cry it out.

·      But he also knows enough about psychology that he knows Vincent has to be dying inside. “Vincent, you need to talk about what happened.”

·      “You’re not even a real psychologist. Don’t fucking tell me what to do.”

·      At one point, it gets so bad that Vincent locks Albert out of the motel room and refuses to let him in, no matter how much noise he makes.

·      That’s when the notes start showing up. The door’s definitely locked, but Vincent finds notes around the motel room that definitely weren’t there a moment ago.

·      “I love you. ~AK” “I’m worried about you! ~AK” “Vincent, talk to me. ~AK” “I know many fates worse than death. Do you want to push me that far? ~AK” “Please, Vincent, I need you. ~AK” “Fine. Die alone. ~AK” “I take back my last note. Don’t die alone. I love you. ~AK”

·      So eventually Vincent lets him back in, and Albert suggests, one final time, to have Vincent sit through a legitimate therapy session. No Dream Eaters, no tricks, no shell game. And Vincent agrees.

·      Vincent lies down on the bed. Albert sits on a chair beside him and starts asking questions – about Victor, about the memories they had, about what Victor means to them both.

·      Vincent slowly recalls their entire history – laughing, crying, smiling. And by the end of it, he’s outright sobbing.

·      “How can someone who was such a big part of our lives be gone, Albert?”

·      And in a historical first, Albert actually lies down on the bed to cuddle Vincent, stroke his hair, and tell him “I miss him too. So much. It’s okay. Just cry.”

·      Eventually, they get a message from Winston, saying he has some important information and “cargo” to trade to them if they meet at a rendez-vous point. So they agree. Albert and Vincent head to the alley around midnight to find Winston and…a man in a black hood.

·      He throws back the hood. It’s Victor, whose metal eyes are twinkling. “Miss me?”

·      All of Vincent’s psychological work is undone; he just says “I knew you weren’t dead.” Albert, on the other hand, TACKLES Victor at unprecedented speed and pins him to the street.

·      Once Albert lets him go, Victor goes up to Vincent, and the two of them hold each other’s gaze. They kiss, briefly. That’s all they need to put closure on this.

 ALBERT

·      He doesn’t come home from a walk one night. Instead, a Dream Eater shows up and hands Vincent and Victor a letter.

·      “My beloved Victor and my frustratingly wonderful Vincent, if you are receiving this letter, it means you are not likely to see me again in this lifetime. I have run afoul of enemy forces, and, well, I’ll finally get to see what murder looks like from the other side. I want to thank you for the laughter and tears you both have given me, and for the good times and the bad. I hope you’ll remember me fondly, or at least as a memorable nuisance. With all of my love, goodbye. -Dr. Albert Gerald Krueger”

·      This is a joke, right? Victor’s convinced it’s a joke, and Vincent insists this is exactly the kind of prank Albert would find funny…

·      Until a month passes and he hasn’t come back.

·      Vincent takes a stance: “We never needed him. It was always just you and me from the start, Victor. We can return to our roots. He was always just an extra.”

·      Victor: “I know you don’t want to admit you miss him, but that was heartless, Vincent.”

·      The two of them end up fighting, sleeping on opposite sides of the mansion for days.

·      Victor tries to drink the pain away. (It happens in all three of these scenarios, actually, but this one’s plot-relevant)

·      One night, he wakes up at three and decides he’s not drunk enough. So he shuffles down to the bar and…there’s Vincent? Already drinking?

·      Victor decides to bite; “What’s all this for?”

·      Vincent turns to Victor, and Victor can now see he’s been crying for a while. “I can’t keep this up much longer, Victor. The two of us were happy before he broke in…why can’t I be happy? Why do I still miss him so much? Why can’t I just function?”

·      Ah. Now Victor knows it is definitely about Vincent not wanting to admit he misses Albert or even liked him. Because here’s Vincent just distraught without Albert.

·      Victor sits down by Vincent. Pours himself a drink. “We can’t erase him, but we can dull the memories for a night.”

·      It’s a miracle they don’t die of alcohol poisoning that night. They toast Albert’s memory, and at one point, Victor, a little out of his mind already, just poured a whole bottle of brandy on the floor in his honor.

·      Then, a couple days later, they’re trying to figure out how they’re going to break this to Taylor. They’ve avoided Taylor for so long so they didn’t have to bring this up.

·      There’s a knock on the door. Vincent gets up with trepidation, gun in hand because he’s not sure who it’ll be. Victor follows, ready to throw down.

·      The door swings open…

·      Albert: “I apologize. I didn’t think I’d be gone that long.” And he’s smiling like he’s just a couple hours late, not a whole month and change in which the other two thought he was dead. “What did I miss?”

·      There’s a silence as Victor and Vincent gape. Then Victor breaks into a wide smile; “Alb – “

·      Vincent DECKS ALBERT IN THE FACE.

·      Albert, on the ground, says “I deserved that.”

·      Vincent: “How could you do that to me? How could you tear me apart? How could you make me so empty inside over someone like YOU? How could you make it hurt so badly to love you?”

·      He’s getting rather emotional, a tear or two falling, and Albert realizes that Vincent actually…missed him. And the immense potential for blackmail this will bring.

·      Victor steps forward to help him up off the ground. Pulls Albert into a too-tight hug in the process. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

·      Then they head inside because Albert kinda needs an ice pack for the eye Vincent hit now.

[randomoranges]

you wouldn’t know this is teacher au but it’s teacher au

there’s just something about friday nights and being so friggin tired lamao

Sleep-Over

 Étienne comes to and opens bleary eyes. He takes a moment to figure out his setting and then slowly remembers that it had been Friday night date night, Edward had invited him over for dinner and then a movie at home, since they were both too tired for anything more exciting. It had been nice. An easy evening, good food, good company and the first part of the movie had been nice; sitting on the couch with Edward, tucked in close to him, the heat of his body welcoming and comforting.

 He has no recollection of what had happened to the rest of the movie.

  He realises he’s fallen asleep, tucked away in the folds of Edward’s arms and the blanket his boyfriend had graciously provided him for his legs. He blinks and pulls his arm out from underneath Edward’s own and squints at his watch. It’s well past one in the morning and he should really get home.

 He doesn’t want to be rude and wake Edward up, who looks far too comfortable splayed out on the couch, but he also doesn’t to leave without letting him know. His inner conundrum is solved rather quickly, when Edward wakes up as well, disrupted by the absence of Étienne’s body.

 “Some movie, eh?” Edward jokes, his voice sleep soft and this side of husky that quietly thrills Étienne.  

 He chuckles and folds the blanket, leaving it on the arm of the couch, “It was a very gripping tale, please, it’s not my fault you fell asleep.”

 Edward quirks an eyebrow at him, knowing full well that he was asleep as well and they share a laugh over the situation. “Guess we were more tired than I thought.”

 “I guess we can always try and watch the movie another time.” Étienne takes out his phone and starts tapping away at it, before he brings it up to his ear, “Oui bonsoir, ça s’rait pour un taxi, s’il-vous-plait?”

 “What are you doing?” Edward asks, frown appearing on his face.

 “Calling a cab,” Étienne starts, pulling the phone away from his ear, “It’s too late for the bus and I’m not asking you to drive me home at this time. We’re both tired.” He says, matter-of-factly, as though it’s the most logical thing in the world.

 Edward takes the phone away from him, tells the operator on the other side that there’s been a mistake and then hangs up, “Just stay here,” He hands the phone back, “You’re tired too.”

 They haven’t stayed over at one another’s yet. The relationship is still rather new and Edward has asked to take it a little slow, since he’s still been getting over his breakup. Étienne has been more than happy to follow his pace, glad to be able to call Edward his boyfriend.

 “I don’t want to impose,” He says, being polite, even though the idea of slipping under warm covers and not having to wait until he gets home sounds terribly appealing. That and the fact that he wouldn’t mind spending the night with his boyfriend, even if all they do is sleep.

 “Nonsense, come on,” Edward takes his hand and leads him towards the back of the apartment, where the bedrooms are, “I’d offer you the guestroom, but I don’t feel like pulling the sofa-bed up and getting it ready. D’you mind if we share? Otherwise, you can have the room and I’ll go back to the couch.”

 He’s touched that Edward would take over the couch, but Étienne really doesn’t mind the idea of sharing. It’s intimate. It’s nice. And he’s been looking forward to such an occasion.

 “As long are you’re alright with it, I’m fine, but fair warning – I’m a cuddler.”

 Edward laughs, a soft raspy thing, and enters his bedroom, Étienne following behind.

 “Lemme get you some things then.”

 Étienne enters Edward’s bedroom for the first time as a guest and takes in the cozy lighting and atmosphere of the room. There are knick-knacks and mementos on the dresser, a few framed photos on the wall, a chair with clean laundry in a corner and a lovely looking plant in the other, by the window. It’s very much Edward; in its decor, the colours and the overall feel of the room and Étienne feels settled as he waits for Edward to get him a set of pyjamas to wear.

 “Can I borrow the sweater on the bed?” He asks of the grey sweater, with the logo of the University of Alberta stitched in rainbow colours.

 Edward stops foraging in his closet and turns to look at the sweater in question, “Sure? I mean, I was wearing it at home over the week – so it’s clean, but it’s been worn.”

 “Then it’s perfect.” Étienne grins as Edward hands him over the sweater and a pair of joggers he can sleep in.

 Edward then fetches a spare unused toothbrush from the washroom and leaves him to change.

 Étienne makes a quick change of his clothes and brings the sweater to his face to get a good whiff of it. It’s a little big on him, which is perfect, and he feels as though he’s enveloped in one of Edward’s hugs. It’s warm and safe and comfortable and grounds him just right. The sweater smells exactly like Edward; from his detergent to his aftershave and to the way he simply smells. He loves it and the moment he’s done with the washroom, he lets Edward use it and returns to the bedroom to wait for him.

 He takes the time Edward is away to take in his surroundings properly, without Edward potentially thinking that he’s weird. For starters, the bed is comfortable and the pillow is soft. He furrows his face in it and once more, the smell of it is welcoming. There’s a hint of Edward’s shampoo and body wash, diluted with the laundry detergent and the overall scent of the room.  He feels like he’s back on the couch, nestled close to his boyfriend and it’s a lovely thought. It’s a sensation he can easily get used to and one he wouldn’t mind indulging in over and over again.

 He pulls the blankets over him, endeared at the extra one Edward has left at the foot of the bed on his side, knowing full well how cold he can get, and listens to the sounds of the apartment. He’s somewhat aware of the footfall of Edward coming back to the room, and he spares him a glance as he settles in himself, slipping in besides him.

 He likes the sight; of Edward in his pyjamas (some washed out t-shirt and a pair of floppy shorts), coming to join him in bed. It’s so very domestic, yet it feels right.

 He grins to himself and truth to form, snuggles up to Edward’s side, without even realising it.

 “Sorry,” He says, “Force of habit,” He makes to give Edward some space, but Edward pulls him back and lets him get comfortable.

 “It’s fine; I don’t mind.”

 Étienne offers him a small smile and a quick peck to his lips, before he settles down, using the crook of the junction of his shoulder and the side of his chest as a perfect place to pillow his head. “’Night,” He mumbles, already lulled back into sleep by the sound of his boyfriend’s beating heart and the weight of his arm loose around his shoulders. He distantly hears Edward reply, but his thoughts are already going fuzzy with scenes of previous first nights with past significant others. One thing that sticks out in contrast to those is how easy this feels and how unstilted it all is, as though they’ve both done this together dozens of times already. Maybe it has to do with the fact that they’re both mostly asleep. Maybe this is just different. He doesn’t care. Edward’s weight is solid against him and with that thought in mind, he drifts off.

 FIN

[ibtk]

Book Review: THE ANIMALS IN THAT COUNTRY by Laura Jean McKay (2020)

(Full disclosure: I received a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review through Edelweiss and Library Thing's Early Reviewers program. Content warning for violence, including that against animals. Caution: this review contains a spoiler in the form of an excerpt.)

'Well, I’ve got a secret for you, Miss Kimberly Russo.' She digs her sharp little nails into my skin. ‘What is it?’ ‘This flu means people can talk to animals.’ Her head shoots up. ‘I want the flu, Granny. Don’t you?’ ‘Grown-ups don’t wish they had diseases, and neither should you.’ ‘But don’t you?’ Outside, Wallamina and Princess Pie are nose and beak to the sliding door, trying to press their way through. Eyes shining. ‘Course I bloody do.’

I can see the wild in her. She looks and acts like any dog. Plays, wags, stares into my eyes with her baby browns; does chasey, catch, begs for biscuits. Then the dusk comes and she lifts her neck and howls the saddest song in all the world, and there’s that wild. Dingo, owl, night thing — that sound is a warning. Loneliest you’ll hear. Wraps around your face, your sleep, your dreams. She’s saying: ‘Hey, hey. There’s something coming.’ The rangers here are always telling me, don’t talk like that. They say how dingoes are just establishing territory, checking on their pack. Dingo admin. But stand on the hot road that runs from the gift shop to the enclosures, and listen to the dingo in her cage call out to the packs on the other side of the fence. Tell me that’s not special. Tell me she doesn’t know something about the world that you and me haven’t ever thought of.

Jean Bennett isn't you're typical grandma - unless you're picturing Gemma Teller Morrow, that is. Jean drinks, smokes, swears, and sleeps around, usually all at the same time, and occasionally with her gay and committed coworker, Andy. She's got a tiger tattooed on her boob, and a dingo named Sue imprinted on her heart.

A lowly guide who dreams of becoming a ranger, Jean works at an Australian wildlife park, run by her son's ex-girlfriend Angela and owned by Angela's father. Jean and her husband Graham landed there years ago, after bouncing around the world for a while. Eventually Graham left Jean to shack up with another woman; their only child, Lee, jumped ship too, but not before hooking up with - and impregnating - Angela. Now Ange mostly keeps Jean around for the free child care (and maybe also because Ange feels sorry for her).

As for Jean, she stays stuck in this weird, awkward morass for her granddaughter Kimberley - one of the few people she can tolerate, let alone love. Jean prefers animals of the nonhuman variety, and the Park's residents/captives are her found family. She has a special place in her cockles for Sue, a dingo mix who she helped rescue as a wee little pup.

Jean's precarious life is already teetering on the edge of chaos when THE FLU arrives - first in southern Australia, then at the Park's gates, thanks to none other than an infected Lee, as charming as he is irresponsible.

Zoanthropathy (from Greek: zóo, “animal”, anthroponis, “human”, pathy, “disorder”), aka zooflu, otherwise known as "the talking animal disease," allow humans to understand and communicate with other animals:

'The strain known as zoanthropathy affects cognition in humans, and it is believed that enhanced communication between humans and nonhuman animals is possible. Zoanthropathy is hosted and spread by humans. [...] The disease is very high in morbidity and very low in mortality. Infected humans appear able to communicate (encode) and translate (decode) previously unrecognisable non-verbal communications via major senses such as sight, smell, taste, touch, and sound with nonhuman animals.'

When Lee runs off with Kimberley - to commune with the whales on the southern coast - Jean embarks on a cross-country road trip to find them. Riding shotgun is Sue, whose keen nose points the way to Tomorrow (Tomorrow being Sue's conceptualization of Kimberley. Jean is Yesterday, and Lee is Never There. Scathing, yet accurate.)

