#bars near columbia

[canadachronicles]

Oh, I do fancy a Nanaimo Bar, now! Or rather, as it is very hot here, I fancy a generous slice of my Frozen Nanaimo Pie! I'll have to find Joyce Hardcastle's winning recipe when I return from my holiday, though!

[xoxoladyaz]

Feeling some Steddie angst hours in this house 🚨🚨🚨

After they kill Vecna, things go back to normal. Well, as normal as they can be. Whatever brief moment of insanity Steve and Nance had ends about as suddenly as it began, and she can’t really meet his eyes once her hand is back in Jonathan’s.

(It’s a blessing when she leaves for Columbia, Jonathan’s beat-up car following right behind her.)

The least normal thing is probably Eddie Munson, or at least whatever Steve’s relationship is with him now. It’s - there’s just something different there, some strange warmth that he feels when he looks at Eddie. And sometimes Steve catches Eddie just looking at him and - well, it gives him that same warm feeling, and maybe that means something? Something that maybe seemed scary before but is nowhere near as scary as Eddie almost bleeding out in Steve’s arms.

He’s in the midst of talking himself up, of figuring out just what he’s going to say to Eddie, when the Munsons announce they’re heading out of town and then leave the next day. Steve’s almost paralyzed with anxiety, but he’s gotta say something, right?

Except Eddie cuts him off at the knees with a weak smile, tells him not to be a stranger, to visit him in the city with his kids and a Winnebago once he’s finally gotten that suburban dream, and then he’s gone.

And Steve doesn’t hear from him again.

To be fair, no one really hears from Eddie; just Dustin, who will chime in that they’ve chatted every once in a while, that Eddie went to LA for a bit and then Seattle and finally settled in Chicago; that he seems to be really happy, but never gives any information beyond that.

And Steve? He packs up his life and follows Robin to college, and when he accompanies her to their first gay bar and sees two metal heads kissing, something inside him snaps and the pair of them end up drunkenly crying in their tiny apartment’s bathroom. But it gets better after that, and two years after their move to Indy, Steve meets Sam.

Sam, who’s got the lightest blonde hair he’s ever seen, cut into a shaggy mullet that perfectly offsets his shiny hazel eyes. He’s got a bright smile and a pierced eyebrow and too many earrings to count and his laugh is loud and joyous and for whatever reason, he likes Steve as much as Steve likes him.

Robin, of course, is ecstatic and takes all the credit for introducing them, which is technically true seeing as she was the one to spill her drink all over Sam before Steve came to the rescue. (Although she then almost ruined everything by throwing up on both of their shoes, so, Steve only lets her gloat so much.)

Three years after that finds Steve and Robin gainfully employer, as teachers of all things, and Vickie finally succeeds in convincing Robin to move in with her, and, well, it only makes sense that Steve and Sam get their own place too because, well, Steve loves him. Loves his ripped jeans and his skateboard and the fact that he’s cheery no matter the time of day, that he wants to have a family probably even more than Steve does and didn’t blink when Steve said he wanted six kids, he only laughed and said “why stop there?” And it may not be exactly what Steve was thinking in that Winnebago all those years ago, but that’s okay, because what he has with Sam? Is way better.

Once Steve and Sam get settled, Sam insists that they have a housewarming party (because Sam makes good money at his tattooing gig, and Steve’s inheritance is nothing to sneeze at, and they’re actually able to get a house, which feels insane but also just right) and invite all of Steve’s kids, who he’s met a few times but never all at once, and Steve is so whipped he says “yes” without a second thought.

(Which he really should have had because Henderson was also living in Chicago now.)

So when Henderson wanders in with Eddie as his plus one, and Sam is nowhere in sight, Steve only gives himself a moment to freak out before walking over to greet Eddie.

“Steeevveeeee Harrington,” Eddie purrs with a toothy grin. “Good to see you man. And good to see you finally getting started on that dream of yours,” he says, slapping Steve on the shoulder. “With Sam, I hear. You two crazy kids getting started on those six kids yet?”

“Uh, not - “

“Not quite yet,” Sam cuts in from behind Steve, wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist and tucking Steve’s head under his chin. “I still want a few more years of this guy all to myself. You must be Eddie,” Sam grins, sticking out his hand. “Good to meet you man. I’ve heard all about you.”

Eddie just stares at Sam. Stares and stares until Dustin kicks him in the shin. “Right. Sam. Sam. Good to meet you, man,” Eddie says, but he looks pale and vaguely sick and if Steve didn’t know from the few times Dustin had slipped up in the past, he’d think Eddie was homophobic (and he knew that wasn’t the case.)

Sam grins. “Well, good to have you here. Steve, babe, Robin wants you in the kitchen, something about the salsa - “

“Oh my God,” Steve groans, and then all thoughts of Eddie are forgotten in his rush to make sure Robin doesn’t actually poison everyone, and then he gets busy greeting people and saying hi and it’s not until well after midnight, when the remaining guests are smoking up with Argyle and Steve is taking out the trash that he remembers Eddie. Or, more accurately, that he bumps into him.

“So. Sam,” Eddie says, smoking a cigarette by the garage, gazing off into the distance. “He’s a good dude. Got shit taste in music, though.”

Steve slams the trash can lid shut a little harder than he needs to. “Dude,” he sighs, and Eddie must hear his exhaustion because he doesn’t say anything else for a while.

“Did you know?”

“About what?”

“About you? Back in ‘86?”

Steve just nods tiredly. “Yeah, man. I did.”

Eddie hums nervously. “And was there someone - “

“Eddie, man, you know there was. You know.”

“Yeah,” Eddie’s laugh sounds broken. “Yeah, I did. Fuck. Fuck.”

And Steve doesn’t know what to say, because what is there to say? He loved Eddie; hell, part of him still loves Eddie. But Eddie ran at the first inkling of there being something between them, and Sam didn’t. He’s never run, not even when Steve gave him so many reasons to. And Steve could tell Eddie that he’s wondered, so many times he’s wondered, what they could have been. If they could be anything.

But Eddie wasn’t there to hold out his hand, and Sam was. Sam is, and that makes all the difference.

Steve claps his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, just like Eddie did when he arrived, and then he heads into his house.

(This time, he’s the one to leave Eddie behind.)

[catdotjpeg]

Legal observers are also being barred from entering the encampment as well.

GAZA SOLIDARITY ENCAMPMENTS PERSIST: Heeding the call for escalation to demand divestment and en end to the genocide against our people in Gaza, three “Gaza Solidarity Encampments” are now set up across New York City at Columbia, NYU, and The New School. A wave of encampments has swept campuses nationwide, furthering the pressure on universities to stop investing in the zionist death machine. Students are reclaiming their campuses, braving what’s to come from repressive administrations, because they know that we owe Gaza everything, and that liberation is near.

-- NYC Palestinian Youth Movement, 22 Apr 2024 1:10 PM EDT

[jennaispunk]

Every Time You Go Away

Summary: You have very few vices and the biggest one is Javi. It can never be serious but tell that to your heart.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f! Reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.8k

Tags/Warnings: fluff, angst, allusions to smut, fingering (f! receiving), unprotected PIV (wrap it up, peeps), idiots in love, unspoken feelings, longing, two people who want what they think they can’t have, smoking, reader understands Spanish but does not speak Spanish in this story, reader is shorter than Javi, has hair that can be tucked behind her ear, and can be picked up by him but no other physical description is given, reader has an occupation (she's a teacher). Reader has a nickname (cariño, and one other that I won't spoil here). If i missed anything, please let me know.

A/N: This fic was written for @yopossum mootboard challenge. I love this moodboard so much and I love how much it inspired me. Thanks to @fallingforthearch for being my #1 fan and to @fhatbhabiee for looking this over for me. This is the first thing I’ve written that’s anywhere close to being angsty and it killed me to not give these two a HEA (maybe I will someday)

divider and banner by @saradika-graphics

Most people would be out on the town on a Friday night, enjoying the bars and nightlife Bogotá has to offer, but not you. You sit at home on your couch, waiting. He’s going to knock on your door any moment now, he always does at this time of night. You sip your glass of wine and stare at the stack of ungraded papers spread over the coffee table. You had assigned your fifth-grade class an essay and now came the laborious task of reading them.

Why you do this to yourself, you’ll never know. Javi doesn’t love you and he probably never will. You are an outlet for him, a place where he can unload his stress and drown his worries inside you. You’re no better than a whore, but at least whores get paid. You let him use you for free. You let him use you and leave and you never ask for anything in return. You’re always there with a soft smile and a willing body. Damn, you wish you could turn him away, tell him that this isn’t working for you anymore, but you can’t. You’re in love with him, you have been since the moment you met at that boring Embassy party. The thought of him not being in your life hurts worse than being his fuck toy; at least you get to touch him, kiss him, give him some sort of comfort.

“Hey, cariño.”

He props himself against the doorframe, his lean body drawn to its full height. His leather jacket creaks as he moves his arm, and heat slowly spreads through your chest.

You silently make way for him to enter your apartment and softly close the door behind him. He moves across your apartment with feline grace, like he owns the place. You suppose he does, in a way. No other man has spent so much time in your apartment since you moved to Columbia.

He prowls over to the small bar near the kitchen and pours himself some whiskey. A soft chuckle fills the air as he realizes it’s his favorite brand. There’s only one store in Bogotà that sells this brand and it’s not that close to the school or your apartment. His heart squeezes in his chest, you really are too sweet for him.

He lands heavily on the couch, the familiar mixture of cigarette smoke, aftershave and whiskey invades your nostrils. The scent fills you with a myriad of emotion and your bottom lip finds its way between your teeth.

He lights a cigarette and takes a long drag as you settle onto the couch next to him. He’s the only one you would ever let smoke in your apartment. You sit close enough to touch him, but you don’t. Javi likes to be in control, and you wait for him to make the first move.

He shouldn’t do this to you. You should be with someone who could give you everything you need….someone who wasn’t him. He wasn’t any good for you, he knew that, yet he showed up at your door like he always does, and you let him in.

He knocks back his whiskey in one fluid gulp, his Adam’s apple bouncing as he swallows. You look so goddamn sexy in those silky lavender sleep shorts. His left hand clenches and unclenches trying not to jump you right then and there.

“What’s all this?”

He jerks his head toward the chaos in front of you. Leaning forward, he sets his empty class on the table and picks up the top sheet of paper.

The corner of your mouth tugs upward as he studies the paper with intensity. You could almost make yourself believe this is what it would be like if the two of you were actually a couple, the two of you sharing a quiet moment after a long day.

“My students had to write an essay on their dream job. I was trying to get a head start on grading them.”

His signature smirk played on his lips as he read.

“The Ambassador’s son wants to be a DEA agent, huh? Bet she loves that.”

Your soft laughter lifts over the quiet music you had playing in the background. The Ambassador had no love for the DEA agents working in Columbia, especially Javi and his partner Steve.

“Maybe I should have you come in and talk to the class.”

You were only half joking but the thought of the tough and stoic Javier Peña standing up in front of a group of ten year olds makes you smirk.

He drops the paper and loud sigh escapes his lips as he pinches the bridge of his nose. You know exactly what that means.

“Tough day?” you ask quietly.

He tells you about his day while you listen silently. He leaves out the worst parts, of course. He can’t bear to tell you the whole truth, not wanting to subject you to the worst parts of his job. You don’t need that.

His large, warm hand rests on your bare thigh. As he talked, his hand caresses your skin, his fingers kneading your soft flesh. The need to feel you, to possess you is almost overwhelming and he grits his teeth. Those lavender silk pajama shorts are killing him, so much of your creamy flesh is exposed to him. His hand snakes further up your thigh as he takes a deep breath.

You watch his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed, the heat burning between your thighs. You shouldn’t want this; you know exactly what this is, but you can’t help yourself. You need to hang onto him, even if what you have isn’t real. This is enough. Oh, the lies you tell yourself.

“Want a refill?”

You already know the answer. He never gets drunk with you. He never has more than one drink when he’s with you, but you always ask. You’re just buying time, trying to stretch out the time spent together as long as possible.

He shakes his head slowly. His shoulders sag like he’s carrying the weight of the world. He knows he shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t do this, he should have just went to see Vanessa or one of the other girls. He hadn’t done that in weeks. You’re the only one who can give him what he needs.

“Come here, cariño.”

He pulls you into his lap and wraps his hands around your waist, keeping you settled securely in his lap, right over the bulge in his grey jeans. The heat from his body soaks into yours and desire pools at your core.

He couldn’t look you directly in the eyes for more than a few moments at a time. He knew exactly what he’d see there. He’d see the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, and he knew that he was ruining you. He knew that you would never ask for more than he gave you and that broke his heart.

His lips crash against yours, his soft tongue plunging deep into your mouth. The wine on your tongue mixed with the whisky on his and he gripped your hips tighter. He wanted to lose himself in you, let you calm his raging soul, if only for a brief time.

Javi’s thick fingers snake up your back and into your hair. His grip is firm, but not painful. He doesn’t want to hurt you, even though that’s exactly what he’s doing. The pain may not be physical, but he was causing you pain, nonetheless.

He tilts your head back, his lips trailing down your neck. Vanilla and cherry fill his nose, a scent that’s uniquely you, driving his need for you even higher.

His teeth lightly graze your skin, and you moan softly. He knows just how to touch you, which parts of you are the most sensitive and he played your body perfectly.

He wraps your legs around his waist as he stands. His mouth is on yours again and he kisses you deeply as he takes the familiar walk toward your bedroom. It’s a trip he’s taken enough times that he doesn’t need his eyes to know where he’s going.

Your body looks so beautiful spread out for him on your soft sheets. You’re always so willing to let him have you anyway he wants. You give yourself to him so freely. How could someone so pure want someone like him? He’s not a good man and he doesn’t pretend to be. He did horrible things, told himself it was for the greater good but was it really? Are the things that he was doing worth it?

Javi slowly unbuttoned his shirt as he stood between your parted legs. He knows you like to watch him undress and he is more than happy to give you a show.

His smooth, tan chest is exposed to you little by little, making you throb harder with every pop of the buttons. The belt came next, unlatching it one handed as his other hand strokes your thigh.

You squirm as he unbuttoned his pants, giving you a peek at the small curve of his belly and the strip hair that led to the thing you wanted most.

He gently jerks you to a siting position. Practiced hands pull your tank top over your head, exposing you to him. He kneels before you, his soft lips brushing your neck. You’re so sensitive to him and it only serves to make him even harder.

Teeth gently nip at your exposed skin as he makes his way down your body. You are soft and so much of his world was rough. You soothe him, you make him feel whole.

“Javi…”

Just like always, you’re putty in his hands. You let him mold you in his image, desperate to have any piece of him that you could. You’d take anything he gave you. Despite what he might think, he’s a good man. You’ve seen how much he cares about his work and the people closest to him.

“Shhh, cariño….I’ve got you.”

His lips and tongue tease at your nipple, and your fingers tangle in his hair. He chuckles lightly into your skin as he plays your body like an instrument.

He pushes you back onto the bed and pulls off your shorts. His pupils are blown with lust as he marvels at the sight before him.

In a perfect world, he would take his time with you, he would treat you as gently as you deserve but he couldn’t. If he did, he’d only drag you down with him and he couldn’t live with that on his conscience. It was better to keep you at arms length, keep you safe.

His fingers drag through your wet folds and dip inside. He can’t hold back a strangled groan as your heat surrounds him. He works you slowly, opening you up for him until the tingle in your lower abdomen tells you it won’t be long before you came undone for him.

Your body clenches around his digits, your moans filling the room. Stars blind you as your orgasm ripped through your body with a vengeance. Javi’s hushed voice works you through it until you whimper his name.

You didn’t give you much time to recover before he was pulling off his jeans and his body covered yours, settling between your thighs. His weight on you feels good, comforting even but it shouldn’t. For now, you pretend this was more than it was. You pretend that this meant something and not just a way for him to release his tension.

He intertwines your fingers with his, pinning your hands to the bed. Holding your hands like this is the only bit of intimacy he allows himself.

He pushed himself inside you, holding back a moan. All his worries vanished as your warmth surrounded him. He’s lost in the feel of you, the way you grip him so tightly. He’s convinced this is the closest he’ll ever come to heaven.

His pace steadily increased as you moaned for him, making those sounds that he loved to hear. You sang so beautifully for him.

You mewled as he hit the spot that only he could reach, and you knew you were close to coming for him once again.

You cried out his name and your walls squeezed around him.

“That’s it, cariño…don’t fight it.”

You tried to hold back. You wanted this to last as long as possible because you know as soon as it was over the spell would be broken. You’d have to face the reality that you loved a man that didn’t love you back.

“Be a good girl and come for me.”

You obey his command, and your walls fluttered around him as your second orgasm hit you. It felt like an electric shock through your entire body. Every nerve in your body fired all at once.

You whimper softly as the aftershocks ripple through you. Javi never stopped, working your through your orgasm once again as you whine and cry for him.

He picked up his pace and his hips slap against you as he chased his own release. His hips stutter as he buries his face into your neck and spilled himself inside you, painting you with his seed.

He laid on top of you for a minute, breathing you in and taking advantage of the last few moments he had you like this. He couldn’t let himself linger too long and he rolled off you, reaching down for his jeans to grab his pack of cigarettes.

Your mind was still hazy as you roll onto your side, watching him rest against the headboard and light his smoke. This was yet another thing you only did for him, you would never let any other man smoke in your bed.

He smirked at you as the cloud of smoke obscured his face. It was his way of telling you he was satisfied. He couldn’t say it out loud, that would be too much.

He crushes the butt into the ashtray on the nightstand and laid back down. He smooths the hair from your face, tucking the strands behind your ear. It’s the only bit of comfort he can offer you. It’s not nearly enough, he knows that, but he can’t let himself give you more.

“Get some sleep, rana (frog).”

A giggle bubbles up from the depths as you hear that stupid nickname he gave you. Not long after you first met, he told you that you reminded him of Sally Field’s character in “Smokey and the Bandit”, his favorite movie. You thought he was crazy, but somehow the nickname just stuck.

You didn’t want to sleep because you knew what came next. You knew he would leave once you were out. He would leave the way he always does, like a thief in the night. Did he know that he was also leaving with your heart? Did he even care?

Sleep finally took you. You never could stay awake long after being with him but maybe that was for the best. If you were awake when he left, would you be able to resist the aching need to ask him to stay? You didn’t think you were that strong.

He watched you for awhile as you slept. You looked so peaceful in that state, like an angel. Maybe you were…. maybe you were here to save him even though he didn’t deserve it.

