#but anyway yeah the way joe immediately opens with that after the first game

[cementcornfield]

A Retrospective on Ja'Marr's Rough Rookie Preseason (and How Joe Was There for Him Throughout)

Ja'Marr on The Pivot: I just wanted to get in where I fit in, just slowly make my mark and show the guys around me I could still play... Joe even knew that I was getting too hard on myself but Joe was just telling me like, 'I know what you can do, just get back in the rhythm, play your game, and you know we're gonna take off from there.'

Ja'Marr on Pat McAfee: It had a toll on me, it was a little mentally draining, knowing I was getting attacked just getting into the league... it just took a little minute for me to get back into the rhythm of things, get used to the offense again and once all that was coming on, I wasn't really worried about it. Joe helped me pick myself back up and get back on the road.

[astoryshark]

The pharaohs Guardian - Chapter 1

This is the first chapter of my Yugioh x f! reader fanfiction! It starts after the events of duelist kingdom and will follow the timeline and story roughly.

The fanfiction will focus mostly on Yami Yugi / Seto Kaiba x reader, but I titled it as a general Yugioh ff because there will be also interactions with other characters :^).

Enjoy!

The Door swung open and revealed a defeated and angry duellist 

“This can't be.. lost against a girl..” he muttered under his breath and walked away, hands in his pockets.

“There goes another one, I wonder if that new Duellist is really that strong”

“Yeah and there may be a chance that she is cute”

Tea sighed “Is that all you can think of Tristan?” 

“Tea is right Tristan, why are you only thinking about that one topic” , Duke added with a small grin. It made the young brunette furious.

“Don't make this look like u didn't think about that as well! You are worse than I am” 

“Says who?!” 

The black haired boy countered and they both were ready to fight each other “Stop it you two idiots!” Joey shouted and held both teenagers away from each other 

“Who cares about her looks! When I am done with her there will be no one that talks about her anymore anyway! Because they will all talk about me, Joey Wheeler and what a great and talented Duellist I am!” His eyes were sparkling at the thought of beating that new Duellist. He would be in the spotlight of the Duel Community and have all the fangirls follow him.

But this thought vanished rather quickly as Tea slapped him back to reality. The smaller boy with the very uncommon Hair just laughed at the sight of his friends. He also kept thinking about that new Duellist that everyone was talking about. It all started a few weeks ago, when a lot of players kept losing against the new girl that suddenly showed up. People said that she was new in Domino City and others said that she has always lived here but was away for quite a long time. Whether it's true or not, she must be a good Duellist.

The group of friends walked through the door of the most popular Community Place for Duel Monsters in Domino City. Everyone comes here to duel, meet friends, new people or to simply watch the games of others. Because of the mysterious new player, the Place was fuller than ever. Everyone wants to play against her to test their skills. Naturally, the place belongs to the famous Kaiba Corporation. The continually growing popularity is good for the numbers. The CEO, Seto Kaiba, has immediately been informed about the newcomer and all the talking about her supposingly strong abilities as a duelist. So he wants to check for himself. Kaiba doesn't like it when somebody else claims themselves as the best. Yet his hectic work schedule won't allow him to follow the idea of a duel right away.

“Hey guys, I think I found her” 

Yugi said and looked directly at the girl, gaining all the attention of his friends who followed his trail of sight. She was dueling against another player, and he was losing like everyone else.  

“No way! I lost?!” he shouted, nearly screamed in anger, his opponent simply smiled

“It looks like you did but hey, you really had some good moves”

“I don't need your stupid pity!” the Player stormed out of the building in anger.

The girl just sighed and got of the Platform

What's wrong with these people..it's just a game. Why are they all so angry?  she thought and decided to sit on a chair that was right next to the Duel Platform.

“Well Tristan its seems like you were right about her being cute”

Duke simply said with a smirk on his face

“Yeah right” Tristan agreed

“Its not all about looks you two” Tea nagged at the two boys who didn't even listen to her because they were discussing about the Girl. She seemed to be a few years older than them. Joey already ran to her to challenge her to a game of duel monsters.

“Hey you!” he spoke with a bright smile, Yugi sighed a bit but had to smile typical Joe

The young Woman looked up to him

“Hm? Do you want to duel?” she asked with a light hint of annoyance in her voice

“That's right and I guarantee you that I will win!” the blonde-haired male was full of confidence, it made her a bit excited.

“We will see about that" she answers and goes up to the platform.

“LETS DUEL” they both said at the same time, starting their game. 

“Why does Wheeler even try to play against her? Even if she is not that good, he will lose anyway because of his lack of skill and of brain.” said the brown-haired CEO to himself as he watches the Duel through the cameras. They show the whole building.

“Hey Seto!” a cheerful voice echoes through the office, it was the younger one of the Kaiba Brothers, Mokuba.

“What are you doing? Are you watching the newcomer duel?” he walks to his brother and looks at the screen.

"Yes, since the talk about her seems to be never ending, I wanted to see her skills myself. If she really has any"

The younger one needs to laugh a bit “She is nowhere near your skills Seto! Since you are simply the best!” hearing those compliments from his younger brother starts to push his Ego even more.

His Loss against Yugi still nags at him, but he labeled it as luck and not as a win of skill. “When will you play against her?” Mokuba asked

“I'm busy with the company at the moment ...that means my win must wait. Now.. let's watch how Wheeler loses his Match” 

It was the first Turn of the female Duellist “Let the Party begin…” she said with a smile and started the round with a strong opener. Two trap cards (Metalmorph & Chasm of Spikes) and a 1400 ATK monster in attack position.

Joey grinned confidently "Let me show you how the great Joey Wheeler does this!" he exclaims before he draws a card and continues his turn. Yugi is quick to notice that they both play similar decks, focused on warrior type monsters. However, she uses her cards in a more strategic way than his best friend does. She knows well when to defend and attack, which gives it a feeling of a game of chess.

After a tricky move from Joey, the young woman takes a deep breath to gather her thoughts. Her best trap cards have already been used. She takes a good look over the field and the cards in her hands

Doesn't look too good..I need to find a way around his Thousand Dragon

She draws her next card, not showing any sign to her opponent. Giving away information about the cards is the worst a duelist can do. Her behavior is making Joey nervous

"Ya done anytime soon?" he asks and tries to get something out of her.