As with most potentially animal-friendly tales, I was equally nervous and excited to dive into THE ANIMALS IN THAT COUNTRY. As it is, the book both thrilled and disappointed me; I almost feel like it deserves two separate ratings, one for the idea and actualization of the dystopian zooflu future - which is breathtaking - and another for the human-centered plot that propels the audience's journey into this world - which is decidedly less so.

Let's start with the zooflu. It seems like it would be awesome to be able to talk to animals, right? Think again. I mean, really turn the idea over in your head, sit with the superpower, and try to envision what this might entail. Given that most of the nonhumans we encounter on the daily are exploited, oppressed, or otherwise negatively impacted by humans -

be it the 25 million farmed animals we create, torture, and kill for food every year in the US alone; the "wildlife" (read: free-living animals) we displace, starve, and kill through habitat loss; the dogs and cats we buy, neglect, and then abandon at shelters; or the animals we unintentionally hit with our cars (or the bugs we trod on just walking down the street); etc. x infinity

- we are weapons of mass destruction. To most of our nonhuman kin (and sometimes our fellow humans, too). Instead of words of wisdom and messages of hope, we'd be more likely to hear cries of terror. Confusion. Pain and agony. Hellfire, everywhere. Created and fueled by us and our own.

Heck, I'm not even sure it would be beneficial to always know exactly what our beloved, nonhuman family members are thinking. I have a fifteen-year-old dog named Finn who's going deaf and blind and battling dementia. More often than not, I suspect that being privy to his innermost thoughts would freak me the fuck out. Not to mention break my damn heart.

And then there's the mode of communication: not just just verbal, as we're used to, but all-encompassing: "sight, smell, taste, touch, and sound." Think pheromones, sound waves, scratches and ticks. The beating of countless tiny wings, all bombarding your brain and trying to tell you something. That kind of thing, coming at you uninvited and from all directions, is apt to drive a person mad. And it does, as evidenced by zooflu sufferers who stuff their orifices with whatever's handy to block incoming stimuli - or, at the more extreme end, the pseudo-religious trepanners who invite strangers to drill holes in their skulls in a misguided attempt to relieve the pressure.

Talking to animals sounds like the stuff of dreams - but in McKay's hands, it's a nightmare.

And a pretty trippy one, at that: fittingly, the incoming messages that Jean's left to decode aren't quite what you'd call straightforward. There's a lot of translation required, and Google hasn't yet caught up:

I’m reading her body like some language I barely remember from a high school textbook. Bonjour madame, connaissez-vous le chemin de la gare? Let’s go to the station. Or, where the hell is the supermarket? I can parrot the words, but the meaning is in scraps.

Copies of this book should be sold with a sheet of acid, or maybe some edibles. I kid, but also not.

If, like me, you assumed that increased understanding and compassion would surely spring forth from this newfound ability to communicate with nonhuman animals, you'd be wrong. While some people do indeed embrace the flu, many others lash out: animal-free zones are established, and hungry citizens start hunting former pets, since they make for easy prey (apparently they've never heard of fruits and veggies?).

There's one especially excruciating scene that I don't think I'll ever be able to forget. Jean takes refuge in a makeshift church, only to catch a glimpse of how the missionaries make their sausage (stew):

A small fluffy dog has pelted out a kitchen door, thin bit of twine tangled around its legs, body blonde fire, screaming, Hello. Please. Please bite its soft. Quick. Help me. I jump up, calling the poor little bugger, but the parishioners shriek louder, climbing on their chairs like that dog is the snake from the garden of Eden. The woman rushes for her daughter and hauls her by an arm out of the room. It’s funny, for a second, until the laugh dies in my throat. The little dog, too tangled in the twine to move, slumps panting in the aisle. It’s not just m e. Where’s other me. She’s still — The god-botherers are faster than me. They grab that dog with WWF wrestling passion, using real lumps of wood, real knives. The little dog has enough time to issue a thick whiff of terror from its undercarriage, Help her, before they’ve slit it ear to ear right there in the pulpit. There was no blood with Lee. He didn’t even look that drowned. He might have come alive any moment. He might be alive right now in his grave. This little dog, though, is bleeding out on the beige carpet. The door to the kitchen is open. Matthew the soup cook leans on the jamb, then turns back. A fluffy tail on a chopping board. The steaming pots. Pain like a stab to my guts — he stirs a soup very much like the one he was serving up in the park.

Of course, this scene is so repulsive to most of us - Jean included - only because the animal being killed and consumed is designated for "companionship" instead of "food," at least in this particular culture. Chances are you've known and loved a dog or two yourself - and so the doomed beast transforms from a something to a someone. Not an unfeeling object to be used and discarded at will, but a sentient creature with her own feelings, desires, and loved ones. Had it been a chicken or pig, the result wouldn't be quite so horrifying; Jean herself eats meat, and justifies doing so, on several occasions.

Yet an earlier scene - in which Jean comes upon an abandoned tractor trailer truck packed with pigs destined for slaughter - will hopefully challenge readers to expand their circle of compassion:

I’ve seen battery hogs before — of course I have. But not out and about. Not staggering around and trying to walk, calling to whatever they think is ‘more’. Glazed eyes that strain like they’ve never seen sunlight. Skin stretched over bodies fed to the point of bursting — something between swine and meat. Saw some animal liberationists on the street in the city one time, saying factory farms were the same as Nazi camps. I called them bloody racists too. The pigs clatter past me down the ramp, fucked-up eyes on the road ahead, calling, Hello is it more. Those animal nutters were wrong, but not in the way I thought. It’s not the same as the Nazis: that was us doing to us. What’s this? [...] A hurt sow sits on her haunches, then lies down on the verge, panting unevenly under the slathering sun. Another weaves blindly over the asphalt toward her, flies spinning around her head. They push their noses into each other. Send me a postcard, the sick one says. Postcard, indeed. What the fuck. I watch more closely. The meaning bright off that tight skin. All the little bits saying, Leave me, and, I’ll hear about it, and, Don’t you see it. Move on. There’s more. The ones that can walk stretch their legs, for, More, more, more. I stand at the top of the truck ramp watching them break into a group trot toward the next paddock. Skin rippling. Hooves carolling. Know that heart-in-your-mouth run. Know exactly what ‘more’ is. I’ve seen it in Lee and I’ve had it too, at times. These pigs are half dead, they’re stumbling around, blind, mad, and fucking hopeful.

Even if many of the characters in this book resist the humanity clearly evident in nonhuman animals, I hope that readers will hold these passages close - especially at the dinner table.

Sue, our main nonhuman protagonist, is a fascinating character; like many of the semi-domesticated animals in the park, McKay paints her as a series of conflicting impulses: safety or freedom. Hunger or satiation. Dingoes or humans. She is fiercely loyal, much to her own detriment. She has wants and needs of her own, and she's often satisfied to set them aside for the good of her (adopted) pack.

And I guess that brings me to the second half of this review: the humans, most of whom are awful. Jean, exponentially so.

Initially I thought that Jean would be my people: she's a hard-drinking, mold-breaking badass broad who gets on better with animals than people. She has a mini-rescue in her backyard where she keeps some of the park's doomed relinquishments. (The public treats the park like a rehab facility when in fact it's in the business of entertainment - old, sick, injured, and "common" animals are routinely killed.) She and Kimberley spend their afternoons together designing the animal rescue they hope to build one day.

But Jean is kind of a terrible person. To call her a misanthrope is half the story: she's also senselessly mean and cruel, especially when drunk, hungover, or frustrated (in other words, 90% of the time). I don't fault Jean for her substance abuse problem - alcoholism is a mental health issue and should be treated as such - but nor is it an excuse for being such an asshole. (There's even a scene where she trolls people discussing the zooflu online, like a fucking American redhat.) She's shit to everyone around her, except for Kimberley and Lee (Lee, who could use a good ass-kicking).

And then there's Sue: Sue, who followed Jean across the damn country when she should have been settling into a dingo pack of her own. Sue, who found Kimberley and saved Jean's life. Sue, who is nothing but good and true and trustworthy. Sue, who Jean assaults on multiple occasions: kicking her in the ribs, binding her with rope to prevent her escape, and even trying to shoot her (with a gun that's thankfully empty of bullets). At one point, she "forgives" Sue for saving her life - as if Sue's the one who needs forgiveness!

Despite the abuse, Sue continues to stick by Jean's side, which galled me endlessly. Towards the end of the story, following the attempted murder, Sue gets revenge of a sort, dominating a delirious Jean and forcing her subservience. However, the book ends shortly thereafter, cutting any sense of satisfaction far too short.

I really felt cheated with Jean: I thought she might be my avatar in this world - but she's just another terrible human who doesn't deserve the company of animals.

Likewise, the whole subplot involving Kimberley's parentage is way over the top dramatic and unnecessary; it seemed like we were being plucked from a dystopia and dropped into a soap opera for a minute there. Just, gross. So yeah, there are definitely some aspects of the book that I appreciated more than others. THE ANIMALS IN THAT COUNTRY may be imperfect - but I'd still wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone looking to explore our relationship to nonhuman animals in a dystopian setting.

[seven-oomen]

Take me to church | Owen Grady/Male OC | Jurassic World Fanfiction

Because I want to share some of my old work I guess? I don’t think this is particularly good, but it’s a way to see how I progressed over the years and I think that’s pretty cool. Also, I’m in my Jurassic World/ Detroit Become Human phase right now. So, have some old Jurassic World fanfic.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Mentions of mpreg, mating cycles/in heat, Alpha Beta Omega dynamics, canon typical violence, creepy old men.

“Attention all Masrani Corp. employees heading for San Jose, we are now boarding flight eighteen. Please check-in at Gate twelve.”

He stood up with a soft sigh and hoisted his backpack on his shoulders. This was it, the chance of a lifetime. His big shot in getting somewhere in life. For years he had studied and worked his ass off to get where he was now. A smile worked its way upon his features as he slowly sauntered his way to the gate.

Like always, people stared after him wherever he went. It was sort of a given thing if you were 6’8 tall with a muscular frame. People were scared of him and nobody was stupid enough to piss him off by coming closer. Even if he was as harmless as a puppy.

His golden blond hair and bright blue eyes stood out on his angled and well-defined face. Not to mention the faded scar that ran across his face. People were terrified of him, but none of that was going to matter anymore.

Jarek Pitka had done it, he’d finally achieved his dream. Not many vets could say that they worked with actual living dinosaurs, but in just a few hours' time, he’d be one of the first to call himself a Dino-vet.

Jarek chuckled and smiled softly as he thought on the start of his new life. This could be the break he so desperately needs. With the money he would be making he could- He collided with another solid object, so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t seen what was right in front of him.

“What the-?”

It wasn’t an object, Jarek deduced, as he looked down and cringed at the sight of the man sprawled out onto the floor. “I am so, so sorry.” He quickly apologized as he helped the poor man back onto his feet. Why did these things always happen to him? Big clumsy log that he was.

The man was smaller than he was, like everybody else. Around 6’2 to his own 6’8, with dark sandy blond hair and green eyes. The man was wearing a leather vest with a clean blue shirt under it and a pair of simple jeans and combat boots. He was a pretty average, but yet a good looking man.

The man brushed himself off and looked up at him in annoyance. “Dude, you gotta watch where you’re going.”

“I know, I know. I’m so sorry, I-”

“Hey” The stranger reached for his jacket and tapped the Jurassic World Logo that was stitched onto it rather sloppily “What did they hire you for?”

“What? Oh, yeah. I’m the new lead veterinarian. I got a call yesterday.”

“Really, yesterday, huh?” The man seemed rather amused at his answer, the frown on his face slowly turning into a friendly smile. Maybe he hadn’t screwed this up completely. “So you just packed your bags and jumped on a plane, because you got a call?”

“Well… when you say it like that, it sounds kinda crazy.”

“No offense, man. But it kinda is.”

“Then why are you here?”

The other man laughed and grinned up at him “I like you, you’re funny when you’re not barging into me. I got a call a couple of weeks ago. They hired me outta the Navy, now I get to work with raptors.”

“That’s so cool..” It didn’t explain the ‘why’ though, Jarek had been hired because of his outstanding credentials. But this guy just came from the Navy? Sure that was impressive, but why this guy specifically? “But why were you hired? I mean, no offense, but what did you do in the Navy?”

“I trained the canine unit, and I studied animal behavioral patterns on the side. Got my master's degree six months ago.”

That explained it. Sort of.

“Flight eighteen is now boarding at Gate twelve. Attention all passengers, flight eighteen is now boarding at Gate twelve.” The female voice of the intercom sounded through the gate, urging the remaining passengers to stand up and get onto the plane.

“So what’s your seat number?” The raptor guy looked up at him as he picked up his bag.

“B two, it’s an aisle seat.” Jarek pulled the ticket out of his pocket and showed it to his newfound friend.

“No way.. I got B one. Guess you’re my flight buddy. I’m Owen, by the way, Owen Grady.”

Jarek chuckled and took the hand Owen offered him. “Jarek, Jarek Pitka. And it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, flight buddy.” He liked Owen so far, the man was nice. Despite Jarek’s initial clumsiness, Owen had been friendly, and he seemed genuinely interested in what Jarek had to say. Owen seemed so different from those he’d met before.

Owen let out a soft laugh and patted him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s board before they leave without us.”

Jarek shook his head but followed Owen to the boarding desk anyway. He couldn’t wait to see the island or the dinosaurs. His new life was starting right now, with a new friend to support him along the way, and with Owen as a friend he doubted his new life would be a boring one.

~*~ ~*~

Flying was a pretty boring way to travel, even with Owen at his side. Five hours into the flight and he was ready to jank the door open and jump out of the plane. Anything to counter the mind-numbing nothingness that he was experiencing right now. “What time is it?”

“About eight pm, we’ve been in the air for five hours,” Owen mumbled, barely lifting his head off Jarek’s shoulder. The behavioral expert had fallen asleep an hour ago and was now dozing, using the veterinarian as his personal pillow.

Jarek couldn’t stop the yawn that escaped him and groaned softly. “That means we got two and a half hours to kill.” There had to be something he could occupy himself with...

“I’m not gonna tell,” Owen smirked, looking up at Jarek.

“Tell what?” What was Owen talking about? He couldn’t possibly be talking about that one little thing. Jarek didn’t have much to hide, but what he did have to hide was kind of a big thing.

“About what you are, you hide it well, but I can smell it.”

He tensed up, slowly turning to look more closely at Owen. “What?” How did he figure it out? He usually wore scent blockers to prevent anyone from finding out. Would this change the budding friendship between them? Would Owen see him as the others saw him? He didn’t really want to find that out to be honest. He didn’t want anything to change.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. I’m not gonna tell, or try to get into your pants.” Owen gently pushed him back into his seat and squeezed his shoulder in an effort to comfort him.

Not that it was working… “How? I hide it, I block my scent, suppress my cycles…” Owen knew… Owen knew and this little friendship between them was probably shattered until eternity. The raptor trainer had to hate him for what he was, all the others of Owen’s kind did. Jarek knew what he was, he was weak, he was disgusting, an outcast, he should never have gotten this far...