He quietly disentangles himself from the sheets and looked back at your sleeping form one last time. You look so beautiful with your messy hair and your soft body wrapped up in the sheets. His heart ached to tell you how he felt, how he longed for you, but he could never do that. You’re too good for him; he’d only ruin you with his roughness. He would never forgive himself if he hurt you. You belong with someone better than him: a doctor or a lawyer, someone who would treat you the way you deserved. You’d drown his darkness; it would swallow you up and change the very essence of who you were. Still, he came back, time after time, taking everything you gave him without so much as a complaint. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t let you go. He loved you…you were the one thing that kept him sane. Maybe one day he could be the man you needed but today was not that day.

The sun streaming through your bedroom window woke you. Just like always, you woke up alone. The bed cold and empty next to you, but his scent still lingered. You roll over and bury your face in the pillow allowing yourself to breathe him in the way you never dare let yourself when he’s here. Admitting your feelings is not an option but that’s all you want to do. Maybe one day you’ll be brave enough to look him in the eye and tell him you want more. You can handle his darkness; you’ve been doing it for months even if he doesn’t realize it. Maybe next time you won’t just fall asleep…. you’ll ask him to stay.

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

More Precious Than Rubies: Part 3a

This is an alternate timeline story that has a Rafael Barba track and a Sonny Carisi track. The two paths split off in part 3.

WC: 2662

TW: SVU-typical talk of rape and sexual assault cases.

AN: The prompt was "I saw you staring at each other, I just wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage."

When the jury read their verdict of “not guilty” on all counts, you breathed a sigh of relief and then tended to your client, who collapsed against you in broken sobs.  You got him collected, then you both went out and made a brief statement to the assembled press.  You shook Jeremy’s hand and wished him well, and then you stood a moment in the weak April sunlight.

You descended the steps of the courthouse slowly, one at a time, and thought about what you should do. 

It was late in the day – you could go back to your airless little utility closet of an office and wrap up you paperwork on the case.  Or you could start making your way towards home.  Most of the cops and ADAs went to celebrate or commiserate at Forlini’s, but two blocks up was a charming little Spanish wine bar that most tourists walked right past.  It was right near your subway stop – you could go finish your paperwork there.

You had been a good student in high school and undergraduate, and you’d been top of the class in law school.  The sole subject you struggled in had been math and calculus, so it was fortunate that law didn’t require much higher math beyond calculating what consecutive sentences would add up to.

If you had been good at higher math, you’d know what an inflection point was – a moment when a curve changes from being concave to convex, or vice versa.  Life was full of inflection points – when the path a person could take is changed or decided on.  Most times, the person in question had no idea how their little choices affected the larger arc of their life. 

Take the subway or walk.  Eat the street meat or the leftovers you packed from home.  Go to Fordham law or Columbia law.

Turn right, towards your office.  Or turn left towards home.

Today, you turned left.

********

Barba was livid.  The problem was, he didn’t know who to be madder at:  himself, or Liv, or the rest of the SVU squad. 

He should have known better.  He should have known.  How many times had SVU handed him flimsy cases with circumstantial evidence?  How many times had he sent them away, refusing to even consider a case until it was more solid?

Too many times, and yet here he was – dodging Jack McCoy, sneaking out of the office, creeping past Forlini’s without looking through the plate glass windows, ducking into a tiny wine bar.  Steadying his nerves with a glass of ruby-red Garnacha and just letting the alcohol inflame his temper even more.

Because he should have known better.

And once he worked through his uncharitable feelings about his detectives, he moved on to the irritating new public defender.  If he had been intrigued by you initially, it quickly wore off once he saw you shred his admittedly feeble case.  You caught the social media posts that NYPD didn’t, but that didn’t make you a brilliant lawyer – it just meant you were thorough.  And lucky.  The next time he faced off with you in court, he’d settle the score.  And he’d do it with the same, tiny, infuriating smile you had sported during closing arguments. 

He finished off his first glass of wine and then ordered another, along with a charcuterie tray for one, as if he didn’t already feel like a loser.  He sipped his wine slower and tried to enjoy the notes of plum and juniper.  After his last overdue annual physical (and his doctor clucking over his blood pressure), Barba had downloaded some meditation app that basically charged him $2.99 a month to tell him to close his eyes and take deep breaths.  While he waited for the world’s smallest, saddest charcuterie tray, he closed his eyes and did just that.

He could feel the tension loosen a little bit.  His pulse slowed.  He took another sip of wine and tried to savor it.  Everything would be fine.  He’d take his lumps from McCoy, then he’d march over to the 16th precinct and give Liv a stern speech about sloppy police work.  Then he’d do better, be more vigilant, work harder.

When he opened his eyes finally, his newfound serenity evaporated immediately.  Across the bar, settling into a stool and pulling a stack of papers out of a battered satchel, was the irritating new public defender.  He ducked down and watched you furtively.  You shed your grey jacket.  You ordered a glass of white wine but no food, and you bent over your papers.  Your face was drawn and serious, as if you hadn’t just scored an impressive victory against the district attorney’s office. 

The waiter bringing Barba’s food created a flurry of activity that drew your eye, and Barba saw you see him.  You nodded at him in greeting and gave him a smile, and he wasn’t sure if it was meant to be friendly or to gloat.  He embraced his foul mood as it returned and settled for the latter instead of the former.

He scowled back at you and pointedly ignored you to focus on his food, but not before he saw you carefully gather up your stuff and walk around the bar to join him.  He was unable to be explicitly rude and ignore you, so he sighed and turned to face you.

“You here to gloat?” he asked, and he watched your face turn from casually friendly to guarded.

“I’m not gloating,” you replied.  “I wanted to say it was a good case, and that you did your best.”

Barba scoffed and took a deep swig of wine, polishing it off in one gulp.  “Liar.  It was a weak case, and now you’re gloating.”

You narrowed your eyes at him and watched him as he ordered another glass of wine.  “I’d think that you’d be happy that you weren’t responsible for getting an innocent man locked up,” you said, and your voice was clipped and almost borderline angry. 

He swiveled in his seat so that he could face you directly.  You weren’t wrong, but Barba was still smarting from such a humiliating defeat – especially on a case he shouldn’t have even taken to trial.  He had no one to blame but himself, but the heady red wine was hitting him harder than his usual scotch did, so he snapped back at you.

“Enjoy your victory,” he said, and you narrowed your eyes further until they were mere slits in your face, glaring out at him.  “You won’t get another.”  And then he turned back in his seat to make sure you knew you were dismissed.

He’d feel bad about it in the morning.  You were just some green public defender, some bleeding heart, probably, and likely someone who just eked out a law degree and a license from passing the bar.  And you had kept an innocent man out of prison.  But law was a zero-sum game:  every case you won was a case he lost.

And more than anything else, Barba loved to win. 

-----

It was another month before Barba faced off against you again, and it ended in a draw – guilty on a lesser count, not guilty on the more serious charge.  You’d be able to make a plea for leniency during sentencing.  When court was dismissed, he turned to nod at you, but you deliberately tilted your head in that sometimes-cute, mostly-irritating way you had and ignored him.

The next match up was just two weeks later, and you lost it handily.  Guilty on all counts, and your client was a repeat rapist, but Barba begrudgingly admitted that you gave him a good defense.  The defendant would not be able to appeal based on incompetent counsel.  Again, you refused to look at Barba, but he couldn’t miss the tension that melted from your frame when your client was led out in cuffs.  He realized that you had to defend monsters, and he wondered if you just now realized it yourself.

He got to talk to you a little during those cases, when you both did the mandatory tap dance around possible plea deals.  Even if you were young, you were a fierce competitor, snapping back at his own witty one-liners with sarcastic rejoinders of your own.  Unlike the other lawyers he squared off with, though, you never made it personal.  You never snarked on his suits (like Calhoun), and you never called him a peacock (like Buchanan).  You just threw out obscure case law and legal precedents that he sometimes wasn’t aware of.

Meetings with you left him both invigorated and exhausted.  Like a sudden burst of adrenaline that, when it was spent, made him weary.

He conceded that you knew what you were doing.  You seemed to know the law inside and out, and you seemed to have a supernatural instinct for when SVU was floating a weak case.  Barba wondered what your relationship with Carisi had been like – maybe your ability to see through the squad’s posturing came from whatever had happened between you and the lanky detective. 

Barba asked Liv about it once.  Liv had just shrugged and said that you and Carisi had already been a couple when he came to Manhattan’s SVU, and then a few months later, Carisi had turned up to work with red eyes and rumpled clothes for a long stretch before pulling himself together.

“She was sweet,” Liv said.  “She used to bring in lunch and dinner when we were working overtime.  But she was still in school then, I think.  Fordham.”

Barba pictured you in college student garb, maybe a pair of faded jeans and a Fordham sweatshirt, your face sans makeup and your hair pulled into a sloppy ponytail.  He pictured you bringing in boxes of food for the squad, maybe sitting and chatting with them a bit while Carisi played footsie with you under the table.  He pictured the tall detective walking you out, kissing you and promising to see you at home soon. 

Barba felt a measure of melancholic jealousy for that imagined domestic scene.  He’d love to have a girlfriend who brought him food when he was working late.  More to the point, he’d love to have a reason to even go home instead of pulling late nights in his office.  His mind started to wander to an imagined scene where you brought him food in his office, where he kissed you and promised to see you at home….he shoved that daydream aside violently.  Not you.  Anyone but the irritating public defender who stung and maddened him like a deep papercut that kept breaking back open after he thought it had healed.

He wondered again idly what had broken the two of you up.  Likely being on opposite sides of the law, Barba figured.  Carisi, the cocker spaniel of special victims advocate, and you, an avenging angel of the poorest criminals Manhattan had to offer.

-----

SVU had a new case:  a sixteen year-old, Anthony Forni, was being tried as an adult for sexual assault of a neighbor in his apartment building.    

And a familiar face caught it for the defense.

Barba and Liv were in his office, chatting about the case when Carmen knocked on the door and announced you.  As per your usual routine, you nodded curtly at Liv before zeroing in on Barba like a heat-seeking missile.  You marched over to stand on the other side of his desk, and Barba knew by now not to bother with polite small talk about the weather.  He seemed to have lost that privilege when he rebuffed you all those months ago at the wine bar.

“Counselor,” he said in greeting, and his mentally girded himself for a fight.  Increasingly, your meetings with him were getting tenser.  It was his fault, probably, when he made it personal by calling you “girl wonder” sarcastically once, and you had glared at him so hard that he almost withered under the force of your stare.  Almost.

“The Forni case,” you replied.  “Let’s talk plea deal.”

He scoffed at this and saw Liv start to open her mouth to add her two cents, so he held a silencing hand out to her.  “I’ll take my chances at court.”

The corner of your mouth twitched as you fought a smile.  “You sure about that, Barba?”

“I’d consider rape in the second degree.  Five years, and he goes on the registry.”

“I’d consider forcible touching,” you retorted.  “Probation, mandatory therapy.”

Barba laughed outright.  “A misdemeanor?  Don’t waste my time.”

You held up your hand and ticked off your points.  “One, you can’t prove that my client even had sex with the victim…”

“The rape kit tested positive for lubricant,” Live cut in, and you just rolled her interruption into your list of points without even looking at her.

“Two, the victim is married and is rumored to have a piece on the side, so lubricant is a non-issue.”  You paused for a split second, waiting for another interruption.  Your eyes never left Barba’s; he wondered if you were this intense with other ADAs.  He couldn’t imagine you staring down Callier or O’Dwyer with such passion. 

“Three,” you continued, “Forni’s mother has been fighting with the victim over noise complaints for months.”

“Which gives me a motive for the defendant attacking her,” Barba cut in.

“Which gives me a motive for the victim lying,” you snapped.  “And four, I have reason to believe that my client is himself a victim of sexual abuse.  He needs therapy and support, not hard time with grown men.”

“How noble of you,” Barba murmured, and he saw you clench your jaw.  “But what about support for the victim?  Moreover, what about justice?”

“What’s just about sending an underaged kid to an adult prison?  That’s vengeance.”

Barba shrugged.  “That’s the law.”

“An eye for the eye makes the whole world blind,” you replied, and Barba laughed outright again.  He was thinking, more and more, that you were some sort of bleeding-heart do-gooder after all. 

“Embroider it on a pillow,” he snarked.  “Don’t use it for a basis of legal argument.”

“At least I keep it pithy,” you sassed back at him.  “Your closing arguments are so wordy and long-winded, you couldn’t embroider it on a blanket.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, and Barba refused to look away first.  Instead, he studied your face, smirking a bit at the way your nostrils flared almost imperceptibly as you raged quietly.  Finally, you blinked and stepped away from his desk.

“I’ll see you in court then,” you declared, and you flounced out without another word.  Barba could practically feel the energy in the room shift as you left, like you were a storm front passing by.

He leaned back in his chair and then glanced over at Liv.  He’d nearly forgotten that she was even there.  That was the problem with you:  in court and in these little encounters, the rest of the world seemed to fall away.  Liv, for her part, was giving him that infuriating soft smile she had when she felt like she had some new insight into Barba’s character or inner thoughts.

“What?” he barked, sounding meaner than he intended.

“What was that all about?” she asked.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Her smile widened.  “I saw you staring at each other.  I just wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage.”

“Neither,” he said.  “And stop smiling like that.  It’s just business.”

Liv held up her hands in mock surrender and stood up to leave too.  But the smile never left her face, and she even chuckled softly to herself as she made her way to the door.

“For my money, that looked a lot like sexual tension to me,” she said, and she ducked out of his office before he had a chance to come up with a snarky response.

[amberlynnmurdock]

The Good In You (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Benjamin Poindexter x Reader

Chapter Summary: Dex keeps his distance like he was ordered to, but not so far he can't keep an eye on her.

Genres/Warnings: small self inflicted wound (literally a paper cut lol), fluff, angst

Words: 2.6k

Tags: @danzer8705 @reblog-reblog666 @pcrushinnerd

Ao3 Link

Dex sat quietly at his desk, an untouched cup of black coffee in front of him, the screen of his computer buzzing in the silence of the office. No one ever came to the office as early as he did. It wasn’t a requirement to come in early—Dex just couldn’t find it in himself to sleep. He rubbed his eyes and adjusted himself in the uncomfortable office chair. Only a few other people were at the Bureau this early, and she wasn’t one of them. 

Down the hall, just on the right side, was her exam room. Her name was posted on the outside of the door with the title “In House Nurse” underneath. Dex had been keeping a close eye on her recently after the events at the bar unfolded. A comfortable distance, hidden in plain sight. He mostly paid attention whenever he saw someone enter her room—especially if it was Beckett.  

He gripped his pencil a little tighter and stiffened in his seat whenever he saw Beckett walk by. Hattley had ordered Dex, in private, to keep his distance from Beckett, as a way to keep the peace in the office. Dex wanted to scoff at her right there—since when was he the problem? Beckett was the one who paraded around like he owned the Bureau, paraded around like no one could not like him. But it was Dex who had to keep his distance? 

Sure. 

So Dex did as he was told—kept his distance, but never too far out of sight. Never too far to keep an eye on her. 

His fingers twitched over the keyboard as his attention was drawn to the FBI’s database built into every computer. Only certain level agents had clearance to navigate the application, and Dex was one of them. He swiveled the mouse a few times, contemplating his next moves, until ultimately his impulse won him over and he clicked the application to log in. 

He can search for anyone and any place with their database. Dex wasted no time in typing her name in the engine. He leaned forward on the desk and hunched his shoulders to cover the screen. Even though there wasn’t anyone else near him, he felt the urge to keep what he was doing hidden. 

The system loaded for a few seconds until all the matches with her name popped up. When he saw a picture of her after the fourth click, he opened her file. 

Originally from Upstate New York, she graduated from a small-town high school and went to Columbia University School of Nursing. She lives just outside of Hell’s Kitchen at a nice apartment complex not too far from Dex’s. Her family still lives upstate, so it’s just her in the city. 

Dex continued to scroll through her file, curiosity getting the better of him. He’s confident he hasn’t even blinked yet from all the information he was taking in about her. She worked at Metro-General before becoming a nurse at the FBI. She was there for only two years. She’s been at the FBI only half a year. Dex can’t remember the first day she started—he often ignored the new people who started at the FBI because he didn’t see a point in conversing with them if it would never get farther than just being coworkers. But he does remember the first time he had to see her in her room. Friendly, smiling, kind. She offered numerous attempts at conversation that Dex didn’t take up. He remembers sitting quietly and letting her work on him. He preferred it that way, but now, he tried to engage with her whenever he was in her room. That was the most he could do. Try. 

He clicks out of her file as he hears the doors of the Bureau open. It was nearly eight in the morning, so people were starting to arrive at the office. Looking over his shoulder, he sees her among the small crowd of employees walking in. Something coats his chest at the sight of her: anxiety. 

She’s walking with her head down until she looks up from her phone and sees Dex sitting at a desk with a small smile on his face. She immediately lightens up at the sight of him and smiles, making a beeline to come talk to him. Dex takes a deep breath and takes one last look at his computer to make sure all the windows are closed.

“Good morning, Agent Poindexter,” she beams, and Dex is amused by how she has so much energy this early in the morning, while everyone else who walked in behind her practically dragged their feet—even him, when he first got here. 

“Good morning, __,” Dex leans on the desk with his elbows to speak to her. “How are you?”

“I’m doin’ alright. You?”

“Same,” Dex said. 

“You’re here early,” she notes and adjusts her tote bag on her shoulder. “Do you get to leave early too?”

“No,” Dex shakes his head. “Doesn’t work like that. Honestly, I couldn’t sleep so I figured I could get a head start on the day.”

“I understand,” she nods, looking away from him. Dex watches her break eye contact. He tries not to let his FBI training get in the middle of his interactions with her, but when someone breaks eye contact the way she did just now, it means she’s nervous to talk to him. Why would she be nervous? 

“Did you uh—get coffee on your way in?” Dex asks her softly, a way to make her not feel nervous. 

She meets his eyes again, and this time it’s Dex who feels uneasy. “I didn’t. I was going to brew a fresh pot here.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dex waves his hand. “I’ll make it for you and bring it to your office.”

She smiles, holding his eye contact. “Well, okay. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he says. Dex watches as she walks away and into her exam room. His first task of the day wasn’t what he was supposed to do: it wasn’t to prep files and do investigative work. None of that mattered to him. What mattered was bringing her a fresh cup of coffee and knowing it was a job well done when she smiled at the sight of him holding it for her in the doorway. 