The young woman over to him, a small smirk on her lips

"I activate my Spell card: Doppleganger"

Yugi's Eyes widen "That's one of Pegasus cards! Joey, watch out!" he shouts over to his best friend. How can she have that card? he asks himself, his gaze turning worried. Tea gets a bad feeling about all of this "Joey.." she mumbles quietly. She then looks down to her friend Yugi

"If she has one of his cards she probably is in connection to him.." she says with a worried tone. Yugi takes a deep breath "We don't know that yet but Joey has to be careful. Doppelganger is a real trickster card, it can take on any form of a card that has been sent to the graveyard."

Kaiba growls behind the screen at the sight of the card "Pegasus.." he mumbles annoyed, remembering the events of Duelist Kingdom painfully well.

Joey gulps and looks nervously at the field and then at his opponent.

"And? What do ya want with that? My Thousand Dragon is way too strong!"

The young woman needs to chuckle a bit "It is indeed a strong monster, but my spell card will help me with that" she adds and continues her turn.

She activates the effect of Doppelganger, gets herself a card from the graveyard and destroys Joey's Dragon with it. His field is now empty

"Unfair!" Joey exclaims but doesn't give up so easily. The Duel continued a few more rounds and Joey had some good tricks up his sleeve. But, in the end, the new one in town won. Both players get down from the platform, the young woman goes over to Joey and shakes his hand.

“Thank you for the Duel, I had a lot of fun, and I must say you're not that bad” she comments with a warm smile.

“I can only give that back” he answered with his typical bright smile. His friends walk over to him.

"You did great Joey, it was very close!" Yugi cheers and smiles up at his best friend. Tristan and Tea agree.

The Girl sat down on the chair she was sitting on before and looked over to the group.

“So, you guys know Pegasus?" she asks carefully, not wanting to seem pushy "Oh and Im Y/N by the way, nice to meet you"

Joey grins at her "I'm Joey! And these are my friends Tristan, Tea and Yugi" he says, pointing at one after the other. Y/N nods and looks at Yugi for a second

"Oh wait, I know you! You won the duelist Kingdom Tournament, right? You are that Yugi Muto" she exclaims, surprised. The boy in questions, smiles nervously and scratches the back of his neck

"Y-Yeah, I guess that's me" he answers carefully "It's nice to meet you too, Y/N! The duel was great to watch" he adds quickly and with a hint of nervousness. The young woman smiles "Thanks! Joey is a great opponent"

Joey clears his throat "Ehem! I am the second place of duelist Kingdom, Joey Wheeler! The one and only" Tristan sighs and shakes his head, Tea can only chuckle. Y/N only smiles.

"To get back to your first question" Yugi starts and tells her about their experiences.

Seto closed his Laptop the moment the duel was over

“As I thought, Wheeler lost. But her using one of Pegasus cards can only mean that she has a deeper Connection to him. Else he would never give her such a spell card.” He said to his brother with annoyance in his Voice.

“Yeah it's obvious that you hate Pegasus after what he did but you must admit that she truly is a strong Duellist!” the younger one said

“Well.. she dueled against Wheeler which does not provide any challenge." the CEO answered with a rough and cold Tone. “If you say so” his brother answered as cheerful as always, he is used to the harsh personality of the company Boss.

“And as I said, I must make an impression myself before I can say if she is good or not. I don't care about other people's opinions, especially not from these dweebs.” and with that said, he left the office leaving Mokuba on his own. The younger Kaiba sighs "Typical Seto”

[yourmcu]

Scarlett and Y/N being besties for 7 minutes straight

Pairing: Scarlett Johansson x reader (younger!fem & platonic)

Summary:

You find a video complication that sums up your friendship with Scarlett Johansson.

A/n: this is what happens when you binge watch a lot of avengers cast interviews and I wrote this in a day btw (more notes at the end!)

Word count: 2,509

Warnings: none other than fluff !

You let out a short cackle when you came across the video that immediately sparked up your interest. The thumbnail was your best friend, Scarlett Johansson and yourself hugging each other affectionately with assorted iPhone heart emojis, during what seemed to be an interview - you can’t remember since you’ve done so many with her.

‘Scarlett Johansson and Y/N L/N being besties for 7 minutes straight’.

How can you not?

You cast your phone to the TV. It started with a short intro of the video title in comic sans font and Wii background music as all fan-made compilations should.

“Speaking of Y/N, you already knew each other before working on the Avengers movie, right?” The first clip was of Scarlett’s interview with Ellen a few years back.

She opened her mouth to speak but went to look behind her first which made Ellen and the audience laugh. “Sorry, it’s just a precaution. I didn’t like what happened the last time you mentioned someone.” That being Chris Evans, the man scared her from behind the last time she was on the show.

“Don’t worry, no one’s popping out today,” the talk show host reassured with a smile.

“Good - uh anyway, yeah,” Scarlett chuckled. “Y/N and I did know each other like way before Avengers. She’s one of my closest friends actually.”

“Oh really? Can you tell us all about it, how did you two meet?”

“Um, yeah. It was at dinner, I was working with her dad on a movie when I was young - Y/N’s father is this incredible director yeah you all probably know - and... uh, yeah. I met her there,” a picture appeared on the monitor of both of you at the premiere of your first movie together. “I was around fifteen at that time and she was probably around five or six.” She pointed out.

The camera slightly moved to the left where you could be seen creeping in sight behind the actress. Ellen and the audience were doing a great job not to ruin the surprise.

“That is amazing. So you met Y/N way before you met Chris - Chris Evans?”

Just to be sure again she looked over her shoulder at the mention of her goofy co-star but you were already hidden behind her chair and ducked, erupting more laughter from the audience at her antics. “I met Chris shortly but yeah, I’m sort of like a family friend to Y/N, you could say.”

They talked more on how you’ve helped her a bit to get in character for Natasha Romanoff in Iron Man 2 since you read a lot of comics, how the first person you called was Scarlett when you got your first Marvel role and how she became your on-set big sister on your first days working with the Avengers cast.

“I remember her being terrified of the thought of being in the same room as Robert and Mark,” she paused to laugh. “As if she wasn’t a big actor as they are-”

You jumped up from behind the seat, putting your hands abruptly on her shoulders and yelling, “SCARLETT!”

She yelped, covering her mouth then her whole face as the whole studio went wild. You hopped and landed smoothly on the arm of her chair to hug her tightly.

“Who’s terrified now?!”

-

“This is called Avengers: Phone-A-Friend,” Joe Russo announced. Scarlett, Paul and Chris Hemsworth were competing in a game at a UK fan event.  “Let’s see who can get a fellow Avenger on the phone quickest. Get your phones out, fastest one wins!”