“Hey, cut that out. I just have a freakishly good nose, alright?” Owen sighed and made himself comfortable against Jarek’s side once again. “Now stop squirming, and stop worrying. One, I’m trying to catch some sleep, and two,” Owen leaned a little closer, whispering as he spoke his next words “I don’t fucking care that you’re an Omega.”

Jarek blinked at the smaller Alpha and stared at him for a moment or two. He was studying Owen’s face for any sign of dishonesty, any sign that the Alpha was gonna turn on him. But he found none. Owen was telling the truth as far as he could tell. “Really?”

“Really. Now lean back, a little. I’m trying to sleep you big log.” Owen yawned and made himself comfortable again, curling up against the Omega once more. This was gonna be a long flight, but at least he had Owen at his side. Just as he should be.

~*~ ~*~

It had been nearly one month since their arrival at Isla Sorna and so far, things were running smoothly. InGen had secured an area near the Southern docks and isolated it from the rest of the island. The Lagoon was their safe haven, base camp, the place they returned to every night after a day in the forest.

Jarek looked up from his book as laughter echoed through the camp. Owen and Barry had returned from their observation of the raptors and were having a good time by the look of it. Currently, the vet was sitting on a log right by the campfire. A chirp next to him made Jarek look down with a slight smile. “Who’s that? Who’s coming, Mishu?”

The little Compsognathus next to him chirped again and jumped around in excitement. She had been somewhat of an accident because they usually didn’t try to domesticate the dinosaurs on this island. Their studies wouldn’t be reliable or scientific, otherwise. Mishu was the only exception. Jarek had found her egg, lying abandoned on a small path near the lagoon. Her egg was still warm when he picked it up and he decided to hatch her after recognizing it was a Compsognathus egg. Jarek had been the first creature she ever saw, causing her to imprint on him. And the rest was history.

Mishu rumbled softly and stared up at Jarek, almost as if she was pleading at him to let her go over.

“Okay, okay. Go say hi.” Jarek laughed, grinning as he watched her run across the campsite, dodging and zigzagging her way across. The little Compy jumped in front of Owen and Barry and chirped loudly to gain their attention, much to the amusement of the two humans.

“Hey girl!” Owen bend down on one knee and scooped up the little Compy. The tiny dinosaur made herself comfortable by perching on his shoulder.

“Hello, Mishu.” Barry gently stroked the top of the Compy’s head and chuckled. “N'êtes-vous pas une douce petite fille?” The dark-skinned Cajun petted the Compy one last time before making his way over to Jarek. “She’s getting cheekier every day.”

“Only when it comes to you, my friend,” Jarek answered, smiling at Owen as the Alpha sat down beside him, before turning his attention on Barry once more. “She respects Owen and I.”

The Beta simply rolled his eyes and shook his head in amusement. “Really? Maybe she doesn’t want to upset mama and papa?”

“Oh, haha. Funny. I know Owen’s not as tall as me, but that’s no reason to call him mama.”

“Hey!” Owen elbowed in the ribs and faked an insulted look on his face, but Jarek could see the corners of his mouth curl up, the Alpha was fighting back a smile. “Be nice, or this mamma’s gonna spank both your asses.”

“Yes, dear.” Jarek dodged Owen’s hand and laughed at the Alpha’s pout. That was Owen alright, always up for a good laugh or prank. Usually at Jarek’s expense.

“Well, if it isn’t the little trio..”

Vic Hoskins was a pretty rounded man, particularly around the stomach, and at first glance, he seemed like a normal guy. Mid-forties, grey hair, a little beard and a general air around him that screamed Alpha. One conversation with him though, and you knew just what to expect from the military man. Hoskins was obsessed with the dinosaurs. Jarek couldn’t tell for what reasons, but he knew it wasn’t gonna be a good thing.

“Hoskins, what’s the occasion?” Owen instinctively leaned into him and laid his hand on Jarek’s thigh. Jarek knew what Owen was doing and he didn’t like it one bit. Owen was always saying he wasn’t weak, and yet the Alpha still pushed him to the background and defended him. It was kind of a contradiction, an unintentional one, but a contradiction nonetheless.

“I’ve got a proposition for you boys, one that’ll benefit us all.”

“Not interested.” Jarek glared at the older Alpha, staring up at him in defiance. Oh no, he didn’t like Vic Hoskins at all, but working with him was one of the job requirements. He hated it, but he had to take the bullshit Hoskins was badgering him with.

“Now, hear me out-”

“Sorry man, but the big guy has spoken.” Owen was picking his side again, which wasn’t surprising, considering that Vic had ticked Owen off more times then he could count. And it had only been one month since their arrival at the camp. That had to be a new record.

“Don’t forget who brought you here, Grady. You still work for me.”

“That doesn’t mean I gotta take shit from you, Hoskins. You’re not getting into his pants.”

“He is sitting right here and he can speak for himself, thank you.” Jarek stood up and faced Hoskins right on, he wouldn’t show his discomfort around the man, wouldn’t become weak. “And the answer is still no. Not interested.” He started to walk away from the scene when a thought occurred to him, and he turned to Barry and Owen once again. “You know where to find me.”

And with that, the Omega stalked off. Disappearing into the campsite that housed the tents and bungalows.

[thecleverdame]

The Woodsman - 4

The entire story is complete and available now on Patreon.

Series Masterlist

Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

Summary: A/B/O Fairy Tale - You’re a sheltered, thirty-something princess on the run from your brother, the newly crowned ‘Mad King’ of France. When you’re waylaid by marauders and left for dead in the forest, a gruff woodsman nurses you back to health.

Warnings: A/B/O smut, knotting, language, violence, assault, non-con

Word Count: 32,000

The complete story is available onPatreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

Sam can’t tell what you’re doing from his vantage point, just that whatever it is has had your full concentration for the past several hours. As he creeps closer he can hear your voice, light and happy, singing to yourself as your arms continue to attend to the task at hand.

He could hear you from the barn, crystal clear voice with a touch of sadness. You’re drawing, fingers covered in black charcoal as you smudge the lines of a breathtaking portrait of a woman’s face. You pause for a moment, tipping your head as if examining the grain of the parchment before resuming the skillful stoke.

Oblivious, your voice picks up volume, while you sketch with precise intent, completely focused.

Car tant vous aim, sans mentir

Qu’on poroit avant tarir

La haute mer

Et ses ondes retenir

Que me peusse alentir

de vous amer.

“What are you singing?” He asks.

You yelp in surprise, clasping a hand over your mouth, heart beating like a stallion. “Samuel, you scared me half to death.”

“I didn’t mean to.” He places his hand to his chest in apology. “I’m sorry.”

“Come sit with me,” you suggest. He stares blankly for a moment and then lowers himself the ground beside you, picking up the parchment delicately, holding it up by the edges.

“You’re talented.” He looks to you, then back to the picture. “This is… incredible.”

You blush. He’s never complimented you before and it takes you off guard. Grinning like a fool you put a hand to your cheek. “Thank you.”

“Who is she?”

“My mother.” You reach over and run a dirty finger over her face. “I have to draw her otherwise the memory fades. I’m not entirely sure if that’s a true likeness or if my mind fills in the foggy parts.”

“She was beautiful. You look like her.” He comments, setting down the parchment and reaching for the others laying on the ground in front of you.

“Don’t-” you reach out to stop him but he’s already thumbing through them, holding up the next.

“Where is this?” It’s a detailed drawing of a garden with tall, manicured bushes and a statue of a woman in the middle. She’s pouring water from the vase into the pool at the base of the fountain.

“My favorite garden. There are many within the castle walls, but this is the smallest and farthest from the gates. It’s secluded and quiet. I spent a lot of time there.”

“And this?” Sam picks up a portrait from the bottom of the pile. It’s of a man sitting on the edge of a bed, looking down at his feet. There’s a pained expression on his face. It’s darker than the rest, thick broad strokes instead of delicate lines.

Sam feels you tense up, sitting up a bit straighter and clasping your hands in your lap. “My husband, Mathieu.”

“Ah,” he nods gently, looking away from you. “Were you singing for your husband?”

“No, I was singing for…” You pause, answering him honestly, “love in general I suppose.”

"What happened to him?" Sam asks quietly.

"We both fell ill at the same time. My symptoms seemed far worse. No one thought I would survive...but I did. He died the day after my fever broke.  It happened fast, there was nothing that could be done."

"How long were you married?"

"Twelve years." You sigh, looking up at the sun, anywhere but at Sam. He shifts beside you, picking up the picture again, analyzing the face now that he has more information.

"You were happy with him?"

"Very," there's no veiling the smile that spreads across your face. Your memories of Mathieu are painful, but also heartwarming. "I was sixteen when my father told me I was to marry him. I didn't want a husband or anything to do with being a wife. I knew it was inevitable, but I'd convinced myself I was meant for greater things. I cried for days, it was all very dramatic. He was older by ten years and at the time his seemed like an insurmountable difference. But he was kind and smart and so funny. He made me laugh until my sides hurt..." You stop when you feel the emotions tightening in your chest. Sam doesn't want to hear you go on and on about a man he doesn’t know. "It seemed just as I was planning on growing old with him, he was gone."

"You're lucky to have had him for so long." He draws in a breath and grinds a thumb over the callus on his palm. He looks straight ahead, staring out at the tall grass, but his mind clearly elsewhere. "I had someone once, a long time ago. I was young, not much older than you were when you married."

"You had a wife?" You clarify, studying his face, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling as he expression sours.

"I had a mate, she was mine and I was hers. I should have married her but it seemed like we had all the time in the world. Once I claimed her it didn't seem like we needed anything more "

"She died?"

"In childbirth." Sam looks at you, his eyes staring a hole right through your very soul. "I lost my Omega and my child."

"Oh Sam, I’m sorry." You wish you had something more to say. You had never stopped to imagine his life before. At times it feels like he's always been with you.

"I'm only telling you this because I want you to know that I understand what it's like to lose someone. Now that my parents are gone I only have my brother."

"And me." You add confidently. You speak without thinking and panic for a moment, but it's not necessary as Sam just smirks softly and places a hand over yours.

"And you." He confirms.

“It would appear, Samuel, that you and I have more in common than one would suspect.”

“Indeed.” He smiles at you, squinting in the sunlight.

"I know that I can be a nuisance and I create more work for you, but I do appreciate everything you've done for me."

“You’re never a bother. Life would be boring without you.”

--

You're in the village when the news comes.

Sam's beside you haggling with the butcher over the price for one of his pigs. They've been in the midst of a heated discussion for some time now and you wander absentmindedly down the row of men peddling their wares. Stopping to admire a woven skirt you don't even notice when Hugh slides up beside you. Hugh knows everything and everyone, filling the village’s unofficial position of town crier.

"Good morning, Y/N." His voice is sneaky and he smells faintly of body odor.

"Good morning, Hugh." You smile, sidestepping to get away from his wafting stink. He's kind and enjoys making you laugh, you just wish he bathed more often.

"I have something for my favorite mademoiselle." He feigns a terrible French accent and fishes in his cloak to present you with a shiny red apple, holding it like a crown jewel in his palm.

"It's beautiful," you take it, examining the unblemished skin. It's not often you're able to get your hands on the sweet fruits you used to devour on a daily basis. "Thank you very much!"

"I stole it," he winks at you.

"It'll be our secret then." Grinning, you admire this treat. It's amazing how life has shifted. A year ago you'd be appalled if a foul-smelling man had even tried to speak with you. But you find yourself becoming accustomed to seeking out appreciation in the smaller parts of life.

"I have news from your homeland as well." He adds, slinking around you. Hugh has never attempted to hide his attraction to you. It’s all meant in good fun, so you don't mind. He's a bit bolder without Sam around, leaning closer than needed when he speaks. "Would you like to know?"

"Yes please," you grin, feeling your heart beat just a bit stronger. Hugh's updates have been one your only links to the life you left behind and you look forward to any new reports.

"All of France is in mourning. The Mad King has died." He continues to talk but you hear none of it. There's a pressure in your chest, a feeling akin to that of fist tight around your heart.

"When?" You interrupt him, hardly able to force a whisper.

"Weeks ago now." He shrugs oblivious to your reaction. The world closes in as your vision narrows into a tunnel of claustrophobia. Your surroundings begin to blur and you draw in a deep breath to prevent yourself from losing consciousness.

"What have you said to her?" Sam's deep voice booms from behind you. Hugh looks up, wide-eyed and takes a step back. You feel Sam’s familiar hands curl around your arm, turning you toward him. "What is it?"

“I did nothing! I swear to you.” Hugh holds up his hands in a sign of submission.

“What’s wrong,” Sam’s brow furrows as you turn to him, opening your mouth to speak but nothing comes out. You’re looking at him as if you’re underwater, not really seeing what’s right in front of you. A sob tears from your throat, a horrid raw sound that’s accompanied by quivering lips and fat tears. Sam places both hands on your shoulders, looking to Hugh. “What the in the holy hell, did he touch you?”

“I never touched her!” Hugh panics, “I just bought her an apple.” He stammers. “An apple, and news from France.”

“Tell me,” Sam commands. You’re crying quietly, staring at the ground before pressing your face into his chest. He places a hand at the back of your head in an attempt to comfort.

“The King died.” He shrugs, utterly confused. “She must be a true patriot.”

Sam can feel your trembling form against him, fisting his cloak in your hands as your knees give way.

“Please take me home.” You mutter, trying to compose yourself. People are beginning to take notice.

Sam curls his arm around your side, pulling you from the busy street without another word. He helps you onto his horse, and the ride back to his cottage is a blur. The world doesn’t seem to right itself until you’re seated at the small, familiar table in front of the fire.

“I’m sorry I made such a scene.” You manage, wiping your eyes.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” Sam grunts. “He was your brother.”

“He’s dead.” You stare at Sam with wet eyes, utterly shattered. If there’s one thing he understands, it’s complex emotions when it comes to family.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He kneels down before you, taking both your hands between his. No, you don’t want to talk about anything. You want him to hold you, but you don’t dare ask for that.  

“I’ve talked enough for a lifetime.” You sigh. You don’t mean it as a joke and Sam tried to contain his amusement. “I just want to sleep.”

--

Your slumber is long and hard, waking up to the sounds of Sam rustling around by the hearth. It’s midday, and he should be hard at work in the forest, but instead, you find him sitting at the table, sharpening various blades.

“Why are you here?” You ask, taking a seat across from him in your nightdress, hair still wild from sleep. Any sense of propriety you once felt being around him in such a raw state faded long ago.

“I thought you might want company.” He offers, his face unwavering. “No one should be alone in times like this.”

You smile down at your lap. Sam is always kinder to you than you deserve.

“Can we go for walk?” You inquire, thrilled at the prospect of spending a whole day with him, it’s the only thing that seems to take the edge your grief.

“Of course.” Confirming your request, he looks up, catching you staring at him, your gaze lingering just a bit too long. “Did you want to go as you are or would you like to dress first?”

“So witty.” You retort.

You dress, then try to eat, but your appetite is nowhere to be found. Before you know it, you find yourself on the narrow path that leads to the small pond. Sam is walking a snail's pace beside you, willing himself to slow down and set the measure of your footsteps.

“I’m sorry.” He offers, bending down to pick up a large stick, banging it on his leg like a bored child. “I know, despite your reasons for leaving, that he meant a great deal to you.”