◎◎◎

The rest of the day was easy for Dex to get through until Beckett came in and immediately shifted the energy of the office, specifically for Dex. Beckett practically waltzed in, glad to see Dex sitting at his desk following orders to keep a distance, while it was fair and free for Beckett to do as he pleased. Dex’s fingers twitched over the pencil he was holding, gently tracing the pencil tip over the pad of his thumb. 

He directed his attention to his screen again and clenched his jaw. Even the sound of Beckett talking was enough for Dex to become incredibly annoyed. He hears him jeering with other agents, making small talk—it’s all just noise to Dex. It’s not until he catches Beckett’s eyes by mistake that an icy feeling coats his heart. Beckett glares at him right before knocking on her door. 

Dex swallows hard as she opens the door and lets him inside. The door closes, and Dex lets out the breath he was holding. His heartbeat is in his ears and he shuts his eyes to calm himself down. Control the rage. The rage doesn’t control you. Dex wasn’t sure what Beckett’s motive was, but he knew it couldn’t be good. He wants to find her immediately and ask if she’s all right, if Beckett did anything to her in private, and the anticipation of their meeting ending almost drives Dex into a frenzy. 

After a long five minutes, Beckett finally exits her exam room, looking less than pleased, to Dex’s delight. Dex can’t go in there right away though—he has to play his cards right to not look suspicious. Beckett disappears down the hallway and outside the Bureau, seemingly leaving for a meeting. 

Dex doesn’t want to make it obvious that he watched that interaction unfold, and he doesn’t want her to think he’s been watching her office all day. He can’t just go to her office and ask what Beckett wanted. He needs an excuse. Dex searches the desk for anything he could use to give himself a small wound to see her, but finds nothing other than pencils and papers. 

He takes a piece of paper and looks around to ensure no one’s watching. Under the desk, he slides the edge of the paper over his left pointer finger and cuts his skin open. Hiding the grimace on his face, Dex crumbles the paper and throws it in the trash. The small cut on his finger stings as air meets the open wound, drawing a small amount of blood. It was juvenile, but enough to get him to go to her room for a bandaid. 

Dex gets up from his desk and walks consciously to her door. It was half open, and she was sitting at her desk looking at her computer. Dex knocks on the door softly. 

“Dex,” she greets with a smile, “what’s up?”

Dex blushes and looks away sheepishly. “I may have a serious injury that needs to be checked out.” He holds up his finger and the laugh that emits from her is enough to calm him down. 

“A paper cut? Goodness, we’ll have to have that checked out immediately. Close the door,” she jokes as she stands up to meet him. Dex shuts the door behind him and holds up his hand for her to examine. He watches her behind his hazel eyes and sees the feigned concern on her face. She holds his hand in hers and holds his finger up to the light. 

“This will require some serious surgery. Wash your hands at the sink.”

Dex stands over the sink as she reaches up into a cabinet to fetch a bandaid for him. Dex takes a seat at the exam table and she walks over to him, opening the bandaid. 

Before she puts the bandaid on him, she holds his finger again and inspects the cut that is perfectly in the middle of his finger. Dex is a puddle inside, feeling her holding his hand in concern. It seems she’s not joking like she was before and was worried about the cut. He can’t remember the last time anyone ever showed that much concern, even over a small paper cut. 

“You gotta be careful handling those files,” she meets his hazel eyes and says in a low voice. “They may be small, but paper cuts have a mighty sting.”

“I know,” Dex shrugs, “they do hurt.”

She gently wraps the bandaid perfectly around his finger, holding his hand carefully in hers. When she’s done, she places his hand against his chest and smiles. 

“All set.”

"Thank you,” Dex smiles in return, not wanting to leave but also not wanting to remain this close to her. She retreats slightly to give him room to get up but he doesn’t move. 

“How’s your day going?” She asks, another attempt at conversation. 

“Almost over,” Dex replies. “You?”

  “Same,” she nods. “I’m happy you came by. A better visitor than I had before, just between me and you.”

Dex is somewhat relieved she brought up Beckett first. It’s really what he came in here for, to find out what it was he wanted. “Nurse-patient confidentiality,” Dex jokes. “Uh, what was it he wanted anyway?”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “He asked to be my date for the gala in a few weeks.”

“The gala?” Dex asked, furrowing his brows. Then it dawned on him slowly. “Oh, right. The annual gala.” It didn’t occur to him at first because every year, Dex ignores the invite and doesn’t go. It’s a way to thank the agents and staff for all their hard work the year prior with fancy drinks and food, hosted at a banquet in the city. Frankly, Dex’s worst nightmare. To be stuck in an environment shaking hands with people he hardly knew, putting on a facade the whole night. Sure, he could’ve gone in the past and sat at a table with Nadeem, but Nadeem had his wife and Dex wasn’t too excited to third-wheel an event. He never had a reason to go. 

Work was work. Why should he be awarded for simply doing his job? 

“Yeah,” she sighed. 

“Well, what did you say?”

“I said no, of course. I don’t ‘date’ coworkers. And I especially wouldn’t go to that with him.”

“But you are going?” Dex asks her. 

She nodded. “Yeah. It sounds fun. Are you going?” 

Dex immediately shakes his head and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, I don’t see myself going to that. I’ve never been.” 

“Of all the years you’ve worked here you’ve never attended?” She asked incredulously.

Dex shook his head softly. “No.” 

“Well, I for one love an excuse to get dressed up and eat free food, so I’m going. And I think I’d love to have you to hang out with me there.”

Dex smiled to himself, wishing it were easy for him to consider something like this. He might consider it, just for her. He must’ve been silent for a while and avoiding looking at her because she speaks again. 

“I only feel close with you and Nadeem,” she admits, “we could all sit at the same table. If we can choose.”

“Nadeem will bring his wife,” Dex tells her, a way to make an excuse for this reality to not happen, even though deep down he wants to. 

“So?” She smiles, “we’ll have a big table.”

“Other agents will probably have plus ones,” Dex tries to reason again. 

“So then why don’t you be mine?” She asks in return. “Then the ratio won’t be awkward.” 

Dex smiles and looks away from her again. 

He just can’t do it. 

“I thought you said you don’t date coworkers.”

“It’s not a date,” she corrects, “just a plus one as a friend.”

Friend. 

“I don’t think I’m going,” Dex tells her honestly—regretfully. “I’ve never gone and I don’t know if it’s my scene.”

The look of disappointment that crosses her face is almost enough for Dex to feign more pain to stay in her office and make it better but ultimately, it isn’t. He’s beginning to like the idea of whatever it is she has in mind of who he is, but he’s not sure he can live up to it. He can’t risk more disappointment. But what he does know is that she’s the person he’s been searching for recently. Someone who does see something in him, even though he doesn’t entirely understand what that may be. 

“Okay, Dex,” she sighs in defeat, “but just know I’ll still be looking for you there.”

He smiles as he gets up from the exam table. Their time together is almost up, for now, and the day is almost done. He already can’t wait to see her tomorrow, as annoying as that feeling of hope is. 

◎◎◎

That night in bed, after tossing and turning and unable to sleep, he opens his email for the Gala’s RSVP. Dex’s thumb hovers over the “Going” button, and it goes back and forth over the “Can’t Make It.” 

But just know I’ll still be looking for you there.

While it’s not a guarantee he will show up to the gala, Dex clicks the “Going” button and sighs in relief, a hopeful feeling growing deep in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, he could be that person she thinks he is. 

[blooms-in-sleep]

Toy Soldiers, Ch. 1

Inscrutable aliens abduct and brainwash hundreds of women into devoted slaves, among them Erica Galletti, a university professor convinced she must help her Masters conquer Earth.

Sometimes I wondered if I was the same woman as three days ago. Thinking in terms of days was definitely strange. I put my fingers to the metal wall beside me, separating me from the infinite vacuum, black and timeless. Somewhere amongst the drifting stars was Earth, but I knew at this distance it easily blended into their midst. I hauled myself forward in the zero gravity, down a rounded pentagonal tube studded with periwinkle lights. Just wide enough for me to move through in my current condition: naked except for the store between my legs. It was an arrow-shaped thing of black resin, clinging to my skin, with the head covering my crotch. It absorbed moisture. I never would’ve thought of it as a “store” had I seen it on someone else. But my Masters were very capable of guiding my thoughts.

Three days ago, Erica Galletti was a professor of political science at Columbia University, having worked there for seven years. She had colleagues she respected and prided herself on being professional but approachable. But then she’d been driving home through Harriman State Park and seen the road in front of her start to distort into a heat-haze-minus-heat, then melt away like a hologram along with the trees, the sunset sky, everything – replaced by an unearthly light that only she and her car seemed to inhabit. For some reason, it was at that point I tried to brake.

I?

I was a slave. I thought my name was Erica Galletti, but that only went so far.

An aperture of teardrop-shaped plates irised open in front of me, and I emerged into one of the ship’s central chambers. It was an ovoid: twenty feet across, thirty-five feet tall, with entrances clustered randomly near each end. Struts of an almost clear, plasticky substance jutted from above the equator of the interior surface and crisscrossed in a circular grid, reaching down to surround and hold a glittering crystal sphere at the room’s centre, big enough for me to curl up inside, with a black pillar affixed to the top. In nearly all the grid’s holes – which were a little over twenty inches on each side – another slave was holding themself in place, clasping the transparent tubes and softly kicking their legs like they were swimming with a rubber ring.

As a door to my left opened, and a soft-featured young woman with dark eyes peered out, I pushed against the now-shut plates of the aperture, up and off, and soon met the grid in a less-populated area. I monkey-barred over to my place, wandering a forest of legs where a dozen ebony stores winked at me between the “trees.” I slipped up into my space, staring straight ahead at the crystal ball. My only other accoutrements were a series of pins, keeping my medium-long, dark brown hair out of my eyes. On either side of me were a woman my age, with dusky, heart-shaped lips and small, pyramidal breasts; and a thin transgender man, judging by the dark threads on his upper lip, and his scars. The woman was squinting slightly. Maybe she wore glasses, before.

The last few slaves were entering the room now. Somewhere past a hundred people now waited in place, glancing politely between the sphere – the informer – or the doors in the “upper” reaches of the room. They, of course, eventually opened. All at once, we felt the same tension thrum into existence and vibrate between us. We were like the taut strings or wires of a musical instrument, waiting for the maestro’s first chord. Two Masters clambered into the room, and I couldn’t look away. They were all I needed to see. I failed to restrain a deep, satisfied groan. Nothing about their forms was sexually attractive to me, so I had to chalk up the liquid shock pooling inside me, making me drip into my ever-receptive store, entirely to their conditioning. Not just of me, they were Masters of their craft.

Our Masters wore no clothes, like us, but it was because their bodies were covered in sand-coloured fur. Such strange bodies: to move, to touch, their six limbs would inflate with fluid and extend, and I could only imagine their skin stretching like rubber beneath the fur. Folded against their chins when at rest, as if eternally praying or begging, their hands were elongated and finlike. Two thick stalks jutted from the centre of their wrinkled, blotchy faces, meeting at something like a nose, which twitched. As I watched the closer of the two Masters, the chestnut-shaped eye on one of those stalks swivelled to face me, while its twin surveyed the other side of the room. The eye was glossy and wine-red. Dark shapes flashed within; the pupils? A long, lipless gash of a mouth ran down from the stalks, flexing in gentle waves.

I recognised our Masters by the shapes of their heads and the patterns of spots on their faces: these were “Sixteen” and “Twenty-one.” They had helped train me. Their legs extended to cushion their landing on the informer’s dome, steadying themselves on the pillar at its apex. Sixteen, who had looked at me earlier, wasted no more time. He – I’d already interrogated myself for hours on how naturally the pronoun came to me – extended his arm to tap and stroke the pillar’s surface. Meanwhile, Twenty-one kept watch over the gathered flock. I heard the woman beside me sigh softly whenever one of his eyes roved past us. I knew exactly what she was feeling. One of the layers of conditioning that laid on my mind the heaviest went part-and-parcel with the intense focus I felt whenever a Master was in sight, the overwhelming security. On an instinctual level, I knew I could, should, must leave everything up to them.

Or to their technology, I reflected after Sixteen finished his work, and in the brief moments before the informer came – the light in the centre of the sphere shot through my eyes like a javelin. Online. My mind shrank away, beaten back by the relentless flashes, already disappearing over the horizon, into the new sunrise of my understanding.

Spending time in the informer’s grasp was the start of every “day” here. Like falling asleep, I couldn’t remember the one moment I disappeared and left behind a taught thing in my body. The Masters had their backs to us; I felt the instinct to follow fail to arise. We were leaving the assembly chamber as orderly as we could, battling our burnt-out nerves and the constant impulse to blink after so long spent before the light to navigate in zero gravity. I slung myself down by the arms and let go, drifting towards the doors back to the slave quarters feet-first. On top of the crystal sphere above my head, the Masters tended to its workings in silence. I couldn’t remember what exactly I’d seen in its depths, but I knew what it had meant. Then again, “knowing” it was an understatement.

New thoughts marched through my mind and trampled everything from before. I was a slave. A slave soldier, being trained to help my Masters conquer Earth, and I would always follow orders. At the same time, I left my body on autopilot, half-swimming, half-scrambling down the ship’s silent tunnels. I thought it again: I was whatever the informer taught me. My store gently gathered the evidence of my obedience, keeping my Masters’ home clean. Coming to an intersection, a ring of lights in front of me turned yellow. A pale, high-cheekboned, delicately freckled face appeared in the tube running perpendicular to mine, framed by vivid red hair, which, like mine, was pinned into a row of small buns. The girl’s body drifted by; her breasts weren’t large but could foster impressive cleavage in the right outfit. Her legs, most of all, gave me pause; so long, perfect, and what a waist…! As her feet left my field of view, I wondered if I’d seen her before.

As far as I could tell, we slaves had one half of the ship and the Masters had the other, divided along the interiors of central chambers like where the informer rested. Upon arriving back in the slave quarters, I made my way to what could be called the “mess hall.” As tall as the assembly chamber but roughly cylindrical, the walls were made of a ring of convex curves, with footholds scooped out and larger holes where the whole arm could slot in. The centre of the room had a ribbed pole running through it, and it was this I clung to and descended, waiting for another woman’s gently kicking legs to drift out of the way before I leapt to a free feeding station. I hooked my feet, slotted my arms inside the holes and placed my lips on the waiting nozzle. The nutrient gel was cool and bitter. Above me, another store attended to its pussy. My own was pleasantly tickled by the flavour of our Masters’ formula, and the feel of it in my throat; otherwise, I may have choked again.

After a quick towel bath alongside thirty or so other slaves, I floated up the ship to where I’d be spending the rest of my day – much to the delight of my ever-thrumming pussy. My personal training, lessons, whatever it could be called. “Training” would most befit a soldier. The room was tiny compared to the others; a pill, into one end of which I had to squeeze, my knees almost touching my chest as I bent along with the wall behind me. In front of me were a smaller informer, the size of a child’s beachball, and two screens very closely sandwiched together, set up like a keyboard. Behind these things was a window, in the middle of the room. Sixteen watched me from behind it. He couldn’t be with me – earlier when I’d been taught with the group, he and Twenty-one had been ensconced behind a wall of solid air – but the pang I felt each time I saw that barrier… what did I want from my Master, this alien?

There was a hum, then English issued from an unseen speaker somewhere in the room, the artificial voice croaky, jerking from sound to sound. “Sixteen talking. Eh-rhi-kaah hears, will nod now.” I looked into his swivelling eyes and nodded my head. “Good slave.” Contrary to the slapdash assembly of my name, those two words stroked my brain and made a grab for my pleasure centre. Psychology wasn’t my exact field, but I’d known for most of my life there were ways people could be led around like animals. Even thinking of it like that, it was like I’d been asking for this. Sixteen continued, “Eh-rhi-kaah will place finger available hands drawing plate, will look informer now,” and I obeyed, my fingers touching the cool surface in front of me while my eyes rested on the inert crystal. “Good slave.” Again, the silken vice, setting me boiling into my store, wriggling in my ready pose, practically purring.

How could there have been a me who wasn’t enslaved? The entirety of my mind was sure I belonged here, except for this meniscus of rational thought floating on my unconscious. But the calming of the waters was coming. My Master activated the informer and after that, there was nothing else to know about.

[coolxconfused]

New interview the BBC did with The Real People after the reunion announcement and they're talking about Liam's star quality again:

It was the early hours of the morning, but the bar of the Columbia hotel in London's Lancaster Gate was packed with musicians who were in the capital for gigs, or just hanging out at what had become the go-to haunt for artists and performers in the early 1990s.

Then, like a scene from a western, the noise gave way to a hush, then a near silence, and all eyes turned towards the door.

Ian Prowse, who at that time was in the signed Liverpool band Pele, was among the drinkers, and he too angled his gaze to see who or what had brought everything to a standstill.

"This guy had walked in, and there was just something about him, an aura, some sort of magic," he says.

Behind the enigmatic young man swaggering his way into the bar was Tony Griffiths, one of the two brothers who were the creative engine of the Liverpool band The Real People.

Prowse caught up with The Real People's bass player and singer and asked him who the guy was, and was told it was "his mate Liam".

At this point, the name Liam Gallagher meant little to most people, but to Tony Griffiths, he and his band were going to be "the biggest thing ever".

"This was a few months before they had anything out," says Prowse. "They were unknown. But he was able to just walk into a packed bar at four o'clock in the morning and turn heads."

Liam Gallagher’s charisma had made an impression, but Prowse was yet to hear the fledgling band's sound. When he returned home to Liverpool, he asked his agent – whom his band shared with Oasis – to let him listen to something by this new group.

"He played me this track," he says, "and I just thought, 'Whatever we're doing, it's not this'. It just wasn't capturing the zeitgeist the way this was."

The recording he'd heard was Supersonic, which was written and recorded in one day in December 1993 at the Pink Museum Studio in Lark Lane, Liverpool, with The Real People's Tony Griffiths on backing vocals.

According to former Oasis drummer Tony McCarroll's 2010 book The Truth, Tony and his brother Chris were "integral" to the creation of the song, which would be released in April the following year to huge acclaim.

Oasis, which consisted of Noel and Liam Gallagher, McCarroll, Paul 'Bonehead' Arthurs and Paul 'Guigsy' McGuigan, were at that time as much a Liverpool band as a Manchester band, cutting their teeth at venues such as Le Bateau and The Krazy House, where they supported The Real People.

It was striking the relationship with The Real People that put Oasis on the road to stardom.

'Your kid's a star'

The Real People had been around since 1987, and by 1989 were signed to Columbia Records. Soon afterwards they sold 100,000 copies of their eponymous album, whose shuffling drums, overdriven guitars and Beatle-esque harmonies won them an international following.