It cut to the part after Paul and Scarlett decided to call each other. She was quickly scrolling through her phone, after Downey didn’t answer her call, she managed to get to her latest text messages which was you, so she tried to call you.

Grabbing a microphone as soon as she saw the call connect, you spoke the same time Robert did on Chris’ phone.

“Chris, is that you my dear?”

“Hey Scar, I was kinda sleeping. What’s up?”

The whole room went quiet, The Russos gaped and grinned, didn’t really expect to get two on the line. Paul was still figuring out what the heck was going on.

“Y/N?”

The room started to go loud again but not that much, Chris was holding in a fit of laughter and stuck both his and Scarlett’s phones so you could continue the conversation.

“Oh hey Mr. Robert,” you sometimes called your co-stars with ‘mister’ or ‘miss’ before their first names just to tease. “What’s going on?”

“Well I’m in my living room, and you happen to catch me at a nice time...” he started.

“You’re not with Scarlett right now?”

“No,” Robert’s voice was filled with confusion and wonder. “Isn’t she at a fan event with-”

He was interrupted by loud cheers of the fans. “Wait you really had no clue we were at the fan event?” Scarlett directly asked you as Chris and Robert laughed.

“Well, everyone was doing a great job of being quiet and I’m still half asleep.” That earned even more laughter from the fans.

-

You and Scarlett tossing jellybeans in the air and trying to catch them with your mouths in the background after playing a game with some of your other co-stars at a talk show.

The original clip was cropped to focus on the both of you so the quality was slightly bad. Not bad enough to miss how one bean almost entered your eye and Scarlett covering her mouth to suppress her laughter though.

-

Scarlett was in the middle of a red - or purple carpet interview at the Infinity War premiere.

“Um, it’s-” she went to answer but was cut off by a squeal from behind the camera, followed by a yell.

“Scarlett!”

Recognizing who it was she rolled her eyes playfully and decided to continue the interview. “Anyway, I was-”

“SCARLETT! JOHANSSON!”

“I am so sorry, that’s..” Scarlett chuckled and the interviewer had an amused expression as they went to look at your direction. They handed the microphone to Scarlett, “it’s okay! Do you wanna...?”

“What, what do you want?” She spoke through the microphone. It’s funny because the camera never showed where you were and just focused on Scarlett and the interviewer.

“I - I JUST WANNA SAY I MISSED YOU.”

The interviewer laughed, still amused by all of it. Scarlett scoffed, “we literally did each other’s hair before we arrived.”

“CAN I SIT NEXT TO YOU LATER?”

“Y/N-”

“PLEASE?”

-

Being an actress your whole life had cons, because that meant you didn’t have a lot of free time whenever you had something going on so school was tough.

But you managed to graduate.

Scarlett came to support you. You had just received your diploma as the camera followed your movement - probably recorded by a relative or friend - then your best friend came into view as you ran into her open arms.

The best part was you were both unbothered despite being huge personalities and you appreciated it greatly, it just made you more happy and you got to process everything.

“Oh my gosh, you did it!” Scarlett exclaimed which could still be heard on the video even if the place was noisy and they were still calling up students on stage. She loosened the hug a bit to get a look at you. You put on a genuine, excited smile and hugged her again.

-

You just fiddling with Scarlett’s polished nails during an interview, none of you acted like it was a big deal and Scarlett didn’t look like she minded. You always felt like you had to be fiddling something during interviews, especially when you’re thinking of a thorough answer. The only times you didn’t is when you’re making movements with your hands to answer the question or you’re distracted with an interview game the producers planned.

And Scarlett wanted you to be comfortable, so she just went with it and eventually got used to it.

-

A recording of one of your old streams.

“Alright, I’m just gonna...” you adjusted your stream settings. Whenever you had nothing to do, no projects to work on, you streamed and played games on Twitch. Not too much though, and all the money you earned from there goes to your favorite charities. “Wait hang on-”

You mostly played with mainstream and famous streamers, sometimes your co-stars, and sometimes your Avengers cast members would stop by to watch the stream and it was really fun.

Where did these streams take place? You and Scarlett’s apartment. The both of you agreed to buy your own little place so whenever either of you had shootings nearby you’d just stop by there instead of booking a hotel room. (You bought the place in the middle of Scarlett’s divorce and you thought it would relax and take her mind off things a bit).

You switched the screen to say ‘be right back’ because you smelled smoke. You remembered Scarlett telling you she’d be preparing something in the kitchen.

“Scar?” You called out. Your voice was still booming on the stream because you forgot to mute and you haven’t left your chair yet. “Scarlett?”

“Yeah?”

“Everything okay in there?” Your voice was a little bit far away from the microphone now.

Two seconds of silence. “Yup, I’m fine. Just working on this casserole-”

“Well, is it burning?”

Another moment of silence. You eyed the fire extinguisher in the corner of the room just in case.

“...no?”

The video cuts to the part where everything’s fine now and you turned your camera back on. “Okay, so-” you scrolled through the chat box, and your eyes widened at what everyone was talking about. 

“Oh god I forgot to mute, didn’t I?”

You burst out laughing, scrolling further into the chat and checking your phone as well, a few texts from Anthony Mackie, Lizzie Olsen and a missed call from Cevans. All of them asking if the both of you were okay and if they needed to call the fire department.

“Scarlett’s going to kill me.”

-

“Action!”

Held by strings, you threw harsh punches towards the supposed Black Widow, and you dodged hers back. Both your expressions were cold and stern as you tried to take the other down. 

Not until Scarlett accidentally hit you with one of her batons on the temple.

She was out of character before the director could even say ‘cut’, you nearly stumbled when she ran over to check if she had hit you that hard. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Was it hard? Come on let me see,”

-

“And now we’re going to show you something a little bit different here is an audience reaction to a particular scene from Avengers: Endgame.”

You and Scarlett were invited to do a video where the both of you would react to all the movies you did together and maybe say something about the experience working on it.

“It better not be - oh no,” you tried to hide your head behind Scarlett’s shoulder as she watched the scene interestedly since she wasn’t around that time anymore.

Since your character and Widow didn’t get along on all the previous movies, the Russos thought it would be touching to add a little scene right after Tony Stark’s funeral with Clint, Wanda and your character talking.

Audible mutters can be heard from the audience when the camera showed your face, emotionless, but your eyes were starting to gloss.