“Thank you.” You wander on in silence, trying to focus on the slight breeze and the easy feeling of companionship when you’re with him. You wish you could always be with Sam, to watch him grow old and grey, waking up beside him each morning until you’re wrinkled and cranky.

“What are you going to do?” He asks, looking forward.

This is the moment of truth. You chose your words carefully, watching his expression as you speak. “I’ll write to my brother, Philip. I don’t know what’s transpired in my absence but I dare to hope that I may be welcome home.”

Sam twitches, his mouth tightening for a brief moment as he snorts. “Good. You’ll be better off in France, where you belong.”

You don’t think it’s possible for your heart to break more than it already has, but somehow the ache in your chest and head intensify. There was part of you that thought, perhaps, he would at least express a fleeting sentiment of sadness at the idea of your departure.

If you had gotten what you really wanted, Sam would have turned to you and taken you into his arms, pleading for you to stay with him. He’d take your hands in his and tell you that the very thought of living without you makes him ill, that he can’t imagine his life without you. But instead, he acts as if you’ve said nothing of consequence.

Just when you think you couldn’t be any more disappointed, he adds “I’ll hire a messenger for you.”

For six long, agonizing weeks you live in the hell that is Sam’s terrible disposition.

You hardly see him. He’s gone before you awake and many times does not return until after you’ve gone to bed. You listen to him, drunk as a skunk and mumbling to himself, as he knocks around in a stupor before passing out. When you do have occasion to see him he barely speaks to you, ignoring you in favor of a book that you know for a fact he’s already read ten times over.

It appears that you have finally overstayed your welcome.

--

“I have good news!” You half-shout, your voice suddenly too loud as you struggle to control the sickening feeling in your stomach. He’s just outside the barn, preparing his stead for the yearly hunt. Every able-bodied man is about to depart into the woods in hope of securing enough meat to make it through the winter. He’ll be gone at least a fortnight.

“What is it?” Sam asks distracted, tightening the saddle on his horse.

“The courier returned, he brought a letter from my sister.” Sam pauses but doesn't turn to you. “I’ve been invited to come home.”

“Good,” he grunts, continuing to attend to the mare Your heart sinks. You might vomit. He cares so little that he can’t even be bothered to stop what he’s doing to give you his full attention.

“It wasn’t just the message that arrived...my brother sent knights to escort me home whenever I wish to depart. They’re in the village.”

“I’m happy for you.” Sam turns to grab a rolled up blanket from behind you, nearly knocking you over.

He doesn’t even look at you.

“We can depart in the morning and it appears that you’re leaving now, so this could be the last time we…” Don’t cry. “Our last chance to say goodbye.”

“Well then,” He finally looks at you, his eyes wild and nostrils flaring. “Goodbye.”

“Why are you always upset with me?” You ask, unsure of exactly what’s happening. You’ve come to him with the intention of gathering your courage and telling him what this last year has meant to you, but it’s clear now that your plan was flawed. Any hope of being able to express your feelings die with his words. “I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s nothing new.”  

“I do not understand you, Samuel. I was sure you’d be thrilled at my impending departure, I thought knowing I’d be out of your hair would put you in a better mood, but you’re angry with me all the time. Is it that I didn’t depart soon enough? Has your tolerance for me finally reached its breaking point? I had hoped that, perhaps, we would part as friends. I can see now that was foolish.”

“I don’t have the words to-” Sam draws in a breath and shakes his head, arm flailing at his sides.

“Tell me,” You snip with your hands on your hips. “You have been impossible for weeks now, so just tell me what it is you have to say. Just get it off your chest. This is the last chance you’ll ever have.”

“You make me feel like a lunatic!” Sam cries, throwing his arms into the hair.

“The sentiment is mutual.” Puckering your lips you mentally prepare yourself for the barrage of insults you’re sure are to come.

“You are the most ridiculous person I have ever known. The way you talk, the way you eat those tiny little bites like a church mouse. You leave a mess everywhere you go and you don’t know how to do anything! I can’t even ask you to feed the horses while I’m gone because I would never expect that you would get that close to actual work.”

“If I am so awful then why have you allowed me to stay with you all this time?” You inquire, stepping toward him.

“Because I love you!” Sam shouts, then recoils as if he surprised by his confession.

Your heart speeds up to a gallop in your chest. Narrowing your eyes you take another step, examining his features for any sign of jest. You’ve gotten better at deducing when he’s making fun at your expense. “What did you just say?”

Sam balks, closing his eyes and pressing his thumb and forefinger at the bridge of his nose. “I am quite tired and very hungry. It’s possible I could have said anything.”

A slow smile spreads across your face, as an excited stir bubbles up from your belly. “You love me?”

“Dear Lord,” he mumbles, “against my better judgment.”

“Samuel Winchester, the cantankerous woodsman who would rather skin a rabbit than help me with my corset, loves me?” You bite your lip, clasping your hands dramatically. You’re happier than you’ve ever been in your life but unable to control the urge to tease him just a bit more. He does deserve it after all. One doesn’t tell a woman he loves her against his better judgment without there being some repercussions.

“You are impossible,” Sam groans. He’s always at a loss when it comes to you, feeling somewhere between the urge to fuck and strangle you.

“I am quite the woman.” You sigh, bobbing on one hip, not ready to let him off the hook. He’s been so awful these last weeks. “With my unmatched candle making skills and a natural aptitude for the outdoors.”

“I pictured this conversation going differently.” Sam laughs with exasperation. “You make my blood boil.”

“Surely there must be something you like about me?” You challenge him. “After what you just said…”

Sam’s chest heaves with a mighty breath as he reaches out and grabs your arms, pulling you closer to him. His finger squeezes your biceps while he gazes down with an expression of affection. “You’re the most infuriating woman I have ever known, but you're also the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes upon. But, more importantly, you are brave. Brave to leave everything you know and set out in the world. Brave to try to save me from a pack of wolves. You are self-assured and overconfident. You don’t accept your own limits. You make me feel things in a way I didn’t think was possible.”

“Sam,” you breathe. For the first time in your life, you’re speechless.

“And now that I have bared my heart to you, will please put me out of my misery and tell me if you feel the same?” His head tilts to the side, scrutinizing your face.

“I have loved you for a long time.” Your heart is ready to burst at the very idea of this strong, wonderful man making such a bold statement. “You really think I am brave?”

“Yes, more so than any person I have ever known.” Sam’s looking at you with a stare that makes your legs weak. His hand comes up to your face, cradling your jaw as his thumb catches your bottom lip. You tilt to the side, offering your neck so he can scent you. He bends down pressing his nose into the skin right below your ear, inhaling slow and deep, a simple gesture that feels supremely intimate. The touch of his skin on yours sends a chill down your spine. When he pulls away you start to protest but open your eyes to find him offering himself to you in turn. Standing on your tiptoes you stretch up and nuzzle your face into his neck. Inhaling with an open mouth, pressing parted lips against the scratch of his beard.  

Sam groans and pulls you flush with his body, snaking an arm around your waist. When you pull your head back he cradles your face with a large, rough palm, bending down to kiss you just as the horns sound in the distance.

The hunt is beginning and they won’t wait for him.

Sam stops, freezing as he closes his eyes and gathers restraint. “I have to go, if we continue this I won’t have the will to stop.”

“Okay.” You confirm with a nod. “I will wait for you to return. At which time we can discuss more of the reasons you love me.”

-

@smallgirlbigpersonality @mereka18 @gryffindorable713 @trainlikeawinchester @winchesterprincessbride @bamby0304 @saxxxology

@kittenofdoomage @notyourtypicalrose @mariekoukie6661 @little-big-mac2 @emoryhemsworth @mystriee @atc74 @holyfuckloueh @bunnybaby121115 @mogaruke @darkmystress00 @jaspesangriento @kazuha159 @mirandaaustin93 @crispychrissy @schilj79 @wilde-abandon @hennessy0274-blog @bojabee @miss-samantha-winchester @impalaimagining-mainblog @andkatiethings @astephez @ladycynthia @mrswhozeewhatsis @lenawiinchester @feelmyroarrrr @mrs-meghan-winchester @har-rystyles @mistressofallthingsgeeky @theamuz @maui137 @stars-and-seas @vale0413 @impala67trenchcoat @curly-haired-disaster @ericaprice2008 @livelikeawinchester @althehufflepuff @itsthesamegametoday @bohowitch @spnwoman @just-a-normal-eccentric @gallifreyansass @StoneyGGirl @lonely-skys @81mysteriouslyme @missrandomista @soupornatural @stars-and-seas @natura1phenomenon @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @81mysteriouslyme @likhelbentin @mrooks0205 @zombiewerewolfqueen @winchesterprincessbride @squirrel-moose-winchester @fortisetgloriosusinarduis @closetspngirl @dominodoll @rainflowermoonlibrary @cleighwrites @camelotandastronauts @imarockstar45  @thebeastinside19 @courtney-padalecki @itsthesamegametoday @virtualgirlfriendsan @daisymoder72 @fandom-is-my-middle-name @mysticmcu @luciferseclipse @malinda1997 @malinda1997 @sunlight-dean @rockhoochie @collette04 @sandlee44 @ohnowin-chester @maddiepants @fandom-princess-forevermore @geeksareunique @femdeni314 @lazinessisalliknow @samwinchesterssexyface @the-yellow-girl96 @that67chevy

[greek-quotes]

Considerações Saber Sobre Cartao google play

Nous et nos partenaires utilisons des technologies telles que les cookies pour vous offrir la meilleure expfoirience de navigation en ligne en personnalisant le contenu, en analysant le trafic du sitio web et en proposant des publicités ciblfoies par centres d’intérêt. Do keep a track of the different giveaway programs arranged by Google itself as well as other retailing websites like Amazon cross the globe. Thanks to it, users can access to almost three millions Android mobile applications developed by both most prestigious companies and developers from all over the world. There are free or paid applications, but they all count with certifications and the necessary reliability. In other words, it is an app where you can find millions of new apps for your android. But also, it is an official store managed by Google.  Usually you got this app pre- installed in your Android devices, but if you don’t, here we show you how to download Google Play Store. We are sure that you have heard about Google play store; it is the official store of android. This is a platform of digital distribution for users with the operative system android. If you want to use the paid service of Google for free then you will have to opt for the free Google Play codes. Once you have the free Google Play credit codes then you use all the premium services offered by Google Play store without any single penny for it. Our goal is to tell you everything you need, that’s why we begin this post defining what Play Store is and how it works. Follow the on-screen instructions to make your payment. If you have a payment method connected to your google play gift card account, select it. Otherwise, add a new one as indicated on the screen. Once you’ve processed your payment, an email will be sent to the recipient describing how to get the book. Whether you give — or receive — a digital or physical gift card, redemption is the same, but some people like giving physical cards because you can't wrap an email. Personally, I like digital gift cards because you just copy-paste the redeem code rather than having to type it in. Don’t worry; we have everything you’ll need to know about redeeming your new gift card and applying the balance to your Google Play account. We’ll also cover some troubleshooting tips in case your card isn’t working correctly. The vitality of this operating system lies on its ability to permanently reinvent itself, so, it would be an unforgivable sin not to use Play Store or have an outdated version of it.  Wait a few minutes and when the download finishes, you have to tap on the file; wait until the installation finishes and then you will have thousands of new apps waiting for you. There's pelo surety that the codes generated using our generators are valid or not in use by any other person. Codes generated on this sitio is only for educational purpose. And you should know that the Google Play store, better known as Play Store, is the gateway to the App universe. That is why this website is focused on offering everything you need to know about how to download Play Store.

[sswwimagine]

Try A Little Longer || Fred Weasley

Original Post: on ssimagines

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Spanish!reader

Word Count: 2153 (without translations), 2274 (with translations)

Summary: You are at Hogwarts for the triwizard tournament. You have a hard time with understanding a lot of what’s going on. Fred Weasley takes an interest in you.

Warnings: a big bowl of sweet, poorly written french and spanish (a warning because it’s probably really bad)

Request: can i request a fred weasley imagine where the reader is from Spain, and transferred to hogwarts during the year of the triwizard tournament and fred tries to learn spanish to ask her to the yule ball and to impress her?

Very Long Note: My spanish knowledge consists of two years in junior high so the majority of it is google translate and probably written wrong sorry. I did my best and put a lot of time into it

Also through research I discovered that the majority of young witches and wizards from Spain attend Beauxbatons. Since you wanted it set during the triwizard tournament anyway, I just made the reader from Beauxbatons.  I hope you don’t mind. (Boys from Beauxbatons also visited Hogwarts during the Goblet of Fire)

Ellipses in talking when it is english are words that the reader isn’t able to understand whether they are spoke to fast or they haven’t learned them yet.

This is obviously already been posted, but since I started my smaller blogs, I wanted all my work for each fandom in one place. Instead of just reblogging everything I figured that I would repost it. 

Request/Taglist

Masterlist

For the first five years of your magical training so far, you have attended Beauxbatons. You weren’t from France, but rather Spain. There wasn’t a school in Spain, so your parents sent you to the closest one in France like many other residents of Spain. This caused you to be fluent in both Spanish and French, but you preferred to talk in your native tongue unless you had no other option. 

This year your school was participating in the Triwizard tournament being held at Hogwarts in Scotland. All summer you had talked with your parents about going. They were worried about because it was so far from home and you would know very little of the native language. You vowed to them that all summer you would work on your English if they were to allow you to go. Now you were with the rest of your school preparing to enter what you’d been told was the great hall. 

Your school had prepared an elaborate entrance that you had practiced your timing often for this day. You and two other girls had actually been the ones to plan it. You were excited for this moment. You were just waiting for your que now. 

Your best friend, Nora, who was also from Spain, stood beside you tapping her foot quickly. It sounded almost as if she was tapping it to the beat of her own heart. She turned to you spoke.

“¿Cuanto tiempo más?” she asked (translation: how much longer?). Her tone was clipped and sharp. The words that usually followed out of her mouth like butter seemed harsh like spikes. You took her in for a moment shocked that she was being so short.  You turned her mouth to reply when someone beat you to it. 

“Vous devez parler le français ou l`anglais ici non espangol,” it was Fleur (French translation: you must speak French or English not Spanish). She hated it whenever any of us spoke out native languages back at school. You thought it was because she didn’t like not being able to tell what others were talking about, but Nora always insisted that it was just what you were supposed to do. She was more patient than you 

You looked to Nora who just rolled her eyes. That was so not like her. You quickly turned to Madam Maxine.

“Puis- je aller à mon sac?” You asked (French translation: Can I go to my bag?). She looked you over before glancing to Nora. 

“Oui, rapidement,” she said nodding (French translation: Yes, quickly). You ran down the hall to your where you left your bag. Inside it held a small granola bar. You had put it there when Nora refused to eat during the carriage ride over. She was diabetic and needed to eat otherwise she got mean because of her low blood sugar. You ran back.

As you turned to corner you saw the doors were already open and your class mates were making their way inside. You ran as fast as you could to reach them before they had all entered, but you weren’t fast enough. You had to run to your stop through the large doors. As you leaned in for one of the dramatic sigh, you tossed Nora the granola bar hoping to go undetected by the rooms occupants. She caught it with ease not even breaking her form. 