By contrast, Liam Gallagher was still at school and Noel was yet to pen the soaring sentiments of Live Forever in the warehouse in which he had a decidedly un-rock 'n' roll job as a British Gas sub-contractor.

Chris and Tony would meet the Gallagher brothers in 1992, while The Real People were on tour with the Inspiral Carpets, for whom Noel was a roadie.

"I would always take my own Pot Noodles with me on tour and he'd come over and be after one, so that’s how we struck up conversation," says Chris Griffiths.

"But when we met Liam, we were saying to Noel, 'Your kid's a star, he is'. And this is before we'd even heard him sing.

[...]

For Griffiths, their success was as much down to Liam's star quality as the music or musicianship.

"Noel was a good musician, but he was no [Ocean Colour Scene lead guitarist] Steve Craddock. A lot of it was down to Liam, his attitude and his voice.

[...]

Read the full article to learn more about The Real People's involvement and the early days here

[petertingle-yipyip]

WORLD CLASS SINNER - FRANK CASTLE

five - build god then we'll talk

tags: n/a // four // six // masterlist

Pairing: Billy x Livia ; Frank x Livia

Word Count: 7,008

Summary: Temporary alliances form on one side before fighting off an ambush from the other. All the while, dots are connecting for more than one player as the game grows more and more dangerous.

“Ms. Yersova.” She smiled as she came into the conference room. You stood from your chair and shook her hand, noticing a slight wince as she sat across from you. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I’m acting SAC Dinah Madani.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” You nodded. “I heard about the crash at the docks. I commend you for coming into the office so soon but I guess it’s no surprise as you’re the acting SAC.”

“You heard?” Her brows raised.

“Word travels fast between bureaus.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “Of course, you recently completed FBI training at Quantico. How was that?”

“It was good. I’m excited to start and get to work with my partner.”

“You have a partner already?”

“He recommended me. I wouldn’t have pursued the FBI if I hadn’t met him.”

“Sounds like a good foundation for a partnership.”

“I’m sure it will be, but I don’t think that’s what you called me in for, is it?”

“No.” She shook her head with a small smile as if she had been caught. “It’s about your previous employment.”

“Oh, Anvil!” You nodded, feigning understanding. “Of course. Billy told me about the Homeland group that came through a few days ago. He said you really stuck out.”

“Um-“

“If this is about Billy-“ You leaned your elbows on the table as if you two were high schoolers gossiping at the lunch tables. “-I say you should go for it.” You continued when you noticed she was taken by surprise. “I don’t blame you, he’s real good-looking and you’re beautiful. And, between us, the sex is good too if you’re interested in that.”

“Ms. Yersova.”

“You guys had good banter the other night so you should go out with him again, on a real date.”

“I’m sorry, the other night? He told you about that?”

“No, I saw you two.” Your brows furrowed as you played dumb and leaned back in your seat. “I walked right past you? …. This isn’t about Billy, is it?”

“Your employment at Nelson and Murdock, actually.”

“Oh… That feels like a lifetime ago.”

“Wasn’t too long ago.”

“A lot has changed since then.”

“Since college too, I assume.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, naturally, I looked into your academics, and may I say, you’re brilliant. Columbia Law, summa cum laude, alongside the two partners at the firm you’d later work at. Only you took some time between your senior semesters. Completed your degree online and you were able to skip internship. A near-perfect Bar score as well. Looking at it all together, it’s truly impressive.”

“Thank you.” You nodded. “Although I’m not sure why the firm is relevant. It’s disbanded. Franklin Nelson is thriving at HC&B and Matthew Murdock is on a Catholic Retreat at the Vatican.”

“Are you religious?”

“You go ahead and build God yourself then we’ll talk religion.” You scoffed. “Any God isn’t relevant here anyway, right? Considering the whole Church and State separation.”

“Hmm.” She nodded before coming around to your side of the table. “Before Columbia, there’s practically nothing. Like you didn’t exist.”

“Yes, well, my father dumped me at an orphanage overseas.”

“Your mother didn’t protect you?”

“Died when I was an infant, may she rest in peace. Hence the whole orphan thing”

“You were a ghost before law school, Ms. Yersova. Forgive me, Agent Yersova. And yet you have made quite a life for yourself.”

“What are you implying?”

“Someone intentionally wanted to keep your existence a secret… Leaves room to speculate on what you were before, but no one ever seemed to.” You saw her focus stay on your eye for a moment and you mentally cursed yourself for not having dealt with it that morning. “Yet you’ve still gotten everything you wanted out of life, didn’t you?”

“You can ask Mr. Russo about that. He can give you the gist, off the record of course. Just as I assume this entire conversation is.”

“Anvil hires ex-military.” She challenged rather than acknowledging your last comment.

“Yes.”

“You were never a soldier.”

“Correct, I never served in the US Military or any nation’s traditional military.”

“But you have some training?”

“Enough to get in at Anvil and be one of his most trusted/most consistent and earn his respect from the first time I met him. But with all due respect, Agent Madani, what does this have to do with Nelson and Murdock?”

“You’re an interesting woman, Agent Yersova.”

“Yes, you’ve said that.” You said sharply. “Please make your point, Madani, or I’m leaving.”

“I just wonder why you’d throw away such a promising career on the Castle case.”

“And this conversation makes me wonder why you’d want to disturb a dead man.”

“I’ve read through the transcripts and you were a real powerhouse in that courtroom. You were a fierce advocate for the man. Your work ethic is rather admirable.”

“It was my idea to take the case in the first place. It was only right to give it my best.”

“Why take it at all? I’m sure the partners didn’t agree.”

“Not at first.” You agreed. “But it wasn’t supposed to go to trial. Our plan was to negotiate a better plea deal but Frank had other plans. Why is any of this relevant?”

“What interested me the most was the testimony of the medical examiner that got thrown out.” She flipped open her folder and trailed her finger down the page as if she was searching for something before tapping the page a few times.

“And how do you know about that?”

“Transcripts.”

“The testimony was stricken from official record.”

“Public record, maybe. A case that major would’ve had everything available to departments like mine or yours, if you talk to the right people.  What stood out to me was the woman he mentioned, wearing a mask with an accent. The woman Mr. Tepper said coerced him into his confession.”

Elektra. Even in death, she haunted you. Same way Matt did.

“Yes.” You nodded as the Midland explosion rumbled deep in your chest when she shut the folder. “But the defense had nothing to do with that. To this day we have no idea who that woman was nor do any of us care at this point. We’ve moved on.”

“Would it be fair to assume it was a local vigilante? I’ve heard there’s one who fits that description, worked alongside Daredevil - who you know well - and even did a short stint with the Punisher.”

“Excalibur. No wait, that’s the sword.. Was it Extremis?”

“Exodus.” She corrected.

“Right! I don’t know, I heard she died.”

“Did you know her?”

“Allegedly.” You shrugged.

“And how exactly does that work?”

“The last time I saw either of them alive, they came to me and said there was some organization targeting their loved ones. They made it seem like they knew me without their suits but never said their names. Then they fought their fight and everyone else that was hiding out with me had their friends come back but those two never did… Nothing was ever uncovered from the rubble either.”

“Rubble?” Her head tilted slightly.

“Some building went down a few months ago. I’m sorry, but I’m still lost. I don’t understand what you’re asking me.”

“Why advocate for Frank Castle at all? And if Exodus was your friend, why throw her to the wolves in the trial?”

“Are we still off the record?”

“Of course.” She gestured to the lack of cameras in the room.

“Frank Castle was the victim of a sting operation gone back. When DA Reyes was in office, she planned to catch the Blacksmith, who turned out to be his old C.O., at Central Park. Only she neglected to - Actually, she opted to not clear civilians, which ended with Lisa, Maria, and Frankie Castle being shot dead on what was supposed to be a celebratory outing. Frank Castle endured a tragedy, Agent Madani. Now it’s not justification for a full-blown killing spree across my neighborhood but it’s some sort of explanation as to why he was so goddamned angry.”

“And are you angry, Agent Yersova?” She asked carefully.

“Yeah, I am.” You said after a minute of contemplation. “I’m angry that he’s gone. I’m angry that my firm fell apart. And I’m angry that I’m here, digging up stories on a dead man that I let down.”

The heat that lived in your veins rose and you felt it burning through your skin. You had to take a few steadying breaths to force it back where it belonged.

“I’m sorry to have upset you.” She offered, and there was an attempt at sincerity, but you could tell it was learned. Forced, even. “I didn’t know it was so important to you.”

“At Columbia and Quantico - They probably talk about it at the FLETC too, body language. Facial expressions. Inflections in people’s voices. Helps to figure out if someone’s lying and whether you can trust the words they’re saying. Almost everybody has a tell and I see one from you when you talk about Frank Castle. Like a kid in a candy store, just waiting to hear the right words from her parents…  What words are you hoping to hear, Agent Madani?”

“Did he ever tell you about his time in Afghanistan? Specifically Kandahar.” She asked finally and you had to keep your smirk to yourself. For an acting SAC, she was easy enough to work. “I was in Kandahar myself before this. Turns out Frank Castle might’ve been the man I needed to talk to.”

“What’s important about Kandahar?”

“Do you know anything?”

“Depends on what you’re looking for.”

“Ahmed Zubhair, a man I worked with. Tortured and executed by his unit. Tell me, what kind of man was Frank Castle?”

“Decent. Angry, but honest. I had nothing to fear from him. He treated me with respect and I did the same. And I regret how I let him down… If Kandahar is something that could’ve had something to do with what happened to Frank’s family, I’ll see what I can find.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.” She shook her head slightly. “I doubt your SAC at the FBI will let you open a case based on intuition and a personal stake.”

“You’re not asking.” You said simply. “When you talk to Billy about me, which I know you will, I’m sure he can fill you in on some of my capabilities outside of my bureau… If his old C.O. was behind Central Park because of Kandahar, I owe it to him and his family to find out why and find out who pulled Schoonover’s strings.”

“You think there was someone above him?” Her eyes lit up.

“Operation Cerberus wasn’t forgotten in the records.” You clarified. “It had to be on purpose. Someone kept it off. And that leaves room to speculate, remember?”

“Do you have any leads?”

“I will. I was a ghost before Columbia for good reason. Oh, and feel free to call if you need any sort of freelance in your investigation.”

“Off the record?”

“It’s how I do my best work. Enjoy your speculation in the meantime.” You shrugged with a small smile as you stood and she gave you a slight smirk and a nod.

You and Madani would likely not find yourselves being friends by the end of your endeavors. Her mission ran counter to your own, though slight parallels existed. By seemingly agreeing to get her information about Kandahar, it allowed you a certain leeway regarding your own business. She wouldn’t be keeping a watchful eye over you so long as she believed you were on her side. And by planting the ideas of Billy’s knowledge of your past, you knew that it would create a direct line as to what she was asking and what she was being told.

The only way you would’ve crafted the situation any better would be if she was running solely on speculation and didn’t know Frank was alive. But you saw it in her eyes, that spark of a reignited passion project. Just days before she, like the rest of the world, knew Frank Castle to be dead. But now having seen his face, heard his voice, she couldn’t believe that ruse any longer. And that knowledge just might be the bump in your otherwise unobstructed path.

Before heading back to Lieberman’s hideout, you stopped back at your apartment. You pulled your gym bag from your room and dumped the contents across your bed. You took it over to the locked closet and took a deep breath, noticing your hand was shaking as you reached for the lock. You forced the hesitation to that familiar gap in your chest and opened it to reveal your bloodied clump of material, your case, and Matt’s case - kicked into the back corner.

You went straight for yours and dug through until you found what you were looking for, one of your very first suits. One before the alterations and additional protections. One that had the bright red emblem of the Red Room still embedded at the neck. It was a suit designed from a time before you were a vigilante before Exodus was ever created. It was born before Y/N had her own identity, before she met Matt and Foggy. The suit was created for the nameless, faceless Widow. The spy, the child raised to be an assassin. One that was good at it and hated herself for it. The suit was what your father traded his daughter for. The suit killed the little girl your mother gave birth to, erased her name, just to put a knife in one hand and a gun in the other. The suit, what it truly stood for, might’ve been all that was left for you.

You shoved it into the bag with a set of Bites, your other mask last used at Midland, boots, belt packed with all your usual tricks, and two handguns with an additional clip for each. You paused at your two torso protections, the recent vest newly adorned with scratches or the original long-sleeve top that was a gift from Matt before your first fight with Fisk. Neither felt right so you threw them both to the side. You tossed it on the table before rummaging around the kitchen to put together a few sets of to-go meals. Whether or not Frank had pissed you off, it was going to be a long drive so you made quick burritos and wrapped them up before placing them in the bag, along with your car charger for your phone. You grabbed a couple of waters and sodas, even threw in a couple of energy drinks for good measure, before heading over.

“Oh.” Lieberman said as you approached the two stocking the van. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“I started something. I need to see it through.” You answered. “So are we doing this or what?”

Frank made a small noise in agreement and nodded for you to get in. He moved over to the driver's side and Lieberman offered you the passenger. You shook your head and dropped your bag into the back before you climbed up, yanking the doors shut behind you.

You were quiet for most of the drive, trying to drown out Lieberman’s blabbering about anything and everything. You laid out on your back and saw a message from Billy asking you to call him. You sat up quickly and turned to see the guys were now talking about the root of the word Cerberus. You scooted to the far corner and dialed the number, taking one more glance to ensure no one was paying attention to you.

“Hey, Pretty Lady. How you feeling today?” He asked when he answered and you noticed you almost smiled.

“Uh, yeah, I’m doing fine.” You answered quietly, though your voice earned a questioning look from Frank in the rearview. You just waved him off and he rolled his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I wanted to see how you were feeling cause I just had something come across my desk that I thought you might wanna head up.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Thing is, it’s an out-of-town job.”

“Since when do you take those on?”

“Since it’s an old friend.” You knew he would’ve shrugged with a little head tilt. “He’s got some property in Kentucky he needs to clear out.”

“Sounds like a job for the Sheriff’s department out there, not you.”

“Look, he came to me so I’m assuming he tried all that.”

“Assuming…” You nodded to yourself. “So you didn’t bother to ask?”

He sighed slightly and you pictured the face he was making. Things with Billy were getting too familiar, too predictable. That small patch of vulnerability on your heart liked it and wanted to keep it, but the hardened reality urged you to push away.

“I guess it doesn’t matter. If it was a little closer, I’d do it but I’m not trying to go that far right now.” You said simply, which was true. You didn’t want to go to Kentucky but that’s where the job took you.

“Hey, not a problem.” He answered, no doubt with a smile. “I just had to offer it to my best girl.”

“As if there was anyone else. You gonna take it instead?”

“No, I’ll just let the guys run it themselves. I can’t get away right now.”

You nodded to yourself in slight relief, knowing you wouldn’t have to worry about him showing up out of the blue and being a problem. It did interest you a bit more as to who would be able to pull Schoonover’s strings and get to Billy. You knew it had to be Agent Orange but it did nothing to answer who the hell that man was.

“You still there?” He asked and you realized you had been quiet for too long.

“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.” You admitted. “I gotta go, alright? I got some work I gotta get started on.”

“No worries. Take care of yourself for me, yeah?”

“Mhmm.. Bye.”

“The hell was all that?” Frank asked as soon as you had set your phone in your lap. You pulled your knees up and blew out a sigh, pushing your hands through your hair. You glanced over and saw him looking between the road and you from the rearview. You simply shrugged and scooted to be closer to them.

You leaned between the seats and saw Lieberman pass Frank a packet of tuna, at which you made a face. You were wildly confused as to why he would bring something so cheap and seeing Lieberman pull out a full sub made it worse for you. The meal choice confused Frank as well, and you had to laugh at the response from them both.

“Where’d you get that?” Frank asked in bewilderment, almost jealous as well.

“I made it.” He answered honestly.

“What do you mean, you made it?”

“Yeah... This stuff was in the fridge.”

“You make me one?”

“No... No, I thought you liked that stuff.”

You reached between them and grabbed the tuna out of Frank’s hand. Before he could complain, you replaced it with one of the burritos from your bag. He looked between the new food and you before he nodded in thanks. You offered a small smile and then dropped a water bottle into the cup holder. Lieberman looked between you and Frank with a clear question in his eyes, though if you had to guess what he was wondering, you’d have a list a mile long.

You knew how odd your dynamic with Frank would seem from the outside, both within and outside the law. As vigilantes, you two were partners who held each other in a certain respect. It was similar to you and Daredevil but with more aligned viewpoints. As regular people, you two were allegedly just a lawyer and her client, hardly friends or even acquaintances. So when looking at the way you two would interact, ensuring the other was alive and taking care of each other, it was something to question. How did you two get so close? Why were you two the seemingly only exception for the other? And realistically, there was no real answer other than you were too stubborn to let Frank, or the Punisher for that matter, do something stupid in your neighborhood alone.

Maybe it started as damage control or a way to piss off Matt and Daredevil, but it grew into a real friendship. A real partnership. It grew to be equivalent to family.

Lieberman talked some more during the drive, most of which you tuned out. Instead, you ate your food and rubbed the temple of your red eye with the intent of clearing it away. You almost felt the repair and you pictured it like using a squeegee on a window or using a magnet to play with flecks of iron. As your fingers moved in small circles, the redness would follow like a little trail until it diluted away.

You took a short nap on the drive as well before you all arrived. You ensured to kick the guys out before you changed into your suit. As you unfolded the material, your retractable fell into your lap. You hadn’t even realized you had grabbed it but there it was, tangled in the fabric of your suit and still caked in the blood of the Hand. You thought for a moment if you had done it on purpose but at that point, you didn’t think it mattered so you slipped it onto your wrist. Fitting all of your equipment into place felt like you were fixing the puzzle pieces of your life, replacing what seemingly always should’ve been. As you were finishing, you wondered absently if your bones had reshaped to allow the perfect little niches for your Bites and mask.

“I don’t wanna hear from you unless you hear from me, got it?” Frank warned as he took the walkie from Lieberman and you came around the van.

“Turn it on.” You nodded as your finger slid to your scar. The device beeped in your ear and you kept a light pressure as you shifted along until the static died and you were in the loop. “Got it, thanks.”

“Stay in the van.” He pointed to Lieberman before he began climbing the fence. “No getting your hands dirty this time.”

“Or trying to get someone killed.” You muttered as you hauled yourself over. You tapped your mask upon landing and followed behind Frank.