Then you said something short that made the audience gasp, and when tears came out of your eyes the reactions were loud. Just goes to show that your character actually cared for the person they despised.

“Touching,” Scarlett chuckled turned to you as the scene ended, a little smile played on her lips. “You know what? You look adorable when you’re crying.”

You removed yourself from her shoulder with a pout. “Well do you wanna know what was on my mind while we were filming that?” You were talking to both Scarlett and all the people behind the camera. “I was thinking of this stupid fight me and Scarlett had-”

“No!” She laughed, hugging you, but you kept talking and the crew started to laugh.

“In fact I don’t know what caused it, but I know it was stupid and we didn’t talk for weeks-”

“It was embarrassing and made no sense at all!” Scarlett cringed.

“And, like, all of you know I can’t last a day without this woman she literally ties my shoelaces for me,” you laughed. “But I cried at least three times because I missed her.”

-

The next clip was the actual Endgame scene they showed from the interview.

“We won. We did it.” Clint said.

“She knows,” Wanda nodded. “They both do.”

They held each other for a bit, but Clint noticed something off, spotting you sitting on your own on the grass with your knees against your chest as you stared blankly into the lake. Wanda tilted her head to show her concerns as well.

“Hey!” Clint called out.

But you remained silent.

Your character was cold, much like Bucky Barnes when he’s the Winter Soldier but instead that was your character’s actual personality. Doesn’t take shit from anyone, barely smiles or shows any emotion whatsoever. The important thing for your character is to get things done, and they believe it’s what they’re alive for.

You won’t deny, you were a fan favorite.

So when your character met Natasha Romanoff in Age of Ultron, both parties did not get on the same foot, having short fight scenes when it was necessary (which was so fun to film), ever since they never got along. Your character always gave bitter comments towards Natasha, she just ignored you, that kind of relationship.

But then she died retrieving the soul stone from Vormir.

Your character and Natasha last saw each other at Wakanda, you were one of the heroes that got dusted after the snap.

“You okay?” Clint asked as both him and Wanda walked over to you. You didn’t budge from your expressionless state not until the archer spoke again. “You know you can tell us anything, right?”

You blinked then looked at the ground where you sighed. “I....” you shook your head and when you went to look at him, full face shown to the camera, a tear or two ran down to your cheek. “I just miss her, Barton.”

Clint sighed understandingly while Wanda looked at you sympathetically. The scene ended with all three of you watching the lake from afar, before switching to Happy and Morgan’s.

-

You smiled as the video came to an end, deciding to text your favorite human just because you haven’t seen her since her wedding, then you had to be home at all times because of the pandemic.

: youtube. com/watch?v=tniMnFhAPBs

: Watch it

: What is it? Another one of those memes again?

: Kinda but it’s better!!

: Hahaha I’ll check it out

: How are you doing by the way? Need a care package?

: You know what would be better?

: If I come over this weekend :-)

---

I’ve learned not to stan and be attached to celebrities bc you’ll never know if they’re problematic or not

as much as I want to ‘stan’ the avengers cast, I’m gonna say I just admire them :))

SHAMELESS PLUG: check out the natasha romanoff ambience i did!

[martuzzio]

The idea of Ren joining the Amputees-Only club sounds so bittersweet... cuz before he knew they were having fun, but also knew that they were allowed to have a bond like that. He never expected to join them.

I can honestly imagine in his first few meetings there's a few times where Ren just cries, poor guy...

Rendog's first Amputee's Only Club Meeting (written under the cut because this one is longer than normal)

Despite what the universe seems to think, Doc is a pretty easygoing guy. Yes, he does look scary as hell and yes, he was a mob boss at one point, but that doesn’t mean he’s a violent person. Well, he’s violent when he needs to be, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys it. In reality, his favorite moments are all from quiet parts of his normal, boring, daily life as a hermit.

In these everyday moments, Doc likes to process things. He likes to sit in the greenhouse and watch the bio bees work alongside the robot bees. He likes to brush his fingers on the plants and let his half-robotic brain process the data into something that resembles touch. He likes to listen to Grian and Etho chat as they work.

He observes small moments like these because that’s all he really does. He takes in data and processes it. He uses the processed information to judge his surroundings and react accordingly. Sometimes this means that he uses his data to laugh at his friends who make dumb jokes. But sometimes he uses the data to run, hide, or fight back. When all you do is process data to keep yourself alive, it becomes very hard to ignore incoming information.

This is how Doc eventually locates Ren. He wasn’t planning on finding where his longtime friend wheeled off to, much less go searching for him, but Doc unfortunately decided to take a more leisurely route to the bridge and his camera eye caught the slight movement anyway. Doc has to give it to him; the man knows how to hide. The werewolf is in a lesser-used community room, curled into a dusty couch that’s been shoved into the corner. The chrome wheels of his temporary mobility aid reflect off of the window overlooking deep space. Ren has his left leg drawn up to this chest. His stump of a right leg rests on the couch cushion, shunned. Ren’s obviously hid because he doesn’t want to be found, but unluckily for him, Doc was specifically altered to notice things.

Ren’s flinch when Doc claps his hand on his shoulder is almost unnoticeable. Ren looks like he’s either been crying or had a bad allergic reaction to the dust. Doc assumes the former.

“Cub was working on your new parts earlier today. They look pretty sick,” he ventures.

Ren looks like he has the entire universe on his shoulders. “That’s wonderful,” he mumbles. He opens his mouth as if to say more, but instead sighs and slides his eyes shut.

Doc plops down on the couch and slings his arm over the back of the rest. The action makes Ren recoil again, this time more visibly, and Doc pointedly ignores it. Instead, he says, “As much as I want you to come see what Cub is making, you will go to him when you feel like it. There is nothing you need to do right now besides heal.”

Ren barks out a wet laugh. “Bro, I appreciate you so much, but how can stumps heal?”

Doc’s cybernetic hand twitches in sympathy. “You know what I mean, man, and we both know it.” Doc replies. He looks down at the sliver of space between his leg and Ren’s and chews his words. Ren shifts his gaze to Doc’s arm, then to gaze directly at the creeper’s face.

Doc feels uncomfortable in a way he’s never felt before. All of the other amputee hermits were already amputees when they joined the crew. They had time to heal, be angry, and let go in their own ways. He did, too. But now, with Ren sitting next to him, suffering through the same kind of anguish Doc felt when he first woke up from being operated on, Doc suddenly doesn’t know how to act. How do you comfort someone who literally lost a third of their body? As much as Doc knows what that feels like and as much as he wants to help his friend, he might not be able to. He might not ever be able to.