You looked at the table to your left to see a red-haired boy staring at you holding back laughter. He nudged the boy next to him who looked just like him and whispered something in his ear. The second boy laughed looking at you as you moved forward. If what you had done got back to Fleur somehow, she would be so mad at you. There was a good chance she’d have you cleaning up after the flying horses for the next week. You said a silent prayer that the twin red heads wouldn’t say anything. 

When you made it to the front of the room, whose name fit it perfectly, you looked back at the boys. The one that first noticed your antics was still looking at you, but you couldn’t tell if the other one was. You turned to see that Nora was being blacked from view slightly. She was eating the granola bar. A small smile formed on your face as you turned back to watch the Drumstrang make their entrance. 

It had been over three months since you had arrived to the Scotland Castle. You quickly found that your summer English studies where nowhere near what you needed them to be. You had a hard time talking with the students of Hogwarts and even harder time talking two different versions of broken English with Drumstrang students. You had decided that you would no longer try and talk to the students unless Nora, who had been speaking English since she was nine, was around or they initiated the conversation.

The boy from the first night had tried on many occasions to talk to you, but you had no idea what he was saying most of time. The words were far too confusing for you. They sounded nothing like what you had worked on. Given you only worked on magical terms, foods, and simple conversations, almost everything was too complex for you. You hadn’t realized that you would need more than that until it came to using it. 

Nora had dragged you to the Library to practice your English and work on some of your studies. The two of you were sitting at a large bookshelf with several books in front of you. All of them you had apparently read before, but this time they were in English instead of Spanish and French. There was an arrangement of types of books. Some were textbooks while other were story books. You had been doing pretty well so far. 

“Pienso que el chico pelirrojo gustas,” Nora said softly so no one told her to speak another language (translation: I think the redheaded boy likes you). The past five years of conditioning you had done so you only spoke French when in common areas at school had been thrown away when you got here. If no one was going to understand you than why speak French instead of your native language. 

Nora pointed to the re headed boy. When you looked at him, he quickly scrambled to look busy with his text book. Nora had been trying to embarrass you with his crush on you. Every time the red-haired boy, who you had learned was named Fred, came up to you to with Nora around, she tried to play translator for the two of you. She even tried to include his tone in her words, but you pretty sure she was just seeing things that weren’t there between you two. 

Sure, you thought he was attractive, and it was true that many times you had fantasied about him taking you on a date and kissing you, but there was no way that could ever happen. You didn’t even speak the same language. You would need a translator just to hold a conversation. You doubted that he enjoyed everything he said being put through a filter. 

“Sus nombre son Fred,” you said matching your tone to hers (translation: his name is Fred). You had told her his name more times than you could count on one hand, but she never remembered.  She was really good with languages, but not names. 

“Cualquiera,” she said laughing. “El es guapo. Tal vez él te preguntará a el baile.”

(Translation: whatever. He is handsome. Maybe he’ll ask you to the ball.)

You rolled your eyes at your friends. You had to admit if he did choose to ask you to the Yule ball that was happening in just a month you would definitely not say no. There was this fear that you had that if he asked you, you wouldn’t be able to understand him and you would just say no without realizing it. 

Something similar had happened last week when a girl from Hogwarts had ask you if you wanted to walk to class with her, but you didn’t understand so you just said no. She looked so hurt and she wouldn’t talk to you until you had Nora go up and ask her what was wrong. She ended up thinking your confusion was pretty fun, but you were so embarrassed that you felt backed into a corner.

“Tengo que ir a buscar a alguien. Te veré en la cena,” Nora said as she stood up (translation: I have to go find someone. I will see you at dinner). She gathered a few books and placed them on a small cart not too far away. She returned to give you a small hug before turning to leave.

“Aprobado, adios,” you said as you watched her leave (translation: okay, bye). She gave you a small wave without looking at you. You continued to work on your English as you read over the books. 

Out of the corner of your eye you saw someone come up to where you were. You didn’t know if they were coming to talk to you so you didn’t turn to them right away. After a few seconds, you heard words pour out of their mouth. You looked to see it was Fred.

“Can I sit here?” he asked gesturing to the chair beside you. This was a phrase you knew well by now.

“Yes,” you said nodding with a large smile carved into your cheeks. Your accent was strong in the simple word. 

“I saw you … here and I … I would come over and say hi,” Fred started but you didn’t understand all the words. You tried to piece together what he was saying. 

“Hello to you Fred,” you said. You really hoped that that was the right response in this situation. Sometimes you couldn’t always read situations because you had learned had a different social culture. You were doing much better than you were three month ago, and you proud of that.

“Hi,” He said as he sat in the seat Nora had deserted not too long ago. He angled his body towards you. It seemed as he was planning to continue talking. You moved to face him as much as you could without moving the chair.

“What I can help with?” You asked. Your words were labored and slow, and your English was broken, but you were pretty sure you were able to get all the message across. 

“I was actually planning on asking you something.,” He said. Fred shifted in his seat. 

He looked a little uncomfortable as he searched his pockets for something. After about a minute of fumbling around, he pulled a small ripped and crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. You held back the small laugh that was budding in your throat. You didn’t think it was appropriate to laugh at him. 

He flattened out the paper the best he could. As you waited expectantly, He cleared his throat and sat up straight.

“¿Quieres ir conmigo a la bola de Navidad??” He spoke hesitantly and his pronunciation was terrible, but the effort warmed you (translation: Do you want to go with me to the Christmas ball? In this situation that ball means the round kind. It is incorrect on purpose.). His wording wasn’t perfect, but he was trying and you really appreciated that. You gave it second trying to decide what the best reponse was.

“¿Quieres decir ‘quieres ir a el baile de Navidad conmigo’?” you spoke (translation: Do you mean 'do you want to go to the Yule Ball with me'?). You weren’t usually one to correct people, but you couldn’t have him going around saying bola instead of baile. He would embarrass himself if someone he didn’t even know were to correct him. 

Your correction had sadly back fired and his face turned a red more vibrant than his hair. He just nodded very quickly and not meeting your gaze. You bite your lip. There was no way that you were going to say no to him. The only thing that really had been holding you back before could be solved if a little bit of effort which you now knew he was willing to put in. 

“Me encantaría ir contigo,” you said (translation: I would love to go with you). 

He looked at you with furrowed eyebrows. Apparently, he only looked into that one phrase. He probably didn’t think of finding out more just like you hadn’t when you came to Hogwarts. You cleared your throat and tried to come with all the words you were going to need.

“I would like that,” You said. Your accent made your English sound more elegant than it was. His eyes lit up and a smile grew to stretch from ear to ear. 

“Really, that’s great,” he spoke quickly and you couldn’t understand it all. “I have … tell George. Nora … be … I… did it. … Ron can… it.”

You listened to him as he stood up excitedly with his bag on his shoulder. He turned to walk out still talking. You were pretty sure that he was not talking to you anymore. He stopped suddenly right before he left your sight line and turned on his heels. 

“I forgot to say goodbye,” He said sheepishly. His neck was redder than usual and that let you to smile.

“Goodbye, Fred,” You said. “I see you later.” 

“Adios, Y/N,” he replied. “Hasta luego.”

(translation: goodbye Y/N. See you later.)

[langdons-rep]

Playthings - Part Four (Michael Langdon x Dark!Witch reader x Duncan Shepherd)

Pt.1 | Pt. 2 | Pt.3

Plot: you and Michael arrive at Outpost 3 and have the pleasure of getting to know the infamous Duncan Shepherd. 

Warnings: angst, mention of smut

-

The following morning, Duncan wakes up earlier than usual. Not that he slept much, your words haunting his mind and making him stay awake until he had to force himself to rest.

Still in bed, he sits up leaning on the headboard, exhaling a long breath. He licks his dry lips as images of the night before dance through his brain, making him close his eyes shut as if the gesture alone could erase you out of his thoughts.

Of course, right after you told him about how he should meet Langdon, you stepped away from his body, making him long for more. You haven’t really explained your proposal, only demanded him to leave right after. And so he left, embarassed, scared but more than anything, so damn fucking hard.

And for the second time, he had to take care of it alone.

Duncan blames it on the 18 months touch starved situation: it’s been so long since he got laid that his primordial instincts are taking over him, and all because of a pretty girl. He tells himself that, but deep down, he knows that’s not true. There’s something about you…something so beautifully twisted that he can’t get enough of it. You aren’t just pretty, you are absolutely appealing. With your elegant moves, your delicate skin, your enticing lips and your mouthwatering legs that he wanted more than anything to spread apart…

He can’t help but wonder how someone that looks so much like an angel could be so evil, him having experienced first-hand just how cruel you can be; and he now knows that your beautiful body holds powers within. So what are you, some kind of witch? Do they actually exist? He asks himself.

One thing is certain, you are no good. He knows that he should probably stay away from you but he also realizes that he’s never been so attracted to anyone before.

He wonders if Langdon feels the same for you.

Langdon…

Duncan has absolutely no clue on the reason why you want him to meet the blond haired man, but the thought alone makes him shiver. He can’t imagine what goes on through that wicked mind of yours, so why would you actually come up with such a thing? The brunette can’t help but think that you and Langdon probably plan on killing him, since his chances of getting to the Sanctuary, if there’s actually one, are gone in one great crash anyway.

He grunts, wishing, no —praying— to have at least one peaceful day.

-

“Do you know him?” Michael asks you with his arms crossed once you both enter his office.

That morning Ms. Venable called you both for an emergency meeting, scolding you for breaking her most important rule while also informing you on the one who reported your little rendez-vous, Duncan Shepherd. Michael didn’t miss the way you would bite your lip or grin everytime the woman would bring him up in the conversation.

“Know who?” You reply, sitting on the edge of his bed; your arms stretch backwards on the soft satin covers as you look up at him.

He rolls his eyes.

“This Duncan Shepherd.”

You lick your lips before answering.

“I was the one assigned to do his interview.”

He furrows his brows, looking you up and down.

“So you know him.”

“Barely.“

He comes closer to your body until he’s standing in front of you, making you lift your gaze up to meet his irritated one.

“Tell a grey to get him here. I want to meet him.” He says while rudely grabbing your chin.

“That’s funny. He came into my office yesterday and I told him about how you two should meet.” You explain smirking.

His hand leaves your chin to grip your throat instead.

“Why did he come into your office? And why do you think I should meet him?” He asks with a low tone, jealousy evident in his voice as he comes to the realization that this man had been into your room more than once.

“He came to tell me that he heard us having sex and that he later communicated everything to Venable.” You calmly explain, ignoring his second question.

He kneels in front of you as his grip tightens around your throat.

“So you already knew.” His voice barely a whisper as his eyes are blurred with fury.

You lightly nod.

“And why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” He asks with a demonic tone, his face mere centimeters away from your own.

“I was waiting for the right moment to tell you everything.”

“Tell me what?”

You bite your bottom lip as you can’t help the urge to grin.

“I think...we should have a little fun with him.” You tell him, letting your lips brush against his plump ones.

His confused yet enraged gaze switches from your mouth to your eyes, “what the fuck do you mean?”

You give him a peck on his lips, then another one on his cheek.

“I think you know what I mean.” You whisper to his ear. That’s when Michael decides to read your mind and all seems clear to him now.

“You want us to have a fucking threesome with him?” He furiously questions, his hand now gripping your hair to make you face him again.

“Why not? I think you’ll like him.”

“Why would you even think about it? Am I not enough to you?” He rambles and you can see the hurt in his eyes.

You instantly feel bad seeing your favorite person like this, making your smirk fade almost instantly.

“It’s not like that. You are more than enough to me.” You sweetly explain while holding his face; you kiss his nose before continuing.

“You are always so good to me. Don’t you ever think otherwise. This thing...this thing is not about my pleasure only, it’s about your own too. Our lives have been so dull recently, we always do the same things. I’m just bored.“  You keep elaborating, letting him know how frustrated you’ve been feeling up to now. You know he feels like this too, you’ve talked about that. Travelling from one place to another and killing every last human on earth can get pretty exasperating sometimes. You remember telling him that his company was the only thing that kept you from going insane and Michael saying it was the same for him. It’s always been you and him only, so why change things up now? He can’t understand it.

Michael quickly stands up, still looking at you with a wrathful gaze.

“What makes you think that I would agree to this?”

You emulate his movement, getting up from the mattress.

“I know you better than anyone else, honey. I just know you’d find him...interesting.”

You tell him with a warm smile as your right hand rests on his cheek, your thumb lightly stroking his porcelain skin; something you’d always do to calm him down.

His features soften a little at the act, but he’s still angry, and you know it.

“Since you asked for it, I’ll bring him here, and you’ll be able to understand what I’m talking about.”

“I’ll give him a minute only.” He points out, and you smile. You grab his face again to press a long kiss on his lips, Michael instantly gripping your waist to pull you closer. It’s in moments like this that he realizes you are his Achille’s heel.

You give him one last peck before exiting the room; you think of calling a grey to summon Duncan but then you realize it’s going to be more fun if you just do it yourself.

You walk downstairs, going straight to the library, hoping to find him there.

As you enter the dimly lit room, the survivors immediately stop their talking, turning their heads to where you’re standing.

They all watch you intently, waiting for you to do something, even allowing them to continue their conversation. You can smell their fear, and it’s fucking intoxicating.

You smile, loving the effect you have on people; then your gaze fixes on the one you are searching for, Duncan Shepherd.

You make sure to click your heels on the wooden floor as you go up to him; all eyes settled on you.

“Langdon and I have requested to see you.” You inform Duncan, earning a brow-furrowed expression from him.

“Is this about the Sanctuary? Did he get in?” Coco chips in, making you and Duncan look at the blonde woman sitting right next to him.

You chuckle at her question.

“This does not concern you, Ms. Vanderbilt.”

Again, you glance at the brunette sitting in front of you and he silently stands up.

You turn around and start to walk out of the room, Duncan following you behind.

“Where are we going?” He inquires once you two enter the hallway, just a few steps away from Michael’s door.

“To Langdon’s office.” You reply nonchalantly as you turn your head back to watch him for a brief second.

He sighs, nervously looking around him, hoping that someone would come out of nowhere to save him from whatever situation he was about to get into.

You arrive in front of Michael’s door with Duncan right beside you. He watches you as the door opens immediately with a twist of your fingers, making his eyes widen with shock.

You enter Michael’s room once again, and you notice how your beloved Antichrist is now sitting at his desk; legs crossed, hands clasped on his lap, and a raging yet impatient gaze plastered on his face. You smile up at him, but he doesn’t return the gesture. You spin around as soon as you hear Duncan’s footsteps on the floor, finally stepping in.

You see his gaze focusing on you, then switching on Michael. You face your blond friend to check his reaction and you notice how he’s completely devouring the brunette’s physical appearance; eyes looking up and down his body, until they stop on his face. You grin at Michael’s appreciating gazes as Duncan lowers his eyes, clearly intimidated by the whole situation.

You decide to break the ice.

“He’s the notorious Duncan Shepherd.”

You tell Michael, even though he already knows. Duncan lifts up his gaze to look at you, brows furrowed in confusion at the way you labeled him.

“Clearly.” Michael comments standing up from his seat, walking towards the rich man.

The brunette shifts in his feet as he watches Michael approaching him, noticing how the hint of a smile is growing on his face.

“So? What do you think?” You ask him impatiently.

The blond’s gaze focuses on you back again, returning to his previous stern state. He doesn’t answer your question and you roll your eyes at his childish behaviour.