You were thinking about telling him that you had a theory an Anvil team would be sent in, but there was no good way to explain it. Explaining how you knew meant you had to explain your relationship with Billy, which meant he would connect the dots that you were sleeping with one of his closest friends, and that may or may not go over well. So you kept your mouth shut about it but your head remained on a swivel. You listened for anything that would cut into your communications with Lieberman or anything unusual through your lenses.

Your walk to the cabin was mostly clear - and unsettlingly quiet - save for the lone trip wire. When you two got to the small cabin, Frank began to rid himself of his backpack and gun. He gestured for you to do the same but you hesitated. You didn’t like the idea of being defenseless against whatever team Billy was sending your way. You knew you would have to kill them first, and the team likely would’ve expected to die or at least fight, so you didn’t necessarily feel bad about what was going to happen. But you did feel a little guilty for keeping it to yourself, for no other reason than to keep Billy your little secret.

With a small sigh, you untucked your guns and set them with Frank’s. You took the blade out of your belt as well, but you slipped a finger around your wrist and found the retractable blade was in its position. With your Bites and that, you should be fine to get back to your gun. You turned to Frank and put your hands up in slight surrender, to which he gestured to your wrists. You simply shook your head and moved back to his side.

You were adjusting your lens to see further when it picked up the faint outline of a figure far off. You tried to make it clearer and you could see the shape of a weapon. Your brows furrowed as you stared when you realized it was a bow and arrow. You grabbed Frank’s sleeve to move him but the arrow pierced him before you could. A secondary arrow zipped by and dragged across your chest, slicing a shallow gash from one collarbone to the other, taking a chunk of your shoulder with it.

You shoved him behind one of the bigger trees before you gripped the arrow with one hand and braced his shoulder with the other. He groaned in pain but ultimately nodded for you to do it. You yanked hard and the arrow snapped. He yelled loudly and you looked over your shoulder to see the figure was aiming at you two again. You cursed to yourself, grabbed the front of Frank’s jacket, and yanked him to the side. As you two were moving, the arrow came whizzing past your shoulder and buried itself at what you assumed would’ve been the center of your back.

“Gunner, goddamit, it’s Frank Castle.” Frank tried again after ducking behind another tree. You peeked around and saw Gunner coming closer, setting sights on you two again. You looked at Frank for confirmation but he held steady. You would just have to trust him.

“Come on. I’m not a part of it, brother. I never have been.” He continued.

You watched carefully and felt his slight hesitation. Despite it all, he still trusted Frank. And you could use that. You pulled that to the forefront, allowing that trust to be his focus. You also projected Frank’s trust in you and the two began to meld easily enough. You couldn’t completely beat the suspicion so you didn’t try to. You just had to make sure he didn’t fire another arrow because you weren’t gonna be able to dodge it.

“Сукин сын.” You said to yourself before stepping around the tree with your hands up in surrender. (Son of a bitch.)

“I know you don’t know me and you have no reason to trust me.” You said simply as you dropped to your knees, hands still raised as his arrow set a course to the center of your chest. If you said one wrong thing, you’d be dead. “A woman in a black suit and a mask shows up out of the blue, I wouldn’t trust me either if I were you.”

“The hell are you doing?” Frank asked in a hushed tone as he got to your side, falling into the same position you were in.

“Trying something.” You answered before returning your focus to Gunner. “You don’t have to trust me, but I’m willing to bet you trust him… And he wouldn’t bring me if I wasn’t on his side. That’s gotta be worth something.”

Gunner looked between you and Frank, an uncertainty in his eyes but his hands never faltered as Frank gave a quick explanation of what brought you two there. The arrow was still on course for your chest and you could picture how quick it would come, if it would be the same as feeling Elektra’s weapon in your dream. But the piercing never came. Instead, you heard the sound of the arrow relaxing and footsteps coming closer.

You helped Gunner get Frank to lean against one of the trees.

“I’m sorry about your family.” Gunner said honestly and you kept glancing around, anxiously awaiting for the figures to reveal themselves in your lenses.

“Agent Orange.” You said simply. “You know anything about who he is? Maybe a name.”

“No.” Gunner answered.

“So why’d you do it, man? Why’d you… Why’d you make the tape?” Frank asked and while Gunner explained it, you focused on your belt. You found the gauze you kept and unrolled some to pack his wound. You gently reached under his jacket and carefully stuffed the hole with the tissue when Gunner’s words stole your attention and your hands froze.

“They were putting bags of drugs in his body.” He explained.

“That’s why he was never caught.” You realized. “When she was first trying to catch him, the DA at the time didn’t know how he was getting that much product into the country… I never would’ve guessed.”

“Treated him like an empty carcass.” Gunner continued and he was both disgusted and heartbroken over it. “Jim and all the rest of them in there.”

“Who was it?” You continued when you noticed Frank was growing tense. “Who was in the room, Gunner?”

“The colonel, Bennett - the guy who ran the mortuary - and Orange… I didn’t know who was in on it. I didn’t know who I could trust.”

You heard the feedback before you saw them. When the high-pitched sound rang in your ears, you spun behind you to see the incoming helicopter.

“We gotta go.” You said quickly, adjusting your lens to try and see further. “Now.”

“They with you?” Gunner asked as he hauled Frank to his feet.

“Shit, no.” He answered. “Livia, who are they?”

“A problem.” You muttered and saw the row of soldiers coming your way. “They’ve got body cams, live feedback but I can’t figure out where it’s going.”

“Time to go to work.” Frank told you, offering a small nod to you. You returned the gesture and peeled away from the group, habitually reaching for a gun, only to come up empty.

You cursed quietly when you remembered that you had ditched them back near the cabin as a show of allegiance. You sighed quietly and armed your Bites while you ducked behind a fallen tree trunk. While remaining hidden, you scanned the area to see a trio coming your way. You noted the rifles in each of their hands as they stayed on alert as they crept forward. You had to acknowledge that they had the weaponry advantage but you had the element of surprise. And you were rather resourceful.

When the first one landed in front of you, you hooked one foot around his ankle and slammed the other into the side of his knee. There was a sick ripping sound as he collapsed with a loud scream. You moved quickly to cover his mouth with your knee and the more weight you leaned onto him, you began to hear a crunch and you weren’t sure if it was the branches beneath you or his jaw.

You saw the knife handle at the soldier’s belt so you snatched it quickly. First, you slammed the butt end against the body cam and the lens shattered, but your mask told you it was still functioning. You shrugged it off and raised your arm in anticipation of the next soldier. When he finally showed, you flicked the blade quickly and it buried itself at the base of his throat and a deep red stream of blood shot out. Instincively you closed your eyes and the warm liquid splattered across your cheek and mask. You wiped it away quickly and noticed the soldier beneath you had stopped squirming.

You climbed off and removed his rifle, slinging the weapon over your own shoulder before leaning closer to the body cam.

“Наслаждаетесь шоу?” You said lowly, seeing the red light blink to show that it was currently being watched from the other end. “Не волнуйся.” You smiled slightly as that thick stream of blood trailed down. “Мы тоже придем за тобой.” (Enjoying the show? Don’t worry. We’ll come for you, too.)

You heard the crunch of footsteps against the leaves and lifted the gun quickly. You lined your shot and as soon as the third soldier faced you, you fired straight through his eyeball and he fell limp immediately. You pushed yourself up, nudging the first soldier with your foot and getting no response. You gave a small, indifferent shrug before you began searching for Frank and Gunner. There was a sharp whistle and you saw the man waving you over.

You took your position next to Frank, Gunner stationed on the opposite side, and you three began firing against the next wave from the team. You and Frank alternated shots, popping out from your covers for seconds at a time to take someone down. Gunner leaned over to fire an arrow and you heard the shout. You glanced over and saw a second shot pierce his chest.

“I got it.” You said quickly, drawing Frank’s attention. You nodded towards Gunner before you two switched positions, allowing Frank to go to his friend. Though Frank was stubborn and refused to stay down, which got him shot in the side. “Get some cover. I’ll find you.”

You nudged him aside with your shoulder and jumped over the fallen tree, landing in a low crouch as the shots hit the tree. You kept your head down until the bullets paused and you fired back, hearing two different voices shouting. You surveyed the area quickly and saw two more coming at you, hopping over a log not too far away from you.

You hurried to your feet and got behind a tree, lining the weapon with your body to keep it hidden. You flicked out the blade at your wrist and looked over to see neither soldier had noted your position. Either that or they didn’t care. Regardless, it worked in your favor. You crept behind the one closest to you and jammed the knife through the side of his neck, the other hand covering his mouth to hide his gurgled shout. 

You lowered him carefully to the ground and yanked your blade out, freeing your bloodied hand. Looking down at it, you saw the stream of blood coming from your own shoulder. You glanced at your chest and saw the long line across it. The sight made you groan slightly but you made a mental note to deal with it later.

You moved after the other from the pair, careful to match your steps to his. When you were close enough, you jammed the short blade through his back and heard the squelching sound of his now severed spine. You twisted and pulled out, letting his body fall unceremoniously to the ground. You knelt to take the knife from his belt and heard Lieberman giving Frank directions.

You heard small shouts as Frank and Gunner dealt with the pair that was closest, and you used your lens to see the secondary pair that Lieberman was referring to. You made your way to your friend quickly and Frank’s hand closed around your arm to bring you with him. Despite your mild pulling away, Frank dragged you along.

Once there was enough space, Frank gestured for you to try and help Gunner. Gunner leaned against a fallen tree and Frank took position with the rifle. You knelt beside his friend and inspected the wound, though you weren’t sure if you would’ve rather found an exit wound or not. Two quick shots sounded, followed by the thud of limp bodies. Given what you had already taken out, there should be only one pair left.

Frank helped you get Gunner to his feet and you moved ahead of them. Gunner muttered something about you and where Frank found you but you kept your focus forward. Your mask picked up the drone above, which showed the same origination as the comms channel, so you trusted it. You led your trio around the last pair until you were able to watch them pass you. Once they did, you felt their anxiety.

They must’ve known their team was being picked off, one by one. They had walked into a slaughter, though they expected to be the ones ambushing. Their small team, likely even friends, were being left in pools of their own blood, by three figures in the shadows. They didn’t know who they were facing, but they knew their opposition was better. You, Frank, and Gunner were better than them, despite their likely elite or at least high-ranking status. But something about them, their vibrating hesitation and drumline for heartbeats, led you to wonder if it was actually an Anvil team.

But if it wasn’t, why would Billy bring it up to you?

You realized quickly that something wasn’t adding up the way it should and it led you to some tricky speculations that Billy was still in contact with Agent Orange. While it would be an overall useful connection, it did seem to disappoint you a bit. You made a small noise of disgust to yourself before raising your Bite, the bright red glow momentarily illuminating your vision.

You fired on one of the last pair before disappearing out of sight, just before the bullets came in. The man fired aimlessly, shouting his plan to kill you. You scoffed quietly and threw the borrowed knife, watching it bury itself into the man’s leg. He cried out before Frank grabbed him and slammed his own blade into the man’s throat.

Once he fell limp, you two retrieved Gunner and attempted to get him back to his cabin.

The walk felt like an eternity and you knew - Gunner knew it too - that Frank’s friend wouldn’t make it. The two collapsed against one of the trunks and you knelt on Gunner’s other side. You felt awkward, out of place beside a dying man you didn’t know. While they exchanged last words, Gunner reached out and took one of your hands. Your brows furrowed and your first thought was to pull away, but you decided quickly that you could offer comfort to a man who was now dying after fighting beside you.

Maybe you really were a curse.

“Promise me you’ll bury me, okay?” Gunner managed and the words were as desperate as they could be.

“Okay.” Frank answered, looking over at you for the same commitment.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Just stay here, okay? We’ll be back.”

“We’ll be back.” Frank repeated.

You two stood and you were quick to recognize that Frank wouldn’t make it very far. You cursed quietly as you caught him just before he fell over. 

“Goddammit, Frank.” You complained as he leaned more of his weight on you. “You don’t get to die on me in the middle of fucking Kentucky.”

You reached up and pressed on your scar.

“I can’t get him back on my own.” You said quickly, carefully lowering him to the ground. “Get your ass over here, now.”

You yanked your mask down to hang around your neck and reached under Frank’s jacket. The gentle pressure you applied caused fresh blood to bubble out and coat your hand. Your other hand patted your belt and the gauze you kept wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be able to pack the wound enough to be of real help. It was too dark to fully see the extent of the damage and the leaves and branches around were going to do you no favors.

You had two choices. Wait for Lieberman to show up - assuming he would be able to find you two - or leave Frank to find Lieberman and bring him back. The second option was contingent on you being able to find your own way back in the dark so you decided you wouldn’t move. You wouldn’t abandon the one friend you hadn’t been able to push away.

Using your teeth, you pulled off a glove and allowed your exposed hand to cover the wound instead. You shoved your glove into your belt and leaned more weight into Frank, feeling the thump steady against your hand. You weren’t entirely convinced it was a good thing, to feel less of his pulse, but you had to keep faith in the resiliency of Frank Castle.

If a bullet to the head wasn’t going to kill him, neither would a bullet to his side.

After you didn’t know how long, you saw Lieberman’s flashlight. He helped you load Frank into the van and offered you a small collection of items to help. He drove quickly as you worked in the back, though you had to straddle Frank in an effort to allow some stability during the trip. You carefully dressed the wound on his side and managed to insert the IV for fluids and antibiotics without problems.

“You’ll need to get Curtis Hoyle.” You explained as LIeberman drove frantically and you climbed off, reaching for your sweater from your bag.

“What? Wha- Why? What’s wrong with him?” He answered quickly, the anxiety in his words bouncing off the empty walls of the van which made you shiver as you undid the zipper down the front of your suit. You peeled the bloody material down your arms and rubbed some of the excess off with a cleaner area before pulling your sweater over your head, letting out a sharp hiss as you stretched the cut across your chest.

“I don’t know.” You answered honestly before yanking your boots off. “I’m not a doctor but could be from blood loss. Could be the beginning of an infection. Could be something bloodborne that got passed during the fight. That’s why you need to get Curtis when we get back.”

“You can’t help him?”

“I’ve done all I can, Spook.” You groaned and shimmied out of the rest of the suit to change for your regular pants.

“Is he gonna die?”

“No… He’s too stubborn.”

[harryleatherfit]

Entergalatic🍸

Frankie Morales Oneshot x F!Reader || 5.1 k

you’re a law school student and you just recently moved to a new neighborhood, you happen to be neighbors with frankie morales. he comes around sometimes to help fix things, but tonight you’re at the same bar, under a beautiful night in miami.

warnings: any themes in triple frontier, mention of NA, mentions of using coke, mentions of substance abuse, choking, overstimulation, squirting, cum play, unprotected p in v, oral f! receiving, pearl necklace, alcohol consumption, mentions of masturbation, mentions of creampie (WEAR A CONDOM PLS)

lmk if i’ve missed anymore thx

ONE-SHOT PLAYLIST

Disco Tits- Tove Lo

Entergalatic- Kid Cudi

Replay- Dorian Electra Remix Lady Gaga

🪩Main Master List🪩

Frankie had suggested that he and the guys should go to the bar for a night of distress. They were all on edge for their trip to Columbia, after a long night of elongating their plan, they would all start to bicker. Never getting a second to spare for themselves, never getting a moment to slip away and forget their responsibilities, plus their past lives.

Redfly, Benny, Ironhead and Fish himself were putting everything on the line for Pope. He was fucking his informant, and he was letting his feelings get in the way for his line of work. Per usual of Santi.

Fish was bored, he had nothing to lose anymore. He was tired of chasing after the military and wasting his life away trying to get his flying license back. He was done with the fucking coke, done using and wasting his life away.

But he was hungry for more. Feral like a bear to have his life back. He wanted to settle down, start a life of his own. Run away and become somebody that he didn’t recognize. He wanted love. He wanted to be loved, but could he reciprocate that love? He’s broken and always has been.

Out of the whole group, he felt like he was the least to find love, his life was fucked the most, and after finishing his NA meetings, he felt whole as a person. For so long he was trying to push help away but it worked on him somehow. He wanted himself back.

They were walking in the Miami heat, turning down a busy street downtown, it was fucking crazy full at this hour, people from all walks of life filling every crevice of the road. Was it some holiday?

They peered into a club that was full to the brim. A dance floor, live music, a bar to drink at. Frankie couldn’t have asked for more.

They get past the bouncer, finding a corner near the back of the bar, hunkering down their space in the midst of all the chaos. It reeked of sex and alcohol. Gotta fucking love Miami, he thought.

He appreciated the small things, this crowd was beautiful and dressed so vibrantly, the dark sky with the full moon was gorgeous, and the music was floating inside his ears. Every second that passes his heart jumps for more.

He flags down the bartender, “I’ll get uh Whiskey Sour, you guys know what you want?”

They order their drinks and settle in their chairs.

An idea sparks in Frankies head, “Benny, how much money to go up to a random pretty girl and start dancin with her?”

“You’re fuckin crazy, you tryin to start some game topshot?” He barks back.

“Nah, tryin to see how far you’ll go for pussy.” He huffs under his breath, chasing it with another whiskey.

“Very fucking funny Fish, if thats what you want.”

Benny gets up, setting his jacket down, and he dove into the crowd of dancing people.

It’ll be a fun night for the pretty boy, Fish laughed.

“Hey, you guys know it’s a college night here. I think for Miami college that’s why it's so full. I don’t know if you’ll find much to do here.” The Bartender shouts over the music.

College night. Would you be here?

He glances over at the crowd, looking between every body. Searching.

“You’ve got plan s’to Fish?” Pope slurs.

“Maybe.” He can feel the pump of his heart quicken.

And finally he sees you, the sun in the room.

You were wearing this gorgeous orange sundress with golden flakes spread across the bottom, complimenting your skin tone. The top half caressing you, not only hugging you in every crevice but revealing your tattoos. He had only ever seen your tattoos when you ran in the neighborhood.

You had recently moved in next to him for the school year. You were living alone, after a long partying phase for your earlier years of college. You were in law school right now, and you had to focus.

You had met your neighbor. Ran into him a couple times around town, seeing each outside your houses, he would see you wash your car, you would drool over him through your window when you saw him cleaning his motorcycle.

There were a few times you were having house troubles, and you would saunter over, hoping he was able to help you. You didn’t exactly have thousands of dollars to pay someone to fix tiny things about your house.

When he would come over, he was always so polite, so gentle and kind to you. As you would immediately open the door, the brightest smile would wave across his face, the dimples in his cheeks deeplining into his face. The lines next to eyes, the deep furrow of his eyebrows, the strong curve of his nose. His strong, bulky arms. His fucking arms. The curve of his stomach, never failing to peek through his shirt. You screamed yourself to sleep, rubbing the ache away in your heated core, your clit craved his fingers.