It’s the single most heartbreaking thing that Doc’s realized in a long, long time.

This revelation causes the duo to sit in silence for a long while. Then, Doc gets an idea. His eye shifts to look at his friend. Ren narrows his eyes tiredly but waits anyway.

“The Amputees-Only Club meeting is in a few minutes.” Doc murmurs. Ren is silent, but he plows on. “I think you should come,” he pleads. “I think everyone would be very happy to see you.”

Ren’s throat clicks as he swallows. “I’m sure they would.”

“I would be very happy to see you.”

Ren’s eyelids squeeze together. “I know you would.”

“Then let’s go,” Doc insists as he pushes himself to his feet. He turns around and smiles as much as he can at his friend, still curled up on the couch. Ren gazes exhaustedly back. “I think it would be a good idea.” He wishes his smile weren’t so frightening.

Ren moves to rub his eyes with his hands but remembers he’s missing one of his arms a little too late. The resulting crumpled expression immediately burns into Doc’s deep storage memory. “I don’t know, Doc.” The werewolf manages after a long moment. “I appreciate you trying to help, but…”

Doc understands. Of course he does. When he first joined the hermits, the idea of a weekly club meeting exclusively for amputees sounded farfetched at best and belittling at worst. Hell, he didn’t even think there were enough amputees on the team to warrant a club. Imagine his surprise when three other people showed up to his first session, all excited he was there to hang out with them.

With this in mind, all he can do is repeat, “I think it would be a good idea.��

Ren stares up at him, and in that moment, he looks as old as Xisuma. But then he gently closes his eyes, inhales slowly and shallowly, and motions for Doc to drag his mobility aid closer. Doc complies immediately.

The journey to the meeting room, like every other journey on the Hermit Craft, is long. It’s made even longer because of Ren’s inexperience with his aid, but Doc doesn’t dare to offer his help. They eventually end up in front of the elevator that Doc remotely called beforehand with his brain chip. When the doors open, Doc lets Ren wheel in first.

Ren is silent in the elevator. Doc tries to catch his expression, but his friend’s unruly hair blocks his vision. “We’re playing cards tonight.” He mentions.

“That’s what you do at every Amputee-Only Club meeting.”

Doc shifts his eye back to the elevator door. “…Correct.”

Ren doesn’t reply.

When the duo finally reaches the Club meeting room, Doc pauses outside for a moment instead of directing his brain to open the door like normal. He glances down at Ren again and murmurs, “if you don’t want to go back, or to your room or something, that’s—”

“It’s fine,” Ren interrupts. He sounds defeated. “We walked all the way here, so we may as well go.”

Doc activates the door without another thought.

The door slides open and reveals the club room. It’s small, smaller than the average community space on the Hermit Craft, but it feels warm. The soft yellow color painted on the walls matches pleasantly with the yellow of the couch cushions. Joe definitely was the one to orchestrate that. There’s a small kitchenette in the corner that’s set up to have nice views of outer space. Various game tables fill the rest of the room, a few surrounded by five chairs. Doc wonders if Ren will notice the new chair addition. Maybe he already had.

The most interesting part of the space, though, is the people within it. TFC is bundled up on the couch, snoring pleasantly and covered in at least ten blankets. His usual plate of cookies is already half eaten. Iskall is standing at the kitchen counter, fiddling with a teacup filled with a mysterious bright pink liquid. His outfit has a few suspicious-looking singe marks at the hem. Finally, Scar is sat at the poker table in the middle of the room, crossed legs resting on an adjacent chair. He’s sorting through a pile of yellow and orange chips. To Doc’s continued wonder, the stack of bright blue cards resting near Scar’s elbow have miraculously not been knocked onto the floor yet.

When the doors open, Scar and Iskall look over. Ren immediately shifts at Doc’s elbow. Doc waits a moment to let Ren speak if he wants to, but when his shorter friend remains silent, he clears his throat in a grinding noise and announces, unnecessarily, “We’re here.”

Scar is so excited that his eyes have turned into little slivers of green. “Ren, I’m so happy you decided to tag along!” He kicks one of the chairs out from the table and clonks his foot on it for emphasis. The blue cards wobble on the edge of the table but still refuse to fall. “Sit down! Iskall can get you something to drink. Have you ever played poker?” He leans forward with the question. “It’s difficult, but I think it’s fun!”

“Uh, I haven’t.” Ren replies awkwardly, still at the door alongside Doc. “I’ve never even heard of it before.”

“Yeah, I would be surprised if you knew about it. It’s one of those old-timey games from TFC’s era.” Iskall says from across the room. He is now by the couch and is gently patting TFC’s fluffy hair to wake him. “Don’t worry that you don’t know. We’ll teach you.”

Ren tries and fails to make a pointed noise of interest, but he still seems intrigued. Doc feels the knot in his chest loosen a little. He rolls his shoulders to relieve some tension and moves to sit down. By the time he turns his head to look back, Ren is already wheeling forward to join him but looks lost as to where he should sit.

“Howdy, Ren. Sit next to me so I can teach you, but I’ll only teach if you’re willing to listen.” TFC, now awake, grumbles good-naturedly as he heaves himself off the couch. With his large frame still wrapped in a dozen blankets, he looks like a huge bear compared to Iskall. Which is impressive, Doc thinks, since Iskall is nowhere near frail. TFC’s metal prosthetic clonks on the floor as he walks over to the poker table. As he sits down across from Scar, he says, “There’s no point in just sitting there and gawking at us. Grab a seat.” He uses his leg to nudge the chair to his left.

Ren blinks and maneuvers his aid to let him sit down next to the astronaut. TFC procures a blanket from his pile and offers one to him. Ren, after slowly settling in his chair, accepts the pink fuzzy blanket. Doc accepts a purple one.

TFC lances over to Ren as he saves the blue cards from the edge of the table. “Poker’s good fun. You’ll get it in no time.” He snorts and flicks his gaze to Scar, who is busy stacking the chips into a pyramid. “This one always makes sure we have a great, long game.”

Scar looks up and winces minutely in a false apology. “Sorry about that.”

TFC chuckles. “Boy, I’ve never had better games than when I play with you.”

Scar’s grin almost sparkles. TFC and Doc grin back and Iskall hides his laugh in his shoulder.

“Anyway, ready for your first game with us amputees?” TFC brings the conversation back to Ren, who suddenly looks a lot more uncomfortable.