You don’t know what Michael is more jealous of: Duncan wanting you and not him or the fact that you reciprocate his sexual desires. Probably the second option; he wouldn’t stand the thought of you being with someone else.

“What the fuck am I doing here?” Duncan eventually asks, his voice louder than he intended it to be.

Michael refuses to answer him too, only sends him a death glare; he silently turns around, going to his seat again as you stay in your place.

“Are you satisfied with yourself, Mr. Shepherd?” The Antichrist asks, making Duncan look at him with a lost stare.

“Do you feel better now that you snitched on us?” He continues; you listen carefully as you don’t know where this conversation is leading to.

“I actually do.” The brunette replies, a sudden boost of confidence taking over him.

You roll your eyes as you shake your head in disapproval; you can tell Michael’s taken aback by Duncan’s abrupt boldness.

“Why?” The blond asks, leaning his elbows on the desk.

Duncan seems to think about it before replying.

“Because your girlfriend, or whatever she is, has been nothing but a brat to me in the past few days. I wanted to have a little revenge.” He admits, not giving a fuck anymore.

“You men are all the same. As soon as a woman is not willing to get on her knees for you, you feel threatened by her and of course you have to do something about it. Pathetic.” You spit out, fully facing Duncan now.

“I think you’d be more than willing to get on your knees for me.” He confidently speaks, thinking about how absolutely hot you look when you’re this mad.

“Maybe in your fucking dreams.” You reply while crossing your arms. You and Michael both know that’s a lie, but you just can’t let Duncan Shepherd have the last word about it.

The Antichrist watches you two bicker without professing a word, until he decides he’s had enough.

“Mr. Shepherd, if you’d like to excuse us.”

The brunette doesn’t say anything, only nods and then leaves the room, avoiding your intense gaze.

“You like him.” You state matter-of-factly as soon as Duncan is out of your sight.

Michael approaches you, the usual stoical expression still very present on his face.

“You like him too.” He replies while gripping your hips and making your body press against his own.

“How should that make me feel?” He continues, his hands quickly hiking up your dress until it rests around your waist.

You don’t answer as you feel him kneading your ass, a throaty moan escapes your lips.

“Hm?” He asks right before giving you a light spank, making you gasp.

“Why are you fighting my idea? We both want him.” You tell him as your arms embrace his neck, pulling him even closer.

“That still doesn’t mean that I’d agree to do a fucking threesome.” Michael angrily spits out, smacking your ass again.

“But why?” You manage to blurt out through weak breaths.

“You are mine. I don’t care how much that man attracts us both, I’m never going to share you.” He presses you against the door, his palms leaving your ass to pin your hands above your head.

“I should be fucking mad at you right now.” Michael says as his head dips down into your neck, leaving sloppy kisses on your soft skin.

“You are.” You puff out, bucking your hips into his own.

“I am.” He confirms, biting hard on your shoulder.

“But I still wanna fuck you till your sweet cunt is dripping with my cum, and my cum only.” He says while facing you again, his tongue sensually licking your bottom lip. You shake your head as you fight the urge to slap him.

“You are so fucking selfish.” You comment as you get away from his body and push your dress down.

“Oh, I’m the selfish one here?” He questions sarcastically while grabbing your arm.

“Yes. I saw the way you look at him, I know you can’t wait to suck him off. Yet I’m a bitch for proposing something we both want.” You speak the truth on his face, freeing yourself from his grasp once again.

“Do you fucking realize how risky is it? Our whole plan could go awry if he finds out who we are and why we’re here. But of course you don’t care, do you? All you care about right now is bouncing on his dick.” He spits out, disgust spilling from every word he says.

“I know he looks stupid but he’s smarter than I thought. He knows we’re not here to save them all, and he also knows that I have powers. I used them on him.” You confess as you watch him getting even more furious.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He asks through gritted teeth, his eyes turning black just for a moment but it’s enough to scare you. You’ve never seen him so angry.

“How can you be so fucking stupid?” He continues, gripping your throat with a strenght you’ve never experienced from him before. You hold his wrist in your palms, using your magic to get out of his almost deadly capture.

“Fuck off, Michael.” You fanatically say as you push him away. You turn around and proceed to get out of his office when he decides to speak again.

“Where the fuck are you going?” He indignantly yells.

You don’t answer him, only storm out of his room. You casually bump into a grey and that’s when you decide that you are going to make Michael fucking regret for treating you like that and refusing your idea. You look at the poor soul up and down as the servant watches you with trembling lips.

“Tell Duncan Shepherd to come into my office, right now.”

Tags: @ritualmichael @queencocoakimmie @sammythankyou @langdonsdemon @langdonscody @lovelykhaleesiii

[myownpersonaldemons]

Self-Tober Prompt 22

Sunshine

US!Sans/Reader

You couldn’t find your husband anywhere. He texted you to let you know that he had arrived home from his trip with Queen Toriel and Ambassador Chara early…but when you got home from your shopping trip, he wasn’t anywhere. Which was surprising. He’d been gone a week, the longest the two of you had gone apart from each other since getting married, and normally during longer trips he’d be darting over to greet you instantly. And smothering you with kisses.

You wanted your kisses.

Thankfully as you walked past the back door, you spotted the flash of blue.

With a relieved sigh, you opened the door and stepped out onto the deck. He turned around at the sound of the creaky screen door swinging shut (you needed to remember to oil that soon), and his eyes brightened.

“YOU’RE HOME!” he said cheerfully, waving you over, “I MADE LUNCH FOR US, MY LOVE.”

You couldn’t help the large grin stretch over your face at the endearing term. He was big on the nicknames to express his love for you, and you enjoyed many of them. It had taken you a while, but you occasionally refer to him by sweet nicknames as well…but you were a lot shyer with your affections than he was.

“We having a picnic?” you asked heading down the small set of steps onto the stepping stones. You hoped along the stepping stones cheerfully until you stood beside him. There was no picnic basket, but he had spread out a blanket over the grass and gestured towards it with a wide grin.

“OF COURSE! THE WEATHER MAN SAID IT WILL MOST LIKELY BE THE LAST WARM DAY OF THE YEAR,” he said, as you sank down onto the blanket and held your hand out towards him. He took it and pressed a kiss to it quickly, “I WILL BE RIGHT BACK. THE FOOD IS IN THE FRIDGE, AS I DIDN’T WANT IT TO GET WARM WHILE YOU WERE SHOPPING.”

You nodded and waited as he jogged quickly back inside. The sun was warm, but there was also a gently breeze chasing away what would’ve been a sweltering day otherwise. It was actually perfect for a picnic. Especially in this backyard. When Sans and you had bought the house together shortly before your marriage, the backyard had been absolutely boring. Yet, with a lot of research, enthusiasm, and hard work, it was now a flourishing garden. There was even a pond that Papyrus had helped install sitting off to the side that you saw multiple birds enjoying and a few ducks!

You’d even convinced Sans to install a hammock between two of the large trees, as he didn’t like the idea of just being lazy. You’d simply mentioned that the two of you could cuddle and watch the stars at night, and he’d gone out and bought one the next week.

Not that he would’ve complained if you had bought it and installed it, he never judged you for your laziness. He encouraged you to do your best, and sometimes that drained you so badly you needed a nap or to be ‘lazy’ for a while. However, you liked to be on the same page with him about purchasing new things for your home because you cared about his opinion…and he gave you the same courtesy.

It was only thirty seconds before Sans was heading back outside with two plates held in his hands as he hummed quietly to himself as he headed back down the steps and over to you.

You accepted the plate with a happy hum, and when he sat down, you kissed his cheek immediately. “Thanks, love.”

He grinned happily at you and nuzzled your face quickly before gesturing towards your lunch. “WHAT IS IT THEY SAY? BONE APPLE TEETH? IS THAT AS WEIRD AS IT SOUNDS?”

You couldn’t help but snort, “no, no..it’s bon appétit, mon charmant mari.”

His face flushed the colour of the sky, he absolutely adored it when you spoke French. As little of it as you knew from taking it throughout elementary and middle school, and then brushing up on it again as an adult. “JE VOUS AIME. DID I SAY THAT RIGHT?”

You smiled at him, kissing his jaw, “I mean…technically I understood it, but it’s je t’aime.”

“JE T’AIME.”

You giggled, “I love you too.”

He grinned and then gestured again to your food. “AFTER YOU’RE DONE EATING, WE CAN CUDDLE IN THE HAMMOCK TOGETHER.”

You smiled and dug into your food. When you had first met Sans, he wasn’t great at cooking…but he’d been determined to get better after giving you food poisoning accidentally. That was not a fun date, but it was…memorable in the least. Thank god Sans was a sweetheart and had felt absolutely rotten about it, or you might’ve broken it off with him. It had been early enough in the relationship that it very well could’ve made or broken it.

The two of you ate relatively silently, with Sans occasionally asking how to say random words in French. You knew basics but some of the words he was asking were just not in your vocabulary. When you asked why, he was just curious.

Then again, you never taught him how to say je t’aime…and he did. So maybe he was learning French on the side.

You wouldn’t put it past him.

You soon found yourself contently full, and offered to run the plates back inside but Sans took them and hurried inside, telling you to get comfy on the hammock. You shrugged, climbed in, and relaxed. The gentle sway was lulling you into complete relaxation when Sans slowed it down so he could climb in and cuddle you against his side.

The two of you chatted quietly as you watched the puffy white clouds over head slowly drift by.

“I…Never Thought I’d Get To See This,” Sans admitted quietly to you, “The Sky.”

You remained silent, picking up the hand that was resting on his chest, and gently started stroking your thumb over his wedding band.

“I Hoped I Would And I Never Let Go Of That…But It Was More Of A Dream. I Have Never Been The Kind Of Monster To Be Naïve,” Sans continued, “But When Papy And I Saw It For The First Time? It Was Breathtaking. There Was A Sunset. All Those Colours. It Was Beautiful.”

You nodded softly, gently craning your head afterwards to look up at him. His head tilted down to return your gaze with a soft one of his own. “I Thought I’d Never See Anything As Beautiful Again, But Here You Are Proving Me Wrong.”

You buried your face into his chest and let out a flustered noise, and he laughed joyfully as he squeezed your hand.

Always getting you with those compliments you never saw coming.

“BUT SERIOUSLY, THE SUNSHINE ON MY BONES FELT AMAZING. AND WHEN WE WERE ALLOWED TO INTEGRATE WITH HUMANS, PAPY AND I WENT STRAIGHT TO THE BEACH TO SOAK UP ALL THE SUN WE COULD HANDLE!” he said, the wistful voice fading into his normal enthused way of speaking.

“We should go up north,” you blurted out, interrupting him before he could continue.

“NORTH? WHY?” he asked, frowning slightly.

“I’ve always wanted to see the northern lights…and I think you’d enjoy them too!” you said, peeking up at him, “and I know you love the night sky…so, it’s a double win.”

“NORTHERN LIGHTS?” he echoed, seeming to think about it. “WHAT ARE THEY?”

“It’s this awesome like…natural phenomenon where the sky lights up with almost ribbony looking light,” you explained excitedly, “I’ve always wanted to see them in real life.”

His eyes shifted to stars and he grinned, “THAT SOUNDS AMAZING!”

The two of you excitedly talked about the northern lights and other natural phenomenon’s until you felt the heat of the sunshine starting to make you feel sleepy. You curled against your husbone, and listened to him chatter away about the bioluminescent caves full of mushrooms and crystals in the Underground. You fell asleep with sunshine behind your eyelids, and the sweet sound of Sans’ voice.

[lil-nest]

TU vs VOUS, a quick guide

Hello, French learning friends! I’ve seen many people try and often fail to explain when you should use “tu” or “vous” in French, and for the longest time, I couldn’t find a reliable rule myself. However, a completely unrelated Ted Talk about communication and collaboration in human society helped me finally put my finger on the underlying pattern I could sense but not explain.

Now, before we begin, this post will be long. It is a “quick” guide not because reading it will be quick, but because once you have read it, deciding between “tu” and “vous” will (hopefully) be quick.

Introduction: On communication and collaboration in human society

First, as soon as I find the link again, there shall be a link in this sentence to the Ted talk I mentioned, it is mildly relevant to this introduction, completely irrelevant to French politeness in general, and pretty cool regardless.

Okay, so. Do you know what is super cool about human society? Our ability to communicate and then cooperate with total strangers with the help of social scripts. And it’s not even just basic cooperation like handed a bill to a cashier in exchange for a liter of milk. For example: last month, I was sick. So I went to the doctor. It was my first time meeting this particular doctor. And yet, before we even met, we had managed to agree to a meeting time. Then, I let a complete stranger poke at my throat and ears, trusting that he would not hurt me. Meanwhile, he put his finger near my very numerous and sharp teeth, trusting that I would not bite him.

Crazy right? You will probably answer “of course not!”. Because society has taught us that it is (most often) safe for Patients to let themselves be poked by Doctors, and that it is (usually) safe for Doctors to poke Patients without fear of being attacked.

Now, what you must remember for the rest of this is the way I capitalized Doctor and Patient. Because despite being both complete and complex people, for the duration of this appointment we were interacting as a Doctor and a Patient. We were both filling social roles in a socially scripted situation, and everything went smoothly because we both trusted the other would do it too.

There is, of course, another type of interaction, which happens between two people who know each other, (mostly) off the script, where things go smoothly because we know each other, and can predict what the other wild want, do or say and act accordingly. For example, if my sister decides to poke my cheeks, I trust that she won’t hurt me, because I know her, and she trusts that I will be careful not to harm her when I swat her hand away.

You see how different those two situations are? Situations like my visit to the doctor will be put into one big category of “Society is what enables us to trust and cooperate” and situations like my play-fight with my sister will be “Personal connection is what enables us to trust and cooperate” (There are probably real sociologic words for these things, but my knowledge comes mainly from science popularization, which often shies away from big words)

This distinction is important, because people are incredibly complex, and there is neither enough power nor enough storage space in our brains to consider every single person we interact with like Complex People. Instead, we create roles and stereotypes (some of which are bad, most of which are necessary - try to live your lives refusing to assume the nicely dressed people with silver plates in the restaurant are the waiters).

How do I get tu vs vous from this?

Well it’s easy, just ask yourself: Are we talking/interacting as Complex People or as Social Roles?

If you are talking as People, use “tu”. If you are talking as Social Roles, use “vous”.

Examples:

*)Checking out milk at the corner store. You are customer #172, they are Cashier #3, use “vous”.

UNLESS the cashier happens to be your BFF. Then, upon seeing them, your first thought will not be “This is a Cashier” but “This is my Friend, who happens to be a cashier”. Even though the situation should call for Social Roles, your brain overrides this by pointing out the Person hidden behind the Role: you should probably use “tu”.

*)Talking to your BFF: this is your BFF. You know each other like the back of your hands. “tu” is your best choice.

UNLESS you want to be very formal, but using vous for your BFF is like calling your husband “mister”. It’s funny if you’re doing it ironically, otherwise it will make the people around you feel like they are in Victorian England.

*)you just joined a knitting club: use “vous”, but because clubs are about socializing, you will most likely be told to use “tu”, and be quietly expected to tell people to call you “tu” too -in general, if someone tells you to use “tu”, especially during introductions, it’s better to reciprocate - this is because while you found the club thanks to Social Roles, the people in the club wish to become Complex People with other members, so you use “tu” not because you are already a complex person to these people, but because they are allocating the space in their brain for you to become one once you have gotten to know each other.