He would always pick up his hat, and run his hands through his thick, dark hair. But when he would walk through the entrance of your house, you would have butterflies. You couldn’t calm yourself, and you would always be so hyper aware around him. He could never be attracted to you, you couldn’t have been his type, and you were so self conscious all the time. Being a young girl in college can really mess with your head.

You couldn’t guess how much older he was than you, you weren’t sure if he was in a relationship, so you decided to keep your distance. You didn’t want to get in the way of his peaceful life.

But from afar, you looked so happy on the dance floor. Frankie was studying your every single move. Your hair swishes, you pull strands back to relieve your face. Sweat collects all over your neck from dancing, watching the rise and fall of your chest. He watched the fast motion of your head falling back with the music, your friends crowding around you, giggling in the air.

You were so radiant, desirable, and happy.

You spotted him immediately when he walked in with his friends. Your friends immediately called dibs on all of them except for Frankie, so ironic, how could no one want a man as fucking hot as him?

You were hoping he would see you, pull you away, and wish your woes away just for one night.

But you didn’t have the courage to go up to him, you felt so small compared to him. How could you mean anything to him?

And finally you trust yourself enough to make eye contact with him. He’s already looking you up and down, sliding the last of his drink down. He looked like a lion, ready to lunge across a meadow to claim what's his.

He was wearing his usual trucker hat, his locks peeking beneath the sides. A black leather jacket, stretching across his body, unzipped. He was wearing a low cut white undershirt with a v line, for you could see his exposed happy trail. And his last addition, gold chains on his neck and wrists.

Usually guys your age tried to wear chains to make them more appealing, to lure girls into bed and get their cock sucked and go, but Frankie wearing this chain wasn’t just that. This was his flaunt, his teasing. You knew he had money, but not sure how much he had.

“Hey, what’s all this eye fucking with they guy over there, he’s looking at you like he’s gonna eat you for a meal.” Your friend Lexie yells into your ear.

“The night is still young Lexie,” You brace your hands on her shoulders, “Let him look at me.” You purr into her ear.

Immediately something ticked in Frankies brain, he needed your hands around him. He needed to be with you, alone.

“Fish, what's gotten you so quiet?” Ironhead pats him on the shoulder, “You’re practically drooling over the damn floor on the edge of your seat.”

“My neighbor, she’s here.” He chokes.

“That college girl you were tellin us about, yeah? The one with the house troubles.” Pope asks. “You thinkin anything could come out of it?”

“I don’t know, possibly. She’s a fuckin sweetheart. She gets all shaky when I come over.”

“That’s a sign man, go gettem.” Redfly claps his shoulder.

“Not after another fuckin drink.” He needed to be intoxicated enough to not be different around you, he wanted to be himself around you.

He shoots it down, getting up and receiving cheers from the boys. He couldn’t handle them anymore, he needed you.

When he gets up, the pain in your lower abdomen soothes, you could feel the gravitational pull enclosing.

He makes his way through the crowd, weaving through the bodies, making the most blood curdling eye contact with you, you break free from your friends.

“I didn’t think I would ever find you at a bar, Mr. Morales.” You smirk.

That name you always used, insisted, made his cock twitch in the tight cloth of his jeans.

“Please, call me Frankie.” You laugh and roll your eyes, with all the people on the dance floor, you two are enclosed. In your little bubble away from the loud world.

You had a tumbler full of Vodka in your hand, you took a swig of it and offered it to him.

“No I’m okay darlin, don’t want too much tonight.” He stares at you while you take another drink.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Morales.” Winking at him, edging him on. The intoxication from the alcohol makes you feel so free you can say anything around him. He moves closer to you, finding your ear to whisper in, “I know what you’re doing pretty girl, usin that name.” He whispers.

A song change, some Kid Cudi song and the crowd raised havoc, but nothing changed between you two. You were closer than ever, practically hugging each other so when you spoke you could hear each other.

“Look at you, wearing this perfect dress, your hair tied up, your tattoos peakin out.”

“You like what you see?” You ask. This is it.

“Do I like what I see? I always have darlin,” He finds your hand and kisses your wrist, “Don’t be shy on me now.”

You put your hands around his neck and dance to the beat of the song. Entergalactic.

His hands were roaming around on your back, and you could feel the tight cold leather against your chest, making your nipples harden.

You flipped around so his chest could be against your back, and his hands were touching your torso. Up and down.

You decided to swirl your ass against his lower half, falling down to the ground and getting back up, letting loose with the music. He twirled you around a few times, getting in rhythm with your body.

You feel the metal of his belt, only a thin layer of fabric on your body separating you from him.

You could feel growth expanding on your ass, you wanted more.

“You little minx, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” His eyes peering into your soul.

“I know exactly what I’m getting myself into Francisco.” You purr.

Not only did Frankie snarl, but the animal inside him snapped. He needed you now.

“Hm, need another drink?” He grabs your hand, pulling you off the dance floor.

Immediately you feel the slick pooling down your leg.

You didn’t care about your friends calling after you, and you didn’t care about anything that's happening right now. You needed Frankie immediately.

Frankie walks back with a water bottle in hand, smart man.

“Walk with me gorgeous.”

You follow him, he found a secluded hallway across the bathroom, behind the ruckus of the club, no one to be seen in sight.

“What could someone like you, be here at a club at this hour?” He asks, in a pitch you couldn’t even register.

“I tagged along with my friends, I was bored at home. Nothing to study, no one to screw.”

He chuckles, “No one to fuck, huh?” The heat between you both ticks up a thousand degrees, “And how do you like to be fucked angel?”

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” You repeat.

The world comes crashing down when he shoves his lips onto yours. Moving so quickly you don’t know where you are in space and time. All you can smell is him, all you can feel is him.

In between breaths, “I like to be fucked rough and hard.” You reach your hand down to his cock, “I want to be fucked so hard I can’t think.”

With those words, he can’t hold back anymore, he picks you up. Pulling your legs around his waist, carrying you into the bathroom. Messily locking the door behind him. He slams you down onto the counter and grabs your face, pulling your lips in. His tongue invades your mouth. Never leaving and exploring you as a whole.

Your legs wrap around him again, the sting in your pussy hurting so bad. You needed relief. He withdrew from your lips and started to lap at your throat. You were half-lidded, barely being able to see what was going on. The ecstasy of oxytocin firing off in your brain. You couldn’t comprehend words, let alone understand that Frankie Morales was anchored to you right now.

Your skin was so soft, you melted under Frankies touch. He was sucking so hard on your neck you knew it would bruise so heavily but you didn’t care. You were his for the night. The whole world could know that. His fucking slut.

He trailed down your throat, shoving his hands under your dress finding your bare hard nipples.

“You poor thing, pretty slut not getting her fucking in for the night.” He mutters under his breath.

The pleasure you felt from his thick heavy fingers under your dress added to your fire.

He pushed the straps of your dress past your shoulders exposing your tits. He attacks each nipple, swirling one in his mouth and pinching the other. He popped off, blowing air on it. This makes you squirm, throwing your head back to the turbulent feeling.

He pushes your dress past your legs, all the fabric meeting at your stomach.

He stances wider, opening your legs wider. He grazed his hands over your covered mound, teasing you. You were laying on your elbows, looking down at his bulge, the swell of his belly meeting your core. His body fit yours so earth shatteringly.

“All wrapped up for me, sweet thing. So pretty and perfect. You wear lace every night?”

“On nights, I know I’m gonna get fucked.” You cry.

“Fucking slut, knew she was gonna get fucked from the start, didn’t think it was gonna be me, yeah?”

“If nothing happened here,” You heave, “I was gonna go home, walk my ass to your house, and get fucking pounded.”

Each word you say coaxes him more, sliding your underwear off, relieving your pussy from its tremor. He bites his lower lip, “Look at you pretty girl, pussy leakin everywhere.” He skims your entrance collecting your juices on his fingertips. “Only a slut can be this wet, my fuckin slut.” He shoves three fingers inside your sopping cunt, stretching you so wide. He starts off slow, but then he sets an unbearable pace.

“Frankie, that’s too fast, if you keep going I’m gonna come.” You wine.

“You ain’t gonna come just fuckin yet, not before my hand gets tired.” You’re practically dripping all over his wrist. The squelching of your pussy filling the room, along with the guttural mewls coming from your throat.

Frankies arm was working you so electrically, the veins in his arms were glistening. The muscles in his shoulders are so thick, his jacket was barely even on now, his shirt leaving none to the imagination.

Black ink, scaling all over his body. The thought of your pussy grazing his soft stomach, made you want to do unspeakable things. That alone made you want to be his whore. Only his fucking whore.

He spit on your cunt, lubing you up for more. The contact of the liquid makes you flinch. He wasn’t holding you anymore, he was burying his fingers inside you, bringing his other hand to work your clit.

‘Its- its- too much. Too much Frankie- I can’t last.” You gasp.

“No, you’re not allowed to cum, sluts don’t come.” He grunts in your ear, shoving his whole hand inside your tight pussy, “You think you get to come? You think just because you’re so close you get to come?”

“Please Frankie- I’ll be so good- ngh- fuck- fuck, I’ll be the best girl in the world.” You howl.

The whole club could practically hear Frankie finger fucking you.

“I can hear ya y’know? At night. I can hear callin out my name when you play with this pretty pussy. I bet you have a pretty pink dildo so deep inside ya thinking it’s my cock fillin you up.”

You can’t take anymore, the more he speaks, the tighter your walls become, “I bet you bring a little vibrator to this bud, torturing it, wishing it was my tongue.”

“I didn’t-ah- fuck-shi- I didn’t think I was that- loud. My window’s always-closed.”

“No, gorgeous. You scream so good, I can feel your body convulsing when you come because of me.” He licks a long stripe on your tit, “Look, fluttering on my fingers, fuckin pussy can’t take it can she. It’sokay ‘cause I’m gonna fuck you til you can’t see.” Fastening his pace again, “You can fuckin come now, come on these fingers like the slut I know you are,” Tears forming at the edge of your eyes, you can’t take the burn in your pussy, too powerful. Slamming your hands to his wrists, trying to make him stop but he just kept going.

“My fucking pussy.” He gives his last pump inside you, lifting his fingers to his mouth. Groaning around his digits. “You taste so sweet angel, pussy so sweet I’d get fuckin fat on eatin you out every night.”

Breaching your climax, chest heaving at a million miles per hour, “No matter what you look like,” You rub your hands along his torso, you wish you could worship his stomach, his powerful body, “I’ll always be fuckin yours Frankie.”

He sloppily finds your lips again, kissing you until you can’t feel the throb in your sopping cunt.

“Said you were gonna be a good girl?” He questions, easing the fuse on your clit. Shaking your head yes, “Give me your hands.” No questions asked, you put your hands in front of your bodies, waiting for your next instruction, just like his obedient little slut.

You watch him step back, loosening his belt and slipping it out of the loops to his jeans.

“Gonna fuckin tie me up? Tie me up like a fuckin whore, takin your cock and not able to do a thing about it?” You taunt. Rubbing your pussy on the fabric of his jeans, soaking his crotch area.

He takes the belt and slaps your pussy with it, you jump at the sensation, hitting your clit just right, groaning just thinking about being tied up like a fucking bunny, not able to move and his cock relentlessly slipping out of you.

“You fuckin dirty girl, likin her pussy to be slapped. Dirty dirty fuckin whore.” Tugging at your wrists to go above your head, weaving the belt to keep your hands snug together.

He gets on his knees, eyes level with eachother, “Give me one more beautiful, give me one more and then I’ll give you my fuckin cock.”

His tongue melding into your cunt, delving so far to a point you couldn’t reach yourself. He wrapped his hands around your waist, bringing you closer to the edge of the sink. Sitting you up as your legs dangle off his back. Heels clicking against each other.

His tongue drives inside you so fast, screaming the fire away in your lungs.

You roll your hips over his face, feeling the hook of his nose brush your clit, sinking further onto his face. He hums, moving his face side to side, pulsating his tongue. Not being able to move your hands made you squirm, trying to relieve the ache in your blazing core so quickly.

Once his tongue reaches a hole you’d never think to touch yourself, you tighten.

“Never had your ass full before?” He asks.

“No, never.” You whimper.

“It’s s’okay, one day princess.” He coos, “I heard when you fuck a girl so fast in the ass, she squirts instantaneously because the pleasur is so intoxicating the pussy doens’t know which is which.” He chuckles.

Thinking about squirting on Frankies dick, makes you spasm, the orgasm bursting out of you from nowhere.

“Hmmm, that’s it baby, come all over my fuckin face, give it all to me.”

Once he’s done devouring the last of your sensitive nub, he gets up, undoing his belt to your hands, letting it drop to the floor. Never being so relieved to touch him again.

“That was really fucking good Frankie, jesus.” You shiver.

“Don’t thank me yet, darlin. Haven’t even fucked you yet.”

The thought of seeing his cock now made your eyes roll to the back of your head, finally getting to feel his length break you open.

“Go on, get the fucker out. See it for yourself.”

You gulp, bracing yourself. You fiddle with the button to his pants, ultimately undoing it and sliding his pants down partially. You could feel your entrance fluttering, finally just one more layer.

You reach the band of his boxers, slowly bringing them down rescinding a seethe from Frankie through his teeth. And fucking finally all you were waiting for the whole night.

His cock was fucking thick and long. You’ve never seen a dick this long before. The head of his cock so red and needy, ready to fill you. Ready to fill his dumb cock whore.

“Jesus Frankie, it is gonna fit?” You whimper, you just want to feel him sinking inside you already.

“Princess, I’ll fucking make it fit, don’t worry.” He kisses your cheek.

He gives his cock a few pumps in his hand. Wait, you need a condom.

“Frankie, we need a condom, quick.” You weep.

“I’ll put out. I promise.” You side eye him, every fucking guy says that.

“I promise, no babies tonight.” He winks at you.

God your babies would be fucking adorable. His babies mixed with you. Horny motherfucker.

“No more pussy if you don’t pull out, that’s it.”

“Can’t say that now, can ya? This pussy’s been mine and always will be mine.” He snaps.

He takes his cock, rubbing his cock with the swollen lips of your cunt. Mixing your slick with his pre-cum.

“Look at ya, already got cock brain, pussy’s quiverin for me.”

“Just fuck me already, cock can’t do anything but be soft” You purr.

“I’m gonna fuck that mouth away, just you watch.” And he slams into you, “This pussy ain't gonna be the same when we go home.”

And at the hilt, he thrusts into your pussy, splitting you open. Your jaw dropping, as his dick breaches you.

“Oh my- fucking god. Frankie, you’re so big- so so big.” You mewl. He keeps pushing inside you, cock sliding in and out of you, your liquids sliding out of your hole, slipping to the ground. His shirt riding up over his love handles, pants laying on his upper thighs. The happy trail on his pillowed stomach colliding with your mound. Fucking into you so right, his balls were hitting the back of your legs. Girthy cock never failing to make you flail like a fucking thumper bunny, making your body go into shock.

“Gonna fuckin come when I say you can come. Hear me? Gonna fuck this pussy so deep your can feel it in your throat.” He yells.

You can barely acknowledge what he's saying so lost in the midst of it all, your throat bare from screaming.

“So- deep Frankie- so fuckin deep-.” You scream.

You sit up on the counter to hold onto him, to pull him closer as he fucks up into you, the angle making you go dizzy. You both were so sweaty, the slap of your bodies together making your skin flush red.

“Fuckin whore,” He grunts, “Pussy lips fittin like a glove, cock so good, it’s practically slipping out. Fuck baby.” He’s pounding into you so fast you can’t breathe, the whimpers from your body disappearing. His hands grab your waist, pulling you in and out on his dick, holding you steady.

“I’m your fucking whore,” You cry, “Always you’re fuckin whore. Been waiting- so fuckin- long to be fucked by you. Been such a good girl for this cock.” You shiver, “Want to be fuckin bruised tonight, want be used.”

“Oh baby, just my fuckin needy whole, just a fuckin cum dump. My pretty little cum dump just waitin for what's hers.”

He pumps into you, tantalizing the spongy spot inside your willowing cunt. As he pulls out, the pain is so sharp from being empty you could fall over and shrivel up.

He keeps kissing you, fucking into you and bouncing with you up an down. Saying his name over and over again as a prayer. Only Frankie can do this to you. Finally getting fucked by your next door neighbor.

“You’re right- fuck- ngh- keep going. You caught me- I’ve dreamt about this- since- shit- I moved in. The moment- ah fuck- I saw you, I wanted to suck you off. I imagined your- fingers inside me every night.” You were trembling, sweating beading over your face, you wanted to come so bad but he fucking said no.

“Strugglin their sweetheart? Pussy want something?”

“I want to fuckin cum Frankie, I want to come over your dick and feel you dripping out of me. Please, fill me up, dump into me. Fill me so full I’m dripping of you all night and everyone can see.”

“Dick brain taking over too much baby, not tonight but another night.” He soothes.

Another night, more nights with him. More nights being drunk on Frankie.

“Come on, let’s make this pussy cum again, yeah?”

You nod your head, and you aren’t prepared for what happens next.

He picks you up from the counter, walking towards a wall of the bathroom and propping you there, using the support of his thighs to keep you up. This could make you cum alone.

You were hovering over his dick against the wall, him pulling you up and down again, clamping down on his glistening cock, covered of you.

Bouncing on his cock, the angle unleashed something in you. Not only was the head of dick flittering with the spongy area of your pussy, but his length kept kissing your cervix, tearing you open.

“My dirty fucking slut, loving that my cocks breaking her tight little pussy open, “ You wail, the intermissable things he’s said to you tonight never fails to make your pussy clamp around his cock. His dirty fucking mouth making you cum to see the stars. He wraps his hand around your throat, closing your airway enough to make your eyes roll to the back of your head. His fingers over the correct veins, cutting off circulation to your brain.

“Like being choked? Like my big fuckin hand wrapped around your throat?” He snarls, “Those pretty eyes can’t focus when a dicks controlling her brain.”

You feel your stomach swell, a feeling you haven’t felt in a while, this balloon close to popping in your lower belly, never able to hide itself.

“I can feel it too, pretty girl, let go for me, douse my cock. Cum for me.” He purrs into your ear.

“Frankie- it’s strong- it’s too much- i’m gonna- im’ gonna fuckk.” Your mind blanks.

And hesitantly but surely, you hear a stream leaving your pussy, leaking all over his cock and onto the bathroom floor, soaking the hairs of his happy trail. Making the light denim of his jeans turn into a deep indigo from the leakage of your pussy.