“I,” he begins, his eyes flicking to TFC, then Doc, before looking down. “I, well, uh…”

The table is silent. Iskall is staring at the table with his hands in his lap. TFC sighs and begins shuffling the cards. Doc, as much as he wants to clear the air somehow, can’t seem to find a way to do so. Scar just looks sad. He looks right at Ren, almost through him.

Ren stares back, eyes wide.

“You don’t want to be here.” Scar says quietly, finally. It’s not a question. Ren’s choked response makes the ex-convex smile slightly. “You can say so, Ren. You’re not going to hurt our feelings. None of us want to be here. But, as much as we may want to, we can’t change what happened to us.” He falls silent again as he looks at a particularly twisted scar on the back of his left hand. He rubs at it harshly with the pad of his thumb before Iskall stops him. “This might be selfish,” Scar continues, softly, “but I’m happy that I at least don’t have to sit in here alone.”

For a long moment, the table is silent. Then, with a rush of noise, Ren makes a sound like he’s dying. In a certain way, Doc thinks, he is.

“I don’t want to be here,” Ren confesses as his open mouth contorts and tears roll down his face. “I don’t want to be here.”

All Doc can do is wrap his arms around everyone else, encasing Ren and his other amputee friends in his embrace, and wish he could do more.

[uswntxfootball]

i get a little bit stressed out (when i think about you) (jill roord x arsenal!reader)

how were you supposed to ask her out when just thinking about her made you nervous?

word count: 3342 ish

rated: F for flirtation sugar daddy

title- nervous by shawn mendes

——

your eyes followed her even when you didn’t mean for them to.

there was just something about the way she carried herself… you really just couldn’t get enough of it and-

“hello? y/n?”

you really really really had it bad. it really didn’t help that she was talking adamantly about something to viv, the other dutch forward having a relatively hard time keeping up with the taller girl.

its only when daan claps in your face that you turn and look at her.

“sorry what?”

daan face palms before saying:

“you know if you stare any harder you’re going to strain your eyes.”

you blush a little.

“i’m not staring….i’m-”

daan’s pointed look shuts you up.

you blush harder and look down at your cleats, adamantly avoiding the midfielder’s gaze.

her tone softens a little when she sees you.

“you really should just ask her out y/n. its been like two years.”

you scoff a little.

“it has not been two years what are you-“

daan cuts you off with a matter-of-fact tone:

“she joined the team in 2019 buddy.”

“yeah but that doesn’t mea-“

“and exactly how many words have you exchanged with her?”

you think before saying with an air of false confidence:

“like a lo-“

“not counting on the field.”

you sigh and hang your head in defeat before whispering:

“like two.”

the dutch midfielder hums and asks again:

“mhmm now what was that?”

you roll your eyes and say it a little louder, still with that air of defeat:

“like two words.”

daan patted your shoulder encouragingly before the whistle blew, indicating the end of break, and training picked up once again.

~~

jill was talking about you during the break, actually.

to viv across the field from you.

the dutch forward had slowly realized that you were different around her, that you didn’t speak as much, and actually that you avoided her at all costs.

this she found out because there were instances, such as during team dinners, where if there was an open seat next to her, you didn’t take it, opting to stand or sit on the floor as far away from her as possible.

or that whenever she sat down next to you you shot up out of your seat almost instantly.

or that when you saw her coming down the hall you immediately turned and walked the way you came from.

or- you get the point.

she couldn’t tell if you hated her, because frankly that’s what it looked like.

so that’s what she was speaking to viv about.

and to lisa about.

and really anyone who would really listen.

of course, everyone knew your predicament, as you weren’t exactly subtle in your staring and stuttering.

they all assured jill that you didn’t hate her, that maybe you were just shy, something jill had a hard time believing since she watched you hold confident eye contact and conversations with literally everyone else but her.

if you were someone else maybe she would care less.

but you weren’t.

see, this is only how you acted off the field.

but on the field, you were a completely different person.

you had a confident, almost authoritative tone when you spoke, one that made everyone stop and listen, and was something that ultimately landed you the role of captain for every team you’ve ever played for, with arsenal being no exception.

you spoke to her that way too, and it was really the only time you made eye contact with her and spoke to her.

granted it was more like you giving orders and directions, but same difference really.

it was also something jill found really really hot.

so safe to say she cared about what you thought of her.

jill eventually decided that if you weren’t going to talk to her first, she’d do it instead.

and so began her quest, getting y/n y/ln to talk to her and hopefully become her friend.

~~

you noticed the change in jill immediately.

it seemed as though the dutch forward was tailing you every chance she got.

every corner you took she seemed to appear right in front of you, every time you glanced at her it seemed as if her eyes were already on you.

it got so bad that you tried even harder to avoid her.

for instance,

one day before training you were out on the pitch shooting from midfield and muttering game analysis under your breath when you heard a familiar, heavy dutch accent making its way through the halls.

you panicked and-

daan found you ten minutes later inside a trashcan.

needless to say you had a pretty hard time trying to explain the smell and stains on your jersey to joe later that day.

in your defense because the field was so empty, that was the only plausible option in your mind.

as time went on, it really didn’t get any better.

there was another day during training where you turned to catch a glimpse of jill only to see her eyes already on you, and you turned back so abruptly that you knocked down the entire weight rack in front of you.

jill giggled, and the rest of your teammates were rolling their eyes and collectively face palming at your stupidity.

it all came to a climax when you were on the bus to your first match of the year, and jill plopped down in the seat right by you.

your eyes widened and cheeks flushed immediately, and you trained your eyes on the seat in front of you, not daring to turn and look at the girl beside you.

“hey how are you?”

you gulped and slowly looked up at her, and you cursed internally.

she was just so unfairly attractive.

the slightly shy smile and arched eyebrow was a combination you swear only she could pull off and-

“i’m doing okay, how are you?” you managed to force out.

at least you didn’t stutter.

jill gave you a lopsided smile that made your heart skip a beat, and went on talking.

she knew you weren’t much of a talker around her, and subsequently filled up all the gaps with her rambling, something that you both appreciated and hated, as it really didn’t help the queasy feeling in your stomach.

when the bus pulled to a halt you felt like you were going to puke, and shot up out of your seat wanting to run off before you freak out, only to remember that you were in the inside seat.

jill moved slightly without hesitation, something you were more than thankful for.

she whispers a little dejectedly when you get off:

“are you sure she doesn’t hate me?”

lisa gives her a sympathetic look and smile.