In a way, “tu” vs “vous” is a lot like first name vs last name vs title + last name. But since first/last name conventions are wildly different from country to country the comparison isn’t very helpful. Just note that usually in France, the people you call “tu” are the same people you call by first name, and the people you call “vous” are the same people you call “mister/miss/missus X” (note that “mademoiselle”, the French word for “miss”, is best avoided until you’re confident in your knowledge of the hows and whys of it, for reasons related to sexism which I will not get into because this post is long enough, just use “madame” for all women and if they don’t like it they’ll ask you to call them mademoiselle instead, no big deal)

Now if you only wanted the rule of thumb you may stop here, but I also added a bit about how and when mixing them might offend people, and another about exceptions and ambiguous cases, if you’re curious.

When and how choosing the wrong pronoun(?) will offend

Before I start on the exceptions, let me give you a general idea of what happens when you get it wrong, so you can decide what risks to take when you hesitate.

Now, obviously, in most cases, messing up will just result in being kindly told to use the other one, because causing a scene about it is most often a rude thing to do, especially if the person you are talking to is aware that you are not a native speaker. BUT regardless of how the other person reacts, the confusion might make them feel upset, and we’re trying to avoid that because we are kind people.

Now, if you call “tu” someone who was expecting you to call them “vous”, they will feel disrespected. The idea is that calling someone “tu” is a sign of familiarity and knowing each other. The person will feel as though you think yourself much closer to them than you actually are. In the words I used earlier, calling someone “tu” is claiming you are interacting with them as Real Complex People. If the person you’re talking to was just seeing you - and wanted you to see them - as a Social Role (Coworker, or Neighbour, or Literal Stranger Asking For The Time) they will feel as though you are trying to force yourself in a private social circle you weren’t invited in. This is why common responses (or internal rant) to being wrongfully called “tu” are along the lines of “you don’t KNOW me” or “I’m not your friend”.

For those it might interest (fic writers) asking someone to call you “vous” when they used to call you “tu” is a way of saying “we are now strangers” with irreproachable formality. Think of the Drama. Also if you feel like someone is acting in an overly familiar manner with you, ask them politely to call you “vous”. If they’re decent people and didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, they will understand the underlying request and correct their behavior. If they cause a scene, treat them like you would treat a guy who makes a scene because a girl in the street refused to give him her number.

However, if you call “vous” someone who expected you to call them “tu”, it is generally less likely to offend, because like all things concerning human relationships, if one person feels close to another, but the other doesn’t, the two people are considered “not close”. It might lead to disappointment or hurt, though, because being called “vous” when you were expecting “tu” means the other person doesn’t feel as close to you as you expected, and it can be a bit disheartening.

Note that that situation is different from the situation where you are a stranger to the other person but they ask you to call them “tu” because they wish to make the Social Role situation into a Complex People situation, or at least pretend to do so (this is most often seen at work, when your boss asks you tu call them “tu” for “team morale” or stuff, or things like vacation camps and stuff where the guides ask you to call them “tu” to avoid making the trip feel stiff and formal). In this situation the person you’re talking expected you to call them “vous” and hence do not have any kind of hurt feelings.

Exceptions and ambiguous cases

Now that you know the basics, let me tell you about all the ways everything I just told you is wrong. I mean, us French have several proverbs about how our all the rules in our language have exceptions, and this one has plenty.

The first exception is kids. My only advice for kids is “do your best not to use pronouns to them until you’ve heard someone else do it”. The general rule is that at least until they’re teenagers kids should call all non-friends “vous” and everyone should call kids “tu”. For teenagers you do literally whatever you want - people who call teenager “vous” usually do it in order to say “I take you seriously and I don’t think you deserve less respect than an adult”. Some teenagers see this and are happy about it, but you might get mocked. Also, note that more uptight and traditional families will expect their kids to be called “vous” - this might be useful to remember if you become an Au Pair or something.

The second related exception is post-BAC/university students. There the rules are simple:

-your classmates are all “tu”. Yes, even if you’ve never talked to them because your “class” if a “promotion” of 100 people. If they’re in the classroom with you and not teaching it’s “tu”. An exception might be made if you are An Actual Adult who went back to school as opposed to a Young Adult who never left it, but they tend to insist on being called “tu” too. Fellow students who are not in your class are will probably not care. Most student will go with “tu” in that wase, but I usually go with “vous” because being overly formal is how I cope with social anxiety.

-PhD students who do teaching for lower grade students (I think in the US they’re called TAs?) will call them “tu”. Lower grade student will decide on “tu” or “vous” depending on whether the PhD student is acting like “I Am Your Teacher” or “I Am An Older Student Here To Share My Knowledge”. If you hesitate “vous” will not be out of place.

-Teachers will expect to be called “vous” and whether they call students “tu” or “vous” is a coin flip. If the teacher calls you “tu” and is just being friendly, let them, but if they are being uncomfortably familiar with your, don’t hesitate to put an entitled expression and very formally ask them to call you “vous”. If they’re decent they won’t cause a scene, if they get angry it should be an alarm bell. (see above section). Once again, people who are not Young Adults will be called “vous”, even by teachers who call the Young Adults “tu”. (There might be something uncool about the way young adults who are students get treated like teenagers more than like other adults, but often they don’t consider themselves “real grown-ups” either, and either way it’s not the point of the post)

The third exception is about hierarchy: sometimes someone who is above you in a hierarchical environment will feel entitled to call you “tu” while demanding to be called “vous”. In any context other than university this is disrespectful and you should know it. It’s okay if you don’t feel comfortable calling them out, but know that you deserve better.

Ambiguous situations are usually either:

a)”We only interact via society roles but we do it often and a lot so we befriended each other and now we don’t know whether to keep using “vous” or switching to “tu”” - this is often the case among coworkers who slowly got to know each other. It’s best to have a conversation about it, even though it might feel a little awkward.

b)You are introduced to someone via a common friend, but you do not have a relationship with the person outside of the common friend. The best-known case if your In-laws -once again, just ask.

[brokemultidotexe]

Life in the Fastlane

Pairing: Racer!Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Street racing wasn't something you wanted to experience until your roommate dragged you to one. You end up realizing that it's nothing like the movies and that the bad boys can be the ones with the biggest hearts

Word Count: 5.5k

Warning: None

Genre: Action(?)

Part: ONESHOT

You glanced at yourself in the mirror. Jimin had managed to push you out of your comfort zone for tonight. You had promised Jimin last month that you would finally go watch him race. The fact that it was illegal didn't sit well with you but you eventually gave up that argument after watching Jimin’s face light up when he would talk about it. Since the cheating boyfriend fiasco, you hadn't been smiling much and that's how you ended up here in black skinny jeans that were just a little too low and a little too tight. The shirt was too low for your liking and hugged your curves and while this wasn’t something you would normally wear it was hard not to admit that you looked hot.

"Y/N get your sexy ass out here, it's time to go." You looked at the clock, it was already eleven o'clock. You took one more look at yourself in the mirror.

"It's only one night." you told yourself, "we're doing this for Jimin."

"Y/N!"

You jumped at the sudden yelling. You grabbed your phone and license; you didn't want to carry a purse. You walked out of your bedroom and could see Jimin standing by the door with his arms crossed. Of course, Jimin was just dressed in a fitted t-shirt that showed off just how nice his body was and some ripped jeans. It took a lot of arguing for you to agree to wear this after Jimin claimed you would stick out like a sore thumb and everyone would stare at you. You weren’t one to welcome attention so you decided to follow your best friend's advice.

It took all of thirty minutes to get there. You hated Jimin's bucket seats in his car and it felt odd having the back seat completely gutted. Jimin pulled up and parked into a line with a bunch of other cars. It honestly looked like an independent film version of Fast and the Furious that was close to reaching the end of their budget. She snorted at her own thoughts and Jimin raised an eyebrow at her before getting out of the car and walking around to the front of his car. You soon followed and walked up to Jimin and you leaned your hip against the front of Jimin's car.

"So, what now?" You looked around and there were about thirty to forty people mingling, some were drinking others weren't.

"Well, I have to find Yoongi and give him my share." You watched Jimin pull out a wad of money. You learned awhile back to not ask where he got that kind of money. "Will you be okay by yourself for a few minutes?"

"Yeah." Truthfully, you didn't want to be left alone but you also didn't want to look like a lost puppy following Jimin around. You watched as Jimin left and you folded your arms across your chest and looked out over all the people. You felt so out of place but you found this group of people oddly interesting. It was like watching a family reunion or something. Your eyes roamed your surroundings and fell on the building behind everyone. You saw the letters sprawled across it Kim and Sons Auto Shop.

"Well, I haven't seen you around here." You looked to your left and saw a guy with a hoodie and noticed his eyes looked at your body from top to bottom. "You must be my divine intervention for the night." His voice made you roll your eyes.

"I doubt it," you said dryly. You weren’t in the mood to deal with anyone; you were here for one reason and one reason only. To support Jimin and then get home and binge watch Netflix until you passed out.

The guy raised his eyebrow and took a step closer, "I could get us out of here, take you to my place nearby and give you a night you won't ever forget." He ran his hand down the curve of your side resting on her hip.

You scoffed, "You've got a hand, which I can promise you will be the only action you'll be getting tonight."

"You've got a mouth on you, I bet-"

"Jeon!" You watched as the guy turned around. Your eyes went to the guy walking over to them. The guy was in ripped jeans, combat boots, a white shirt with a button-up shirt opened over it. You were jealous of the guy's boots. If only you could afford a pair that nice. The guy pulled the guy's shirt causing the guy to stumble away from them. "The girl is out of your league Jungkook, you want a level playing field go grab one of the whores congregated around hyung."

"Screw you Hoseok, the girl can make her own-" You watched as the guy grabbed Jungkook by the collarbone and roughly pulled him towards him to get him off balance and then turning and kicked his back causing him to stumble away from him. Jungkook glared and cursed at Hoseok but he was unphased by it. Your eyes were wide watching the exchange between them.

"Why don't you get one of the whores to go nurse that injury?" Hoseok said as Jungkook walked away with his hand rubbing his back. Hoseok turned and held his hand out to you, "I'm Hoseok."

You shook his hand, "Y/N." You peeked over Hoseok's shoulder to see Jungkook heading back over to the group of people you saw before.

"Ignore Jungkook, the punk thinks he's God's gift to women when he’s on something. From what I've heard though is that God shortchanged him in a vital area." You found yourself laughing, "So are you here by yourself?"

Just as you were about to answer Jimin walked up, "Okay, we're good now. I wanted to take you to meet-"

"Yo Park!" Jimin turned around and smiled. You watched as they fist bumped and Hoseok swung his arm over Jimin's shoulders.

"Y/N, meet Hoseok." Jimin looked between his two friends with a look of hope.

"You can call me Hobi." Hobi smiled, "But we've met, Jungkook tried to lure your girl home."

Jimin laughed out loud, "I would have loved to see him try." he looked at Hobi, "Are you racing tonight?"

Hobi rolled his eyes, "It's my turn for flags."

Jimin laughed and Y/N was confused and apparently, it showed, "flags are the flag or makeshift flag that you bring down at the line for the race to start. Unfortunately, Hobi here picked the short straw." you laughed as Hobi grumbled.

"Actually, since I'm not racing tonight I was wondering if you could take a peek under my hood. I don't want Yoongi sniffing around, he'd probably change out a part to help him win."

"Why would some random guy come sniffing around your car?" you asked and the looks you got made you embarrassed by your question.

"Yoongi is Hobi's brother, he runs the races." you made an o shape with your mouth and nodded.

“Adopted brother, but he’s still my hyung.” You could see the underlying affection he had for his older brother despite the normal sibling annoyance.

You turned at the sound of a deep voice carrying over the crowd, "Alright, we've got four racing tonight. Taehyung and Jin just radioed back and the roads are blocked and ready to go. Get your shit and let's roll!" The small crowd cheered and you looked back to see both guys looking excited.

"That's my cue." Jimin gave Hobi a fist bump and turned to give you a hug, "See you at the finish line" he winked and you watched him walk away.

"You ready to see how we live?" Hobi smirked.

"Let's do this." Hobi cheered and you laughed to yourself but followed Hobi as he led the way into the sea of people. You walked through and you saw all the different types of people. You could see why Jimin fit in here.

"Tae! Jin!" Hobi grabbed your hand and dragged you over to two guys.

"Yo!" They both smiled at the guy, "Jimin tells me you drew the short straw tonight."

Hobi gave them both the finger before turning to you, "Y/N this is Tae and Jin, they work here at the garage with my brother."

The guy that looked like he should be on the cover of Vogue shook your hand, "Ravi de vous rencontrer" you gave him a small smile before you dropped his hand. You could see Hobi rolling his eyes.

"We need to go; otherwise Yoongi will start bitching at me." Hobi started walking towards the cars and you followed. Once Hobi broke through the crowd you saw four cars lined up behind a spray-painted line. “I bet he rigged the straw pull so I would have to sit out for this race.” You glanced over at Hobi and laughed.

"Someone say my name?" You looked towards the voice. Your eyes raked over his body. From his stark white hair to the plain gray t-shirt. You could admit to yourself that he was hot.

"Yoongi this is Y/N, Jimin's friend that he’s been talking about." Hobi smiled at his brother.

"Ah, the infamous hermit." You felt your face heat up. "Glad you could join us rebels tonight." Yoongi winked at you and you just raised an eyebrow.

"So, are we ready?" Hobi asked.

"Nah, Jeon showed up bitching about his back.” He glanced at Hobi before continuing, “but serves him right with the way he goes for girls who are spoken for while their guy is here." Yoongi shrugged. "He went inside the shop to lay down." you could see Hobi looking smug, obviously proud of himself.

"Hobi you said you wanted me to look under your hood right?" Jimin was walking towards what you assumed was Hobi's car.

"Wait, why is Jimin checking under your hood? You're here every day. I mean fuck you work here. I could have done it yesterday." Yoongi had his arms crossed.

"Because I'm so close to leaving your ass in the dust, and who knows what you'd pull," Hobi called over his shoulder leaving you alone with Yoongi.

"Nice best friend you have."

"Nice brother you have." you challenged which caused him to raise an eyebrow at you.

"Well aren't you a spitfire."  You rolled your eyes, "So what did Park have to do to drag you out here? Steal your books? Hold your laptop hostage?" you didn't say a word, all you had to say you could express with your middle finger. Yoongi smirked, "Is that an offer?"

You felt your face grow hot and you looked over at Hobi and Jimin, who was already under the hood. "So, when did all of this start?" you found yourself asking.

"What do you mean?" You just twirled your finger around motioning to all the people and cars, "Oh, it’s pretty much been the same group of people for a long time. Park is probably the newest member. Your boy has skills, I'll give him that."

"So, are you racing too?" Yoongi nodded. "So how much is riding on this race anyway?"

Yoongi shrugged, "Not a lot, about three grand."

"Three thousand? As in dollars?" It felt like your eyes had actually bulged out of your head.

"What else would it be in? Monopoly money?" his chuckle irritated you.

"How is that not a lot of money?"