“Yes- squirt all over my fuckin cock, yesss, pussy so perfect.” He places a hand on your stomach, feeling for his dick in the depths of your body, “See what my dick can do to your body? See when you’re a good girl you get to squirt all over me, and feel my cock all the way in this tight little pussy?”

You shudder, you almost shut down from all the pleasure, but he doesn’t stop just yet after your cunt stopped spurting out water. He forces you back on his cock a few more times, this is for himself you figure.

“God so fucking- good for me- pussy shovin me out, so tight and slick,” He shudders, “Such a pretty girl, so happy you live next to me gorgeous.” He pulls out, setting you briskly down on the floor, falling to your knees from being so numb.

Giving his beading cock a few more pumps, “Fuck where can I cum? Fuck- baby I’m not gonna last much longer, it’s-”

“Cum on my fucking neck, give me a pearl necklace Francisco.” You look into his eyes. Hot white spurts of Frankies cum falling all over your neck, your tongue managing to catch some. So salty and sweet, the perfect treat. He’s holding onto the wall, chest heaving so heavy, cock dangling in the air, your hand at the tip of his dick, collecting more cum to swirl into your mouth.

“Fuckin dirty girl, wearin me like I’m jewelry.” He laughs, “Gonna go out in public and show me off or what?”

“Couldn’t have you sleeping out my pussy, so I can have you slipping down my tits.”

He couldn’t believe the nasty head you had, but he fucking loved it, he loved everything about you. He wet a cloth to clean you up, to sooth the dull ache in your lower abdomen. You were so blissed out you would have fallen asleep.

“Come home with me.” He asks.

You did.

————

heyy everyone🙋🏻‍♀️ so how’d i do. tad scared this isn’t good bc it’s my first one shot BUT DAMNNNNNN

[goodstuffhappenedtoday]

Their teachers assign math, grammar — and giving small gifts to strangers

While writing report cards several years ago, Jennifer Thiessen was troubled by something.

Her third-grade students were being evaluated on subjects such as math and science, but not on life skills — such as social responsibility and kindness.

“That’s the stuff that I feel is really important for them to learn and carry forward in their lives,” Thiessen said.

She wanted to be sure she was encouraging those skills, which she said are at least as critical as understanding how to multiply and divide or distinguish between nouns and pronouns.

“There are so many important life lessons I wanted to teach them outside of the curriculum,” said Thiessen, a teacher at Canada’s Watson Elementary School in Chilliwack, British Columbia.

She mentioned her concerns to Kyla Stradling, then a fellow teacher at the school, and they hatched a plan. They assigned their students a project that had nothing to do with standard school subjects. Instead, it was centered on spreading goodwill. They called it the “Kindness Project.”

“If we could be that spark of kindness, we could inspire others to do acts of kindness,” Thiessen told her third-graders in 2018.

Students from two separate third-grade classes made cupcakes at home and sold them for $1 during a series of bake sales at the school. They raised about $400 and used the proceeds to purchase small gifts — things like bouquets of flowers, dog treats, chocolate bars and coffees — and handed them out to strangers near the school.

For the past five years, third-grade students at Watson Elementary have embraced the Kindness Project. They host several bake sales to raise money, and each class adds their own spin to the assignment. During the pandemic, for instance, students collected funds to put together care packages for front-line workers.

“Every year, we sit down with them and ask them how they want to spend the money,” Thiessen said. “We want them to be part of the process.”

This year, the 100 students split up into several groups to focus on different initiatives. While one group wrote cards and bought small gifts to hand out to strangers, another put together care packages with essential supplies — including toothbrushes, snacks, gloves, socks and sanitizer — for homeless children and teens. Other students made a “teacher appreciation bin” filled with treats and goodies and dropped it off at a nearby school.

[lexicmarshall]

Alexis had been invited to an surprise outing by her good friend Cheryl and Mary. Couple of good friend of hers here at Columbia. She had known that her father and brother had called lockdown a couple of nights ago, back in Utah; but they were all celebrating end of term finals. So she wasn’t going to miss the chance to have fun before the time came for her to be caged up again. ( yes that’s what it was like for her at those times ). It was about five or so hours that they had been there at that point she had several messages from her brother And Andrew (striker) his vice president. Even though she knew she should answer the texts. They did seem urgent. But instead, Alex’s impaired mind decided to ingnored all of them. After a few dances with the girls she shook her glass.

“TO NO MORE HOMEWORK!” She said to the others giggling. Her mood changes when she heard bikes rev up to the bar. That’s when she saw the medalion of the bar (Scorpions Mc) ‘Shit’ she thought. That was one of the reasons why she had to cut school earlier this month. Rival tensions and what not.

“Cheryl. Is this a biker bar?”she asked curiously. “Can sometimes be. Why”she asked as she got another drink. “Just a thought. It’s nothing. They had had a few drinks when she saw a couple of familiar faces walk in. She was so going into lockdown for her friend antics. She turned to see Connor , and Andrew his vice president coming into the bar “shit” she said as she spit out her drink a bit as she saw the two enter with their heads held high like they owned the joint. She coughed a bit as she looked to mary.

“if I don’t communicate for a bit. I’m grounded”she said quickly as she saw the others lock eyes with them. When he was near her she looked to her older brother. “hi. ”she said softly as she knew she was in trouble. But it wasn’t her fault. right ? Oh and the fact that she was a little drunk didn’t help right now either as she had her big brother hovering over her at the moment. Also the fact they had to travel 10 + hours from Utah to retrieve her at Colombia University.

[middleearthpixie]

Living Proof

Merry Christmas, @legolasbadass! I am your Secret Santa this year and this is the story I wrote for the @officialtolkiensecretsanta! I hope you enjoy Thorin enjoying a snow day with his family!

Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, reader, Frerin II and Amira

Warnings: None. Just all fluffy fluff

Rating: G

Words: 2,411

Khuzdul Translations:

Uzbadnâtha - princess

Mimûn/a - little one

Raklûn/a - precious one, darling one

Mesmel - jewel of all jewels 

Summary: You and Thorin and your children have a fun time playing in the snow the night before Yule...

You saw through my anger and rage to show me my prison was just an open cage

There were no keys, no guards, just one frightened man and some old shadows for bars.

~ Living Proof, Bruce Springsteen, Lucky Town, Columbia Records, 1992

Everything was just perfect. 

Snow swirled softly all around you, but you barely felt the cold as you watched Thorin and Frerin II wrestle about in the drifts that rose like small mountains across the plains. It was supposed to be simply a family walk in the woods, but that lasted all of only a few minutes before Frerin scooped up a handful of snow to throw at his father. Of course, Thorin couldn't possibly let that go unchallenged, and so fired back and within minutes, snow flew in all directions and laughter and shouts rang out through the trees. Not that you minded. Their laughter was music to your ears, and obviously to Amira’s ears as well, for she tugged her hand from yours and said, “Come on, ‘Amad, let’s get them!”

She didn't wait for you to reply, but scooped up a handful of snow and fired at her brother, who promptly returned it. The next thing you knew, a snowball hit you squarely in the chest and your husband didn't even look the least bit sheepish about it.

“All’s fair in love and snowballs,” he said with a shrug, scooping up more snow.

You gave him no chance to fire it and showed him no mercy as you retaliated. Snowballs, some firmly packed, others leaving trails of powder in their wake, flew in all directions once more, with you and Amira taking on Frerin and Thorin. 

Then Frerin wound up and fired and hit Amira square in the face. She dropped to her knees, and both you and Thorin froze while Frerin said, “I’m sorry, Amira! I promise I wasn’t aiming for your face.”

Amira looked up, snow clinging to the hint of beard on her chin, and she narrowed her eyes at him. Then, she leaped, hit Frerin in the middle, wrapped her arms about him, and tackled him into the nearest snowdrift. 

Thorin went to pull her off her brother, but then laughter rang out and both Frerin and Amira turned on you and Thorin with near-deadly accuracy. 

“Get him!” Frerin yelled and both he and Amira changed direction with their snowballs, pelting Thorin without mercy. They worked together, with Amira crouched to scooping handfuls of snow into spheres to hand to her brother, who fired as fast as she could make the snowballs. Meanwhile Thorin seemed to move in slow motion, letting them splatter him with snow as he seemed to take great pains in finding the perfect snow, sculpting the perfect snowball, and firing it, only to find his aim to be far more inaccurate than usual.

Finally, Amira stood up, a snowball in each hand. One hit Thorin’s thigh, but the other? Squarely in the middle of his chest.

“Oh, no… You got me… argh… I’ve—I’ve been—I’ve been hit…” 

Thorin made a great show of grabbing his chest, staggering backwards until he simply crumpled into the snow. There, he went still, and you bit back a smile as Amira stared in wide-eyed horror. “But I didn't hit him that hard.”

“It looked pretty hard to me,” you told her as seriously as you could manage as you tried to fight off your smile at the same time. “You and Frerin should go check on him.”

“Frer, I didn’t hit him that hard!”

“I think you did.” 

The sparkle in Frerin’s eyes made holding back your smile even more difficult. Then, Frerin took Amira by the hand. “We should check on him, Mira.”

She nodded. “Very well.”

Frerin looked over at you, as if waiting for you to nod, so you did, and then you watched, lips pressed together, fighting back a chuckle as they crept up to him. Amira looked up at her brother, then down at her father, and hesitantly let go of Frerin’s hand to close the gap between her and her father.

“Gotcha!” Thorin roared as he shot up to grab Amira around the waist and pulled her down into the snow as she let out a shriek that went from fear to laughter in the blink of an eye. Powder flew in all directions as Frerin then pounced as well. Their laughter mingled to rise into the chilled evening air, their breath rising in silver clouds to float off into the darkness.

You let them play a few minutes more, brushing the snowy remnants from your sleeves and coat, and then your motherly instincts insisted you round them up. “Come now, all three of you. Before you catch a chill and spend Yule sick in bed.”

“’Amad, must we?” Frerin looked up, snow clinging to the thick black lashes around his brilliant blue Durin eyes. It clung to his wavy almost-black hair as well, and in the dark fuzz that would one day all too soon be beard. He was named for his uncle, but was a mirror image of his father, as was his sister, who was just as pink cheeked as Frerin.

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“But we’re having fun!” Amira pouted.

“Listen to your mother, mimûna,” Thorin told her as he stood and brushed snow from his trousers. Then, he bent and scooped Amira into his arms and held out a hand to Frerin. “It’s getting late and you need to get to bed. Otherwise, no Yule for either of you.”

That was enough of a threat to make the complaints stop and you bit back a smile as you all crunched your way back toward Erebor’s front gate. Inside, fires still burned, to make up for the chill the heating system couldn’t quite chase away. Everywhere you looked, red ribbons and evergreen boughs added such a wonderful air of festiveness, the scent of pine taking you back to the Yules from your childhood, when you were about Frerin’s age and Yule held all of the magic in the world for you. 

You looked up at Thorin, his silver-streaked black hair also white from snow in spots, but they quickly vanished as it melted from the warmth. Your husband. You’d loved him from the time you were children, had thought you’d lost him forever when he left Ered Luin to begin his quest to retake Erebor. You’d not yet forgotten the fear that chilled your insides when you’d learned he’d been terribly wounded at Ravenhill, nor had you forgotten the long nights you’d spent at his bedside, when he hovered between life and death, and the long days that followed, as he pushed through pain and fury and guilt to become whole once more.

It was all behind you now, of course, but you hadn’t forgotten and as you reached your apartments deep within the mountain, you smiled as he set Amira down and said, “Into warm clothes, both of you, and into bed,” and patted their bottoms to get them to move.

As their energy seemed to never deplete, both Frerin and Amira raced off in different directions to their bedchambers and you looked up at him. “They should sleep like babies after all that fresh air.”

“They are not the only ones.” He rubbed his eyes with one hand. “I, too, will sleep well.”

“They love romping about with you, you know.”

“I know it all too well, mesmel. And while I would not change it,” he winced and reached down to rub his lower back with one hand, “I am reminded I am not exactly a young dwarf any longer.”

“You are not an old dwarf, either, though.” You moved around behind him, gently knocking his hands away to press your thumbs firmly into the knotted muscle just above his hipbone.

“Ah, take care, mesmel! I am sensitive.”

“Hush. You are no such thing.” You kneaded that thick, solid muscle with expert pressure and precision and smiled as he let out a low, purring growl of satisfaction. “Feel better?”

“Aye, thank you. I can walk upright again.”

“Go put your children to bed, dwarf.”

He turned to you, his brilliant blue eyes dancing with more than a hint of mischief. “Then perhaps I might take you to bed?”

“If you think your back is up to it.”

“Oh, it will be.” He bent to sweep his lips against yours. “I promise you it will.”

“Go.”

While he went to round up your children, you made your way down the narrow corridor toward your own bedchambers. One of the servants had been in to tend the fire on hearth and turned down your bed, so the room was warm and cozy. 

After readying yourself for bed, you tugged on a warm, velvet robe, then padded back out to go and bid Amira and Frerin sweet dreams. Frerin was very nearly asleep, but smiled up at you as he said, “I had so much fun tonight, ’Amad. I wish ’Adad had more time to play with us like that.”

“I know you do, raklûn. And I know he wishes he did as well,” you sank onto the edge of his bed and reached down to smooth a dark curl away from his face, “but unfortunately, being king means less time for fun.”

“I know.”

“Go to sleep now, raklûn,” you told him, leaning over to brush his forehead with a kiss, “or else I know a wee dwarf who will have no Yule.”

He snuggled deeper into his pillow. “Good night, ’amad.”

“Good night, Frerin.”

You blew out the candle on his bedside table, patted him once more through the quilts, and left. As you approached Amira’s room, she said, “’Adad, tell me again how you and ’Amad met.”

“You know that story, uzbadnâtha.”

“I know, but I like it. Did she really save your life?”

You paused in the doorway, smiling at the sight of Thorin stretched out on Amira’s bed with her curled up against him. She was younger than her brother, but in some ways, such an old soul,  that it was easy to forget. 

“She did, indeed. You’ve heard tell of the battle that took place just beyond our walls, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I was gravely injured in it. And when ’Amad learned of it, she hurried here from Ered Luin and it’s because of her that I am here today.”

“But she’s not a healer, ’Adad.”

“No, she’s not, but my wounds went beyond just hurting physically. I was angry at the world for what had happened here, and took it out on everyone around me.”

“Like Frerin did that time he got hit with the arrow?”

“Exactly.” Thorin smiled. “And he knew Cam didn't mean to hit him, but he was still angry nonetheless.”

“They got into a fistfight over it.”

“I remember.” Thorin smoothed a hand along her long tangle of curls. “And I was even angrier than Frerin. I felt responsible for bringing war to our doorstep, to causing Uncles Fíli and Kíli to be hurt as well, along with a great many others.

“But, ‘Amad sat with me no matter how many times I told her to go away. She wouldn’t leave when I yelled at her to do so. The harder I tried to push her away, the more determined she became to not leave my side and her stubbornness won my heart in the end.”

Amira yawned and snuggled closer. “And now you aren’t angry any more.”

“And now I’m not angry any more.”

“And all because of ’Amad.”

“Yes, and because of you and your brother, as well. You’ve all three given me plenty to be happy about.”

You pressed your lips together as the soft emotion in Thorin’s normally deep, commanding voice brought tears to your eyes. He looked over then and smiled as he said, “How long have you been listening, mesmel?”

“Not long.” You came into the room. “You should be asleep by now, little miss.”

Amira looked a bit sheepish. “I was asking ‘Adad to tell me the story of how you met again.”

“Did he tell you what a grump he was? And how he told me to go away more than once?”

She nodded. “He did. But you refused.”

“I did, because he made me mad and I was going to stay just to spite him.”

Amira laughed. “Why?”

“Because your father is cute when he is mad.”

“Cute?” Amira stared up at him and you bit back a laugh at the disbelief in her voice. “Really?”

“I have my moments, raklûna. And now,” he gently untangled himself and stood, then tugged the quilts to her chin and smoothed them out, “you need to get to sleep, or else—”

“Or else no Yule,” she finished for him with a sleepy smile. “I know, ‘Adad. I know.”

“Good night, uzbadnâtha.”

“Good night.”

You bent over to brush her forehead with a kiss as well. “Sweet dreams, mimûna.”

“I will.”

Thorin blew out the candle and then slid an arm about your waist to steer you from the room. Out in the corridor, you looked up at him, his features softened by the flickering flames of candles behind frosted glass globes. “She should only know how close she came to not being here, because her father is a stubborn mule at times.”

“Oh, and her mother is not?” He bent to brush your lips with his. “You are every bit as stubborn.”

“And that is why you are here and they are there, dwarf.”

He smiled, tugging you closer still. “And I thank Mahal every day for that blasted stubborn streak.”

“Same.”

His eyes sparkled in the low light and he bent toward you. Your lips met in a slow, teasing, deep kiss, and when he drew back, Thorin pressed his forehead to yours and murmured, “Now, I do believe I said something about carrying you off to bed.”

He didn’t wait for you to reply, but swept you up into his arms and spirited you back to the cozy privacy of your chambers, where he pressed you down in to the soft bed and whispered, “I do love you, you know.”

“I know, and I love you back, dwarf.”

He kissed you again and as you lost yourself in him, somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed midnight. 

***

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[weerd1]

ENT Rewatch Starlog, 5 May, 2024- Final Entry: Episode 4.03 “Home”

Archer and his senior staff are welcomed home where the Captain gives a speech reminding everyone of the 27 crewmembers lost in the operations to stop the Xindi.

He prepares for a board of inquiry regarding the mission while reconnecting with Erica Hernandez, former romance who is about to take command of the NX-02 Columbia.

T’Pol asks Trip if he would accompany her to Vulcan and he agrees. They arrive at T’Pol’s childhood home where she is surprised to find her mother, T’Les, at home.

T’Les informs her that she has stepped down from the Vulcan Science Academy, and is herself surprised that T’Pol has brought a colleague home. Later alone, she mentions to T’Pol that Koss, her betrothed, has been reaching out. 

Reed, Mayweather, and Phlox are in a bar in San Francisco when they are accosted by humans who display ignorant prejudice against Phlox (because prejudice, xenophobia, and judging someone by race or species is ignorance and if I have to tell you that I wonder what the hell you’re doing watching Star Trek in the first place) which results in a fistfight. Phlox demonstrates an old Denobulan defensive posture inflating his face, which scares off the human dipshits. Later, when invited to the surface by Hoshi Sato, Phlox chooses to stay on Enterprise.