“she doesn’t jill.”

“but she just-“

“trust us, she doesn’t.”

jill nods a little apprehensively, and gets up and grabs her stuff, making her way off the bus along with everyone else.

~~

during the game, jill was so distracted that she almost ran in the wrong direction.

“jill! press! now go!”

you were yelling at her from midfield, glancing all over the place as you watched every player’s movement and stance.

jill almost stumbled upon hearing your voice.

you note that she’s acting weirdly, and bring it up during a quick break while the ref is assessing a potential foul.

you catch her arm when she walks by you, an action that catches her entirely by surprise.

“hey you alright? your head is all over the place.”

jill swallows a little bit before smiling weakly and replying:

“yeah yeah i’ll be okay.”

“alright well get your head in it, you’re really talented and we really need you right now.”

you give her arm a reassuring squeeze and move to take the free kick which had just been given.

jill still stood there a little dumbfounded, its only when you snap loudly and point in the direction of the box that she remembers there’s a game going on and moves into position.

all in all, arsenal wins with an emphatic victory of 5-1.

after your duties as captain were fulfilled and you gave your post game talk, you quickly fell back into your off field self.

~~

now why was the previous bus interaction the climax?

simply put, it had been the last straw for a lot of your teammates, who were now fed up with your idiotic gay panic, and decided to do something about it.

you should’ve known something was weird when you get a text from viv reading:

“URGENT- team meeting in 15 min at me & lisa’s apartment”

you furrowed your brows in confusion.

you were the team captain and the one who called team meetings, so what was up?

also it was saturday night, couldn’t it wait?

you texted kim, the vice captain, and pretty much the only responsible adult on the team, to double check.

she replied with:

“yes- joe told us about it.”

you furrow your eyebrows again because you took your job of captain seriously and you honestly didn’t remember joe mentioning an impromptu meeting on saturday night at viv’s house.

but you made your way there just in case anyways.

when you make your way inside you glance suspiciously around the apartment and only get more confused when you see less than half the team there.

the only people there besides viv and lisa were daan and beth, caitlin and lia, leah and jordan, and katie.

by this point you should’ve known.

you open your mouth to speak but you’re cut off when daan shoves you down into a chair.

“sit.”

you shoot back up and fight her back a little bit before asking:

“guys guys guys what is going on?”

leah calmly looked at you and said:

“sit down and we’ll tell you.”

and so you begrudgingly take a seat.

lisa starts.

“alright so collectively as a group, we decided that watching you deal with jill is making us all lose brain cells.”

the group in front of you nods adamantly in agreement.

“and so we’re here to help you. to teach you how to flirt.”

you cross your arms and snort a little.

“and how are you going to do that exactly?”

“well-“

beth piped in here.

“we’re going to employ katie and have her flirt with you and teach you for the next week or so.”

you shake your head.

“katie? no i would rather go on my own thank you very-“

katie cuts in here with an offended look.

“what do you mean no?! i’m obviously the best here and-“

the room quickly broke into a loud cacophony of sound, as they began debating about katie’s comment.

its only when lisa yells for silence that everyone quiets again.

“wait how many people are in on this?” you ask suddenly.

“the whole team with the exception of jill,” leah replies offhandedly.

your eyes nearly bugged out of your head when you heard this.

“is it really that bad?”

lia snorts.

“can birds fly?”

you let out a sigh.

“fine.”

you turn to katie and very adamantly say:

“but don’t you dare make it weird.”

katie holds her hands up in surrender.

~~

and so it began, your “training” as they called it.

katie, surprisingly was pretty good at what she did.

she did unfortunately call herself your flirtation sugar daddy, but that really made you uncomfortable so you avoided those terms at all costs.

so day after day, katie stuck by you and flirted with you 24/7, with occasional performance evaluations from lisa and caitlin, all who approved thus far.

on the downside, jill, who had been kept out of the loop from everything, saw this as you being interested in katie.

she wanted to tell you that katie had a girlfriend, but didn’t really know how to start that conversation without making it weird.

she couldn’t just go up to you and say, “hey i’ve been watching you flirt with katie for the last few days and just so you know she’s taken.”

so she just stood by and watched.

she did ask viv about it one day though.

“does y/n know katie has a girlfriend?”

to which viv replied:

“yup.”

“so why is she flirting with her?”

“its just for fun.”

“it doesn’t look like its for fun to me.”

viv turns and looks at her dutch teammate.

“are you jealous?”

jill almost sputters out her answer.

“wh-what no of course not! why would i be jealous?!”

viv turns to hide her smile.

“sure jill. whatever you say.”

two weeks went by, and katie was delighted by your performance.

next saturday, the ten of you met up at viv and lisa’s apartment again.

“alright so you might be asking why we’ve gathered you here today!” lisa proclaimed with a very poor attempt at victorian english.

“we’re gathered here today to-“

“oh just get on with it,” viv butts in.

lisa turns to her with a glare.

“all right all right,” viv relents.

“we’re going to assess y/n’s flirtation capabilities.”

you quirk an eyebrow.

“how are you going to do that exactly?”

“ooh we didn’t actually think that far. we’re going to ask you questions?”

“what like ask me to finish the line? like ooh girl are you from tennesse cuz you’re the only ten i see?”

lia cringes a little at that line.

“what ever you do, don’t say that.”

“mhm yeah wasn’t going t-.”

leah cuts in.

“alright the point is. just be yourself y/n. you exude confidence on the field so just bring it out when you talk to her. that’s all”

the others all nod in agreement.

“that’s it really. you can do it y/n, we all believe in you.”

“thanks guys i really appreciate it.”

“wait but i can still be your flirtation sugar da-ow! you didn’t have to all hit me!”

~~

the next day at training you were shoved and funneled in jill’s direction by almost half the team.

a particularly hard shove from daan had you slamming directly into jill.

the dutch forward turned and grabbed your waist in lightning fast speed to steady you.

your arms immediately fell to rest on hers, and you took a shallow breath in when you saw her concerned look.

“are you alright?”

“yeah i am thanks to you…”

well here goes nothing.

“…though i have to say if this is what it takes to get you to hold me i’ll gladly fall for you again.”

jill’s face was worth the burning on your cheeks.

“w-what?”

you had to admit, jill’s stutter only made her cuter.

you just gave her a wink and reluctantly pulled her arms off you.