"Races can easily get up to at least eight grand on a good night. I guess I don't really think about it being an obscene amount anymore." you were speechless. Was he out of touch with reality? Because you could never imagine eight thousand dollars not being a lot of money and you came from a very well to do family.

"Alright let's get this over with" a voice behind you made you jump and she saw Jungkook make his way towards his car not even sparing a glance at you, but you could see him limp just a little bit.

Yoongi laughed out loud "You look like shit Jeon."

"Fuck you!" Jungkook got in his car and Yoongi called out to Hobi to round up everyone. You just stood there as everyone started moving towards the lineup.

"Hey stay here, if you have any problems just yell for Tae or Jin" You nodded hearing Hobi yell over at you and you watched Hobi give you a wink from across a few cars as he walked out in front of the cars. He waited until everyone was in their respective cars. It looked like it was going to be Jimin, Jungkook, and Yoongi. You didn't know what to expect but you jumped hearing all the cars start up. Hobi pointed to each car and each revved its engine. You assumed this meant that they were ready.

"Hobi, use your shirts!" You turned and saw that Jin was the one yelling as he stood up in his truck bed. Hobi gave him the finger but took off the button up shirt and held it up. You chewed on your bottom lip, your stomach was doing somersaults. You were nervous and excited all at the same time, you had no idea what to expect. You watched as Hobi raised his shirt over his head using it as a flag. He held it there for a few seconds before bringing it down. He crouched and turned to watch all three cars shoot off the line and down the road. It didn't take long before all three cars were out of sight. Hobi stood up and walked towards you your hair windblown but donning a huge smile on your face.

"Awesome isn't it?" You couldn't help but smile with him. The guy’s energy was contagious.

"So how long does the race normally last?"

Hobi shrugged, "Depends who's driving, but with hyung it's normally about four or five minutes."

Y/N didn't know if that was slow or fast, but it sounded really fast. Your eyes stayed on the street as Hobi explained that the track would loop all the way back around to here so they didn't have to go anywhere. They just had to sit and wait. After a few minutes, Hobi bit his lip and bounced on his feet.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, it's just that normally we start picking up the cones now from the roads so the cops are less likely to get called. Tae asked me to go with him because Jin went to get food because he had the munchies."

"Go ahead, you can go. I'll be fine." You waved him off.

"You sure?" you watched Hobi chew on his bottom lip.

"Yeah. Go." You watched as Hobi gave you a smile and told you that he'd be right back. You just stood there watching for the cars, it felt like forever but you were sure it was just your eagerness to see the end of the race. You watched Jin’s truck pull out onto the road with Hobi sitting on the side.

You were bouncing on your toes the anticipation was killing you. "COPS!" You spun around looking and everyone was splitting up and jumping in cars. You could hear the sirens off in the distant. You didn't have a car, Jimin was your ride and you had absolutely no idea what to do. People were pulling out and you didn't know a single person. Everyone you knew was either racing or gone.

You saw a black car screech to a stop in front of you. The door flew open, "Get in!" before you had time to even make a decision your body was in the car and pulled away fast enough to throw you back against the seat.

You looked over at Yoongi. His face was hard with concentration. Your heart was still pounding in your chest. You never expected cops to show up, yet the adrenaline had you on a high that you had never felt before. You found yourself smiling and eventually found yourself laughing.

Yoongi turned his head to look at you, "You think this is funny?"

You couldn't catch your breath but you were waving your hands and shaking your head no. But your body was betraying you. You couldn't stop the tears from forming in your eyes from laughing. "I'm sorry." you tried to get a grip of your giggles, "I've just never been through anything like that." You were trying to take deep breaths between each attempt talk. "I honestly don't know why I'm laughing."

Yoongi smirked, "It seems the hermit experienced her first adrenaline rush."

Your eyes widen seeing a cop car pulling towards the center of an intersection, "Yoongi!" your hand went to his arm and Yoongi's attention shot back to driving and your breath hitched in your throat as Yoongi whipped his car to the right. The back of his car barely missing the cop car as he shifted and pushed the car even faster straightening them out.

"Y/N you can let go now," Yoongi said through a clenched jaw. You looked at her hand and immediately removed it. He had nail marks on his arm where you were gripping him so tightly.

"I'm so sorry!"

Yoongi laughed, "Its fine. Normally when I get to feel nails digging into me, it's on my back while I'm fucking someone."

You scrunched up your nose at his narcissism, but couldn't ignore the skip in your heartbeat. You leaned back watching Yoongi navigate the streets with ease, but you could still hear the sirens which kept you from getting pulled in at watching Yoongi drive.

"Does this happen every time you guys race?" Yoongi shook his head.

"Nah, I mean it happens every once in a while, but we try to keep it as low profile as we can. Tae and Jin set up traffic cones at some intersections that cross into the route we take. But sometimes the cops come looking, that's why we have radios." He motioned to the one sitting in his cup holder, "If anyone sees the cops coming everyone knows to get out fast. Everyone has their own place they go so they don't follow one another and end up with all of us if they manage to follow us."

You bit your lip, "Has anyone ever been caught?"

Yoongi's mouth thinned. "Namjoon, he um" He cleared his throat, "He flipped his car taking a turn while running. He was okay luckily, but they ended up taking him in. They gave him a deal, he could tell them what he knew about our club and he'd only get six months. He ended up telling them to go fuck themselves which ended with him serving a year." Yoongi was concentrating on the road but you could tell he could probably navigate these roads with his eyes closed. "He gets out in three months."

It made you worry about Jimin racing. You didn't know what you would do if your best friend ended up in jail. Yoongi looked over at you. He didn't say anything but after a moment put his attention back on the road, "If you're worried about Park don't. He's a great racer, probably better than most of the people that have been racing with me for years. He'd be able to ditch them easily. While his car doesn't have as much power as mine it can turn a corner on a pinpoint. It's actually pretty impressive." This made you beam with pride.

"So where exactly are we going?" You had already gotten lost after about the ninth turn.

Yoongi smirked, "We're almost there."

You looked out the window. You had been driving around for about a half hour and managed to get far enough to where they no longer heard sirens about fifteen minutes ago. You weren’t sure just how far the location he chose was. Your ears perked up once you heard the crunch of gravel under the tires. "Seriously where are-" your question was cut off when you saw his headlights shining over a lake. "This is where you go?" you looked over at him and you watched him shrug as he came to a stop and turned the car off. He unbuckled the seatbelt and got out of the car. You followed and had your hands wrapped around you as you walked towards the water. The moon was reflecting on the water. You really wanted to take a picture of it with your camera because the scenery was absolutely beautiful.

"You know I've come out here quite a few times and I've never met a single soul. I like to think this means that no one knows about it." You watched as Yoongi walked over to an old picnic table and sat on the table propping his feet on the bench. He waved you over, "Come on we've got some time to kill before we meet back up."

You walked over and sat on the table. You barely knew this guy and here you were in the middle of the night by a lake. Like that wasn't weird or anything, but you didn't feel any uneasiness. You actually felt very comfortable around Yoongi. "So, what got you into racing?" you looked over at him. His elbows were resting on his knees as he looked away.

"Sorry, you don't have to answer that." Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment of possibly crossing the line with someone you just met.

Yoongi was shaking his head, "No it's alright." He cleared his throat and sat up resting back on his hands. "So, I've known Namjoon all my life, he lived right down the street from me and Hobi. It wasn't exactly the best neighborhood and after a few fights, Namjoon’s dad started inviting me over. He would have both me and Namjoon working on cars with him until it got dark. It kept us out of trouble and me and Hoseok didn't exactly have a father figure. Eventually, he started tagging along once my mom picked up her second job. So, all three of us would be over there and he would teach us everything he knew about cars." Yoongi smiled, "He always loved the fact that Hobi constantly kept the mood happy and bright. But the three of us never outgrew our love for cars, even after Namjoon’s dad taught us everything he knew. We all took auto shop in high school and it was a joke because we had already learned everything they were trying to teach us. When it came time to start thinking about college's we knew our mom couldn't afford to send us. A cousin had told Namjoon about racing and how his brother made decent money. So Namjoon and I started building a car together while we worked full time that summer, I gave my mom what I could to help but the rest went to parts. We built that car from the ground up and by the end of the summer we were finally able to race."

You were completely engrossed in his story, "So I'm assuming you won your first race."

Yoongi laughed, "Oh hell no, the engine stalled after the fourth turn. We had to roll the car home." He looked over at you, "But we learned what worked and what didn't. Eventually, we started winning and each time we won Namjoon would refuse his share, he told me to put it towards Hoseok’s college fund. My mom never found out, she thought we both got great scholarships." You couldn't help but smile with him. "I managed to get a semester out from graduating before I dropped out."

"Why?" You weren’t expecting that.

"Namjoon’s dad got really sick and Namjoon was still in college and was on an actual scholarship. His dad needed help in the shop and I knew he wouldn't ask any of us. So, I told him I graduated early and that I'd help him in the shop until I found a job. This man single-handedly made sure that both Hoseok and I stayed out of trouble and brought us into his family, and you don't walk away from family. So, I started working there full time. The pay wasn't an issue, I made enough racing that it covered whatever his dad couldn't afford. Eventually, he got too sick to come in, so I took over until Namjoon graduated." Yoongi shrugged, "I never really thought twice about my decisions. Eventually, his dad passed and Namjoon got the shop, I guess even though things changed I didn't. I never left and went back to school. I stayed and helped Namjoon run the shop and once Namjoon got arrested he asked me to take over until he got out."

"So does Hobi work at the shop?"

Yoongi nodded, "Yeah, he works there when he's on breaks and sometimes during the week."

You smiled, “I guess a family that races together stays together."

"Eh, kinda. I never wanted Hoseok to start racing, I did everything I could to make sure he never had to."

"Are you still helping pay for his schooling?"

Yoongi shook his head chuckling, "No, he pays for it all on his own. We fought for the longest time about him racing. He'd come with me so I guess part of it is my fault; I mean I introduced him to all of it. He has an actual scholarship now; he races because he wants to. We fought for months about it; I wanted him to concentrate on school. Eventually, he told me he was going to race and it could either be with our group or he'd go find another. I knew he'd be safer with me than anywhere else, so he races and I get to deal with his smug smile every time he wins." Yoongi leaned up and brushed his hands off on his jeans, "What about you? You're practically the exact opposite of Jimin from everything I hear. How did you two end up roommates?"

You laughed, "That's actually a funny story."

"Go on." He motioned her with his hand.

You rolled your eyes, "So I applied out here in my senior year of high school because I wanted to get as far away from my mother as possible. So, freshmen year I get assigned my dorm room and I get Jimin's cousin as my roommate. We hated each other, I wanted to concentrate on my studies and she wanted to do every possible thing she could to drive me insane. Anyways, we both start dating around the same time; things get easier because we're never there at the same time." You glanced over to see if he was still listening. He seemed genuinely interested in your story, so you continued. "This goes on for almost our whole freshmen year until eventually his cousin is kicking him out of his room and he’s forced to bunk with me because he had nowhere to go. As time went on we ended up getting along closer and getting more personal with our talks. We're two months out from summer break and come to find out me and his cousin have been dating the same guy who happened to be Jimin’s roommate. I had never been to my boyfriend’s dorm so I never knew who his roommate was and when we did talk he always referred to Jimin as his roommate."

Yoongi started laughing, "You and Park didn’t realize this from the beginning? Wow, now I get why you two are so close."

You stuck your tongue out at him, "Jimin basically ended up being my roommate because I guess his cousin didn’t care about the cheating and refused to give Jimin his dorm back. He helped me heal my broken heart and practically disowned his cousin for being a dumbass and being a bitch about the whole thing. I almost told the guy I was pregnant just to make him suffer a bit.”

Yoongi groans, "oh my god." His face goes into his hands, "I know the guy is an asshole but damn, that's brutal." But you could tell he was having a hard time not laughing.

"Well, I didn’t do it!."

He shook his head, "Girls are crazy, like batshit fucking crazy."

"Careful, you're out here with a crazy girl in the middle of the night with no one in sight with a lake to toss a body in." You raised an eyebrow at him.

He leaned closer, "I'd love to see you try."

You continued to talk until Yoongi checked his phone. You could see his mouth frown in the glow of his phone screen. "I think we're good to head back now, I'll drop you off at your house."

"Okay." Yoongi helped you off the table and you got into the passenger seat while Yoongi held the door for you. He came around and got in starting the car.

"I think Park is going to kill me." You were about to ask why when your eyes fell on the time glowing from his dashboard. You had been out there for almost three hours.

"I think you're right." You ran your hands over your pockets, "Shit. I don't have my phone."

"I know." Yoongi looked at you and you groaned.

"I'm so sorry! I promise I'll shield your body if he comes out waving a knife." Yoongi laughed and you shot him a glare.

"I'm sorry but I just can't imagine you taking on Park." you raised an eyebrow, "What? I've seen Jimin lay out a guy double his size because he leaned on his car." You couldn't help but laugh.

It took about ten minutes until he pulled up to the small house you and Jimin shared. You heard Yoongi groan, "What?" He pointed to the car parked on the street.

"That's my brother’s car and I don't feel like facing the Spanish Inquisition. So, I think I'm going to do the most un-gentlemanly thing I've ever done and tell you goodnight from the safety of my own car."

"Oh, that's fair; send me in there all by myself."

"Exactly."

You rolled your eyes but you opened the door and got out. You almost closed the door but stopped and bent your head down so you could see him, "Thanks for saving me tonight, I actually enjoyed myself."

Yoongi leaned over into the passenger seat and looked up at you, "So does that mean we'll see you again?"

You bit your lip and smiled, "Possibly." Yoongi raised an eyebrow but smirked at you which caused you to roll your eyes, "Goodnight Yoongi."

"Goodnight Y/N." You closed the door and walked up the rest of the driveway and turned the doorknob and walked in. You saw two flashes of black hair and a pair of eyes glaring at you and Jimin was up and rushing at you before you could move.

"Where the hell have you been!? I called you a million times! I thought something happened to you!" Jimin was swatting at you over and over again as he talked.

"Ow ow ow! Calm down! I didn't have my phone!" You were rubbing her arms; you forgot how hard Jimin could hit.

"Yes, I noticed once I heard the buzzing on my floorboard!"

"I'm sorry okay! Yoongi stopped and picked me up." You really did feel bad about making your best friend worry. Jimin hadn't even popped into your mind once the car had stopped which didn't make you feel any better.

"That doesn't take three hours Y/N!" You could see that Jimin was slowly losing steam which was a small victory.

"In my defense, it took like a half hour to get to the lake."

"No, it doesn't." You looked at Hobi sitting at the table with his foot propped up on the chair, "It takes like ten minutes to get to the lake from the shop."

Jimin spun around to look at Hobi "You knew he was there?" he yelled.

Hobi shook his head, "No, I knew he had her. But we don't tell each other where we go. We don't want the other one to come in trying to be the hero" he shrugged.

"Then why did it take thirty minutes?" You were so confused.

Hobi smirked as he took a drink from his glass, "It seems to me he wanted an excuse to spend time with you."

AN: This has been sitting around for a while and I felt like finishing it up quickly because who doesn’t like the thought of a racer!Yoongi. Hopefully, you enjoy this as much as I did writing it. It hasn’t been looked over to look for mistakes because my fingers are tired and I still have to write tags lol.