Ambassador Soval seems to be out to get Archer during his inquiry, specifically about the Vulcan ship that was destroyed during their Zombie-like attack. Archer loses his cool and is ordered by Admiral Forrest to take some time off. He decides to go rock climbing but is joined by Hernandez. In the course of their climb Archer begins to display the inner turmoil he’s been dealing with since his actions in the Expanse, and tells Hernandez that he wants to be away form her for reminding him of what he used to be. She offers to help him find that man again together, and they kiss.

Tucker is beginning to grow on T’Les, particularly after doing some repairs around home. Koss arrives and asks to speak to T’Pol. He reveals he will not break their betrothal, offering even to resort to the Kal-If-Ee  if necessary—the fight to the death for the bride. T’Pol continues to reject him until he tells her that her mother was asked to step down from the academy because of T’Pol making enemies in the Vulcan High Command. He says his influential father could restore her status.

T’Pol takes Trip to the statues near the Vulcan Forge and tells him she will marry Koss.  Later when confronted by T’Les, Tucker admits that at that moment he realized he loves T’Pol.  T’Les says T’Pol should know that. Tucker remains silent however, and tells T’Pol how wonderful she looks. She steals a quick kiss, and then the marriage proceeds.

Archer completes his hearing and stays after to apologize to Soval. Soval states he has listened to T’Pol and reviewed the case. He is grateful to Archer for saving not just Earth but the Alpha Quadrant from the Expanse, and shakes his hand.

This is a very good episode giving us the closing to the Xindi storyline we needed. I know it’s beating a dead horse, but something like this I believe would have served the end of Voyager well. I especially appreciate the post-trauma reaction Archer is going through (something I have also experienced after my own service in war zones) and if I had to complain about anything in this episode it would just be that it could have used one more scene of him finding a little more reconciliation. The implication that he will be better because he doesn’t have to face it alone is great, but I think a little too much of the healing happens off screen.

Let’s however hear it for Ada Maris as Erika Hernandez (though she goes un-named here…and that’s dumb). Dispelling the old TOS line about the realm of being a Starship Captain being for men is great; I know we see her again, but it’s a shame season 5 didn’t let us see some more. I am very aware of the Beta Canon fate of the NX-02, and the evolution of her character, but would love to have some more just plain Captain Hernandez stories.  

The Tri’Pol stuff here is the kind of thing that propels a thousand shippers (me too) and is so well played for the tragedy.  As much as I praise Ada Maris as Hernandez, let’s also applaud Joanna Cassidy (a science fiction legend herself) as T’Les. Not only do I immediately buy her as T’Pol’s mother, but she brings a calm a subtlety to match Jolene Blalock, that was too often replaced with arrogance for Vulcans on this show. But this?

This is a knife to the heart in the best way.

The introduction of a human xenophobia is good here, and wow do I wish it were less relevant to us today. I know this will play out later in the season with Earth First movements, etc, but even when this aired, I think it said a lot about what happened in the US after September 11th with many darker skinned people being assaulted in a blanket reaction to actual terrorists (my then brother-in-law among them). I wish we’d learned more in the last 20 years, but also hope we’ll learn more by 2154. Watching the news though admittedly gives me some of Archer’s pessimism.

But this brings it to an end; I have spent the last few months rewatching and reviewing the Xindi storyline, and for the most part find it holds up pretty well, perhaps even better than I received it then. There are certainly some missteps along the way, but it has definitely reinforced my appreciation for this show as a much stronger member of the Trek family than me as a dumb-ass continuity-obsessed gate-keeper two decades back might have thought. Glad I got better, and I hope we all can, honestly.  There is new Trek I love, and some I think really misses the mark, but in the end Star Trek is ALWAYS relevant, and all Star Trek speaks to someone.  I can’t fault that. Gives me faith of the heart. 

If you’ve read these and enjoyed them, thank you for coming along with me. If you've like to find the rest they are all tagged "enterprise rewatch" and "xindi saga" on my blog.

(Images taken from the main website for @trekcore; I am happy to remove the images if asked.)

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

More Precious Than Rubies: Part 3b

This is an alternate timeline story that has a Rafael Barba track and a Sonny Carisi track. The two paths split off in part 3.

WC: 2771

TW: Angst; end of relationship drama.

AN: The prompt was "I Made a Mistake"

When the jury read their verdict of “not guilty” on all counts, you breathed a sigh of relief and then tended to your client, who collapsed against you in broken sobs.  You got him collected, then you both went out and made a brief statement to the assembled press.  You shook Jeremy’s hand and wished him well, and then you stood a moment in the weak April sunlight.

You descended the steps of the courthouse slowly, one at a time, and thought about what you should do. 

It was late in the day – you could go back to your airless little utility closet of an office and wrap up you paperwork on the case.  Or you could start making your way towards home.  Most of the cops and ADAs went to celebrate or commiserate at Forlini’s, but two blocks up was a charming little Spanish wine bar that most tourists walked right past.  It was right near your subway stop – you could go finish your paperwork there.

You had been a good student in high school and undergraduate, and you’d been top of the class in law school.  The sole subject you struggled in had been math and calculus, so it was fortunate that law didn’t require much higher math beyond calculating what consecutive sentences would add up to.

If you had been good at higher math, you’d know what an inflection point was – a moment when a curve changes from being concave to convex, or vice versa.  Life was full of inflection points – when the path a person could take is changed or decided on.  Most times, the person in question had no idea how their little choices affected the larger arc of their life. 

Take the subway or walk.  Eat the street meat or the leftovers you packed from home.  Go to Fordham law or Columbia law.

Turn right, towards your office.  Or turn left towards home.

Today, you turned right.

-----

Sonny would have claimed that he was finally over you, but when you strode into the precinct, as a public defender, no less – he knew that’d be a lie.  All of his hard work to accept that you were gone fell away.  He had been frozen on the spot as you gave him a curt nod and then tossed Rollins and Fin out of the interrogation room.  A moment later, you marched your client out, and you tilted your head in that defiant way that Sonny recognized instantly.  It was adorable…until one realized that it meant you were digging your heels in and spoiling for a fight.  Not that you’d ever done it with him – he’d only seen it when you argued with classmates at Fordham over tricky legal precedents and controversial cases. 

Maybe if you had argued with Sonny more, he’d still be with you.  You’d bitten back all of your frustrations with him until they grew too big, and you’d left him as a result.

Sonny could barely focus on the case that was falling apart for Barba.  He couldn’t tear his eyes from you:  when you gave your opening, when you questioned witnesses, when you sat at your table with your client, your head bent over your notes and the slim column of your neck rising out of your polished grey suit.

And when the verdict came back as not guilty, Sonny couldn’t help but smile at your own smile of triumph.

He wanted to stick around and congratulate you, but Rollins tugged on his arm and pulled him out of the courthouse with the rest of the squad towards Forlini’s, where they’d drink and console each other and pretend that they hadn’t handed the ADA a completely flawed case.

Sonny paused outside of the door to the restaurant though.  Rollins looked at him questioningly.

“I’m gonna go for a walk,” he said.  “Clear my head.”  Before she could argue, he turned and walked away with a wave.

It wasn’t technically a lie.  He was going for a walk, and if it led him to your office, then that was just a coincidence. 

Sonny had shown remarkable restraint throughout the entire case.  He’d only spoken to you twice:  once to remark on the rainy weather that day, and once to remark on the sunny weather on another day. 

It was another sunny day.  He could always stop in and tell you so, maybe congratulate you on your case.  And if that went well, maybe beg you for a chance to really talk.

-----

You gave yourself a quick five minutes to enjoy your win, and then you settled into your desk to address the stack of files that threatened to topple over.

You were interrupted every so often.  Your admin assistant stopped in three times to offer you coffee.  Your boss stopped in to congratulate you.  A few other public defenders drifted past your door.  The nicer ones just said “good job.”  An older one, jaded and bitter, said he was glad that you “stuck it to Barba.”  This made you frown – you weren’t trying to stick it to anyone.  You just wanted people to get a fair trial.

You wrapped up the paperwork from the Michaels case and slid it to one side.  You looked over the stack of open cases you had and decided to work on the simple assault one.  You might be able to plead it out and avoid a trial.

You were deep in the situation of the case (two drunk men, brawling in the street, one ending up with a broken arm, the other unharmed and charged with assault in the third degree) when there was a knock in your doorway.  You looked up with a smile, expecting another public defender, but it was Sonny.

It felt like the air was pulled out of the room.  You tried to keep your face expressionless, but a million emotions roiled through you:  anger at how things had ended, and guilt too.  And a lingering bit of love for him.  You had held yourself together through the trial, being polite and professional around him.  You even managed to exchange small talk about the weather, and you only glared at Amanda when her back was turned to you.

It didn’t help that he was wearing a blue suit that made him look absolutely delicious.  In the year since you’d seen him last, he had only aged like a fine wine.  The bit of grey at his temples made him look even more handsome, and he’d finally figured out how to style his hair. 

Standing in your doorway, he looked nervous.  His hand fidgeted at his side, and he ducked his head in that adorable Sonny way he had when he was feeling uncertain.

“Hey,” you said.

“Hey,” he replied.  He fidgeted for a moment and stared at the floor, then looked up at you.  “Congratulations on your win today.”

You shrugged.  People kept praising you, but the case had fallen apart on its own.  You had just nudged it along.  “Thanks,” you said simply.  After a beat, you gestured to the seat in front of your desk for him to sit, and he did gratefully.

“It’s a nice day,” he finally offered.  “Sunny, nice breeze.”

You glanced around your windowless office – it was little more than a glorified storage closet, so cramped that Sonny’s knees were jammed against the edge of your desk.  “It’s hard to tell from in here,” you joked. 

He smiled at this.  “You should go out and enjoy it,” he said.  “Knock off a little early.”

“Maybe.”  You tapped the stack of files on your desk.  “These aren’t going anywhere.”

You could feel your desk moving, almost unnoticeable.  Sonny was obviously bouncing his leg in nervous tension.  “If you want, maybe we could go grab a bite?  My treat?”  When you didn’t answer right away, words started tumbling out of his mouth, about how it wasn’t like that and he was going to go eat anyway…

“Okay,” you said.  Truth be told, you felt a complex guilt about how you had ended thinks with Sonny over a year ago.  True, he had basically ghosted you throughout the last few months of your entire relationship, leaving you to sit alone at restaurants and bars and once, alone in your apartment during your anniversary with a home-cooked meal that got cold and new lingerie that went unseen. 

It didn’t excuse your own behavior though.  You could still access those old feelings of jealousy towards Amanda, the feeling of not being good enough for Sonny.  But your anger had also cooled down into a sort of gloomy acceptance.  What remained was the guilt:  you’d cut Sonny out completely, blocking his number and deleting his emails.  You never explained your position and let him guess it himself.  And you’d heard from mutual acquaintances that he had been pretty torn up about the whole thing.

Which didn’t mean you forgave him.  It just meant that the bad feelings were tempered a bit, and you had to work with him anyway, so establishing a professional relationship would help.

But Sonny smiled so brightly when you agreed to grab a bite with him, you couldn’t help but smile back at him as you gathered up your stuff and walked out of your building together.

********

Sonny’s first instinct was to lay his hand on your back to lead you to the elevator, but he caught himself just in time.  He also did it again, as the two of you went to a nearby El Salvadorian restaurant.  He wanted so badly to touch you.  It wasn’t even a sexual thing, though he’d not turn that down if hell happened to freeze over and you offered it. 

He just missed the intimacy of casual touching.  When you were comfortable with someone, you touched them – hugs, grasped hands, shoulder taps, ruffled hair.  With Sonny, you always had your hands on him.  You’d work out the tension in his shoulders with your deceptively strong fingers.  You’d run your hands through his hair.  You’d hold his hand when you walked somewhere.

It had been well over a year, and he’d been on a few dates, but the last person to really touch him in a comforting way had been you – when you’d been making out on his couch, and he had pushed you away to call Amanda.  The memory made him wince as you both made your way to a two-top near the back of the restaurant.

You were obviously a regular here – the waiter recognized you as he brought you water and chatted with you a moment, and you never touched the menu in front of you.  Sonny took up his own, struggling to understand the pictures and Spanish dishes.  He glanced up and saw your mouth twisted into a smirk.

“Go with the pupusas or tamales.  When it comes to meat stuffed into corn tortillas, you can’t beat a Salvadorean,” you said. 

“You order for me,” he said with a smile.  “You know what I like.”

You placed your orders with the waiter, who dashed off to the back.  “They don’t do cannoli, sadly.”

Sonny pretended to act offended.  “I eat all sorts of foods.”

The two of you chatted amicably.  You each discussed your final classes at Fordham, he asked about your internship, you asked about SVU.  You compared bar exam experiences and the nearly unbearable stress of waiting for the results. 

You asked about his family, and he told you about Bella and Tommy and how they were expecting their first baby.  He asked about your own family, but you shrugged and said they were fine, even though that’s what you always said.  Sonny had never met your family, and you hardly ever mentioned them.  He had never pressed it, just assuming that you weren’t close with them.

The waiter came back with your food, laying down a ridiculous number of platters that covered the table top.  You explained what each thing was, and then you both tucked in with relish. 

Sonny watched you as you both ate.  You looked just the same, only more polished.  Your hair swept up and back instead down, your makeup subtle.  The sharp suit, the jacket hung over the back of your chair, revealing a sleeveless blouse underneath and your lightly muscled arms.

“I appreciate you meeting with me,” he said between bites.  “I know things…didn’t end the best between us.”

You slowed your own chewing to look up at him, and he couldn’t read the expression in your eyes.  You swallowed your bite then daubed at your mouth with your napkin before taking a sip of water.

“No,” you said.  “Things didn’t end great.”

“I wish…” he started, but stopped to think about how to phrase it.  “I made a mistake.  I should have done better.”  He didn’t mention that you could have given him a chance to fix it before dumping him unceremoniously and then refusing all communication from him.

“I didn’t handle it well myself,” you conceded after looking at him for a long moment.  “I just held it all in until it boiled over.”

“So why, then?” he asked.  It felt like opening an old wound.  Painful, but necessary for it to heal properly. 

You snorted.  “Why did I break up with you?  Sonny, you were never around.”  You took another sip of water, and he noticed the faint tremor in your hand.  “I didn’t handle the breakup the best, but how else was I supposed to do it?  Schedule an appointment with you that you’d only break because Amanda was having a bad day and needed a shoulder to cry on?”

“Are you implying that I cheated on you?” he asked, stung at the insinuation.

“No,” you replied carefully.  “Not physically.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You sighed.  “Sonny, even when you were around, you weren’t with me.  You were always texting Amanda, calling her, talking about her.  Even when we were literally making out, you pushed me away to call her.  Emotionally cheating can hurt just as much as physical.”

“She’s my partner.”

You nodded at him, your eyes sad.  “She is.  More than I ever was.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, and he let some of his anger bubble to the surface.  “She needed – needs me.  Her life isn’t as easy as yours.”

At this, Sonny watched as your face changed, like a door slamming shut.  Your eyes narrowed and you pressed your lips together in a hard, thin line, as if you were physically holding back words.  Then you balled up your napkin and tossed it onto your empty plate.  You reached into your purse to pull out your wallet, and when Sonny tried to stop you, you shook off his hand angrily.  You tossed down a couple of bills and turned to nod at the waiter, then stood up.  The chair scraped along the floor, and you threw your jacket over your arm.

“You know fuck-all about my life, Sonny,” and if your thunderous expression wasn’t enough, your casual use of the eff word told him all he needed to know about how mad you were.  You never swore.

“Maybe you should have shared that with me,” he snapped, unable to stop himself.

“When?” you said, and your voice was low and steady.  “When did I have a chance to share my life with you?”  You gave a bitter bark of laughter.  “You couldn’t even show up for our anniversary dinner, Sonny.  You expect me to believe you’d have been there for the bad stuff when you couldn’t even bother with the good?”

That anniversary.  As long as Sonny lived, he’d never forgive himself for missing it.  It was the beginning of the end, really – you who could barely cook had spent an entire day fussing over cookbooks, pulling together an amazing meal that he ate as leftovers in the days that followed.  He hated to think about you sitting and waiting for him…while he was at Forlini’s with Amanda, nursing a beer as she pounded them back, making sure she got home safely. 

In his mind as he imagined it, you had blown out the candles you’d lit for dinner at about the same time he eased Amanda’s shoes off after laying her in her bed.

You took a few steps toward the door, then paused.  “Tell your partner to get her shit together,” you said.  “Because while I really enjoyed tearing her apart on the stand with this case, I do prefer a challenge.”

Then you walked out, your heels clicking on the tiled floor, leaving Sonny behind.  Again.

[taste-thewaste]

writing patterns tag!

I was tagged by the amazing @typicalopposite, thank you so much! rules: list the first line of your last 10 posted fics and see if there’s a pattern. (I have only written 9 fics for RWRB and I won't subject you to anything else I've written lol so y'all get 9 first lines I'm sorry. also unsure if it's an ongoing fic if I'm supposed to post from the first chapter or last chapter updated so Im just going with the first. sue me. ALSO ALSO if you check any of them out and I hope you do, please heed any and all TW!) 1. In Case, Just in Case: The first time it happened was after Henry’s father had died. 

2. only bought this dress so you could take it off: “Christ, this is short .” Alex stares at the dress that Henry’s hung in the closet on a padded hanger, reaches out and fingers the fabric and thinks how there just doesn’t seem to be enough of it to cover his frame. 

3. Your Lipstick, His Collar: Alex’s dorm room for his first year at Columbia is objectively shitty, and after a month of living there, the only thing he can find to not hate about it is the fact that he doesn’t have to share it with anyone.

4. I could've danced all night: The tutu that Alex holds up in one hand is deep purple and made of acres of tulle fluffed up within itself.

5. I wanna touch your body (so fucking electric): Alex has been apart from Henry for 17 days, 11 hours and 35 minutes, and he can feel every fucking second in his bones.

6. Gorgeous: They are in a small bar in Paris, drunk on French 75s and the nearness of each other, staring at the Eiffel Tower when Alex starts making fun of him.

7. Daylight: “I’m fucking knackered ,” Henry says as soon as they get home, flinging his duffel bag on the floor in the foyer and instantly collapsing on the couch.

8. The Archer: “You’re fucking impossible, you know that? You know that, right? That you’re impossible?” Alex takes a long drink of his 100 year old scotch, slams the rocks glass down on the counter; it’s heavy, made of cut crystal, and it makes a loud thunk as he slams it down.

9. London Boy: Henry is laying on the couch, the TV muted, a paperback held in one hand as he scans the pages.

Tagging: @england-would-fall @sunnysideprince @luainthewild @onthewaytosomewhere