“come on jill, we have a training session to get to.”

you gave her a final wave before you made your way out of the locker room.

jill still stood there, shocked and a little confused.

viv rolled her eyes.

“come on jill.”

and when jill didn’t move, viv just grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the room.

later during training almost the exact same thing happens.

except this time it was more jill’s fault than yours.

she wasn’t watching where she was going and ran right into you.

your hands found their way immediately on her waist.

“is this how we’re going to meet and talk from now on?”

jill blushed and mumbled a “sorry.”

you grinned.

“don’t be, i’m kind of enjoying it, though…”

you stopped to fake pondering something.

“…i don’t know what we should do now that we’ve both fallen for each other.”

you finished your sentence with another wink, essentially rendering jill speechless.

and so, this became a trend.

you would flirt with jill, and the dutch girl would essentially just freeze up and stare at you in shock.

you thought it was cute.

jill thought it was mortifying.

she complained to viv later on.

“i can’t even flirt back what is happening to me?”

viv just gave her a reassuring pat on the back.

“that’s what we call gay panic my friend.”

jill groaned and buried her face further into her hands.

~~

“what’s a pretty lady like you doing all by yourself?”

you ask, plopping down in the empty bus seat beside her.

jill blushes and looks down at the seat in front of her.

she could barely see your playful grin out of the corner of her eye and it was enough to kick the butterflies in her stomach to a higher gear.

you had a little deja vu during the bus ride, except that in the previous predicament the roles were switched.

jill somehow managed to hold it together for the remainder of the bus ride.

it was on the pitch when jill really couldn’t take it anymore.

you didn’t even do anything, except fulfill your captain duties.

you were standing on the sideline, watching a scrimmage between lia’s team and kim’s team.

joe had asked you to sit out and assess every player’s strengths and basically coach them.

and coach them you did.

“caitlin! daan’s open on your left! and malin! cover daan better so she’s not wide open!”

you looked down to scribble notes in your note pad, and when you looked up you saw jill staring at you on the field.

“jill! focus!”

her gaze snapped back onto the game.

before the second round, you gave a bunch of pointers to both teams.

“okay so you guys are doing pretty well, just make sure to keep up your back line, don’t make it sloppy.”

and to the other:

“alright so pass accuracy is something you need to work on, because half of your passes are being intercepted at the moment which probably isn’t something you want.”

after a few minutes the teams took their places back onto the pitch and you began scribbling down a few more notes.

a pair of cleats makes their way before you, and you look up.

“what’s wr-“

jill leans down and kisses you.

you drop your notepad in surprise.

she pulls back quickly and searches your face for any sign of disgust or repulsion, and finding none, she leans in again.

this time, you met her halfway.

it was electric and a little needy, really everything you wanted a first kiss to be.

you briefly heard the cheers and clapping of your teammates, too caught up in the moment to care about anything else.

jill’s hands fell to your waist and yours rested on her cheeks.

you pulled back after what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was only a couple of seconds.

“so i guess i don’t have to fall for you to hold me like that again,” you whisper.

jill giggles.

“definitely not.”

you’re silent for a few seconds, but jill beats you and breaks it first.

“you know, i thought you liked katie.”

your eyes widen in surprise, and your face quickly contorts into disgust.

“oh god no way.”

“oh that’s good.”

you ask her a little teasingly:

“why, were you jealous?”

jill scoffs a little.

“shut up.”

you arch your brow a little in challenge.

“make me then.”

jill’s eyes flash back onto your face dangerously but before she can do anything you give her a little shove back.

“now go back to your scrimmage, we’ve had them wait long enough.”

she rolls her eyes and turns back towards the pitch, and towards a hoard of your giddy teammates.

“flirtation sugar daddy for the wi-ow!”

your perfectly struck ball hits katie square in the chest and your glare cuts eliminates any objections.

still you hear her mutter:

“still if anyone needs any help with flirting i’ll be free to-“

“katie!”

“sorry sorry i’ll stop.”

[watchmegetobsessed]

VALERIE - Part VI. (Harry Styles)

part 6 omg!!! ahh, these christmas chapters are my favs, i hope yall will like them asmuch as i do! as always, feedback is much appreciated!

word count: 4.1k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

“So how did you two exactly meet?” your dad asks over the dinner table. You are all sitting around the long pine table, the tremendous amount of food lining in the middle as the plates are going around, getting filled.

“Oh, um, we were set up, actually. It was all Rosa,” you admit with a soft chuckle, sharing a look with Marcus beside you. 

“I just thought they would be a good match, guess I was right,” Rosa grins, clearly satisfied with the work she’s done.

“What do you do for a living, Marcus?” Jeremy chimes in while helping Margaret cut her meat beside him. She is the youngest of the cousins, only five, but she can boss around anyone as if she was Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada. 

“Oh, I work in sales. We had a project with Steven’s company, that’s where we met.”

“That sounds interesting,” Joe nods, but at the same time you hear Harry huff on the other end of the table. Looking in his way you see him with his eyes fixed on the plate. He hasn’t said a word since Marcus arrived and his silence is quite worrying if you’re being honest. You haven’t seen him be silent for this long ever, you’re afraid he might be plotting something. 

“It’s so weird that all four of us are here with a significant other this year. I remember when we were all just kids, running around in our backyard,” Etta sighs with a nostalgic smile.

Your eyes wander over to Harry, who is still relentlessly staring down at his plate, as if he wasn’t even there. 

“Yeah, now there are just two single people sitting at the table. Aunt Monica and Harry,” you say and his head finally snaps up, eyes meeting yours, but you can’t read them. 

“You’re single?” Lily asks Harry, leaning forward a little so she can see him since they are sitting on the same side of the table. 

“I, uhh--I am, yeah,” he nods, clearly uncomfortable he is being discussed all of a sudden.

“Would have sworn you have someone waiting for you at home.”

“No, it’s just me,” he shakes his head. “Maybe I could pair up with Aunt Monica so there wouldn’t be any single people,” he jokes, making everyone laugh at the table. Aunt Monica looks up from her plate and winks at Harry.

“I’ll leave my door open for the night,” she cheekily comments and Harry almost chokes on his wine as another round of laugh runs over the table.

“Monica, he is not a lonely soldier,” your mom tells her, but she just shrugs her shoulders grabbing her glass and downing the rest of her wine. Joe is quick to refill it for her, knowing well she was about to ask someone to do that for her. 

“Thanks for the offer though,” Harry nods shyly and you think it’s hilarious how his cheeks have turned red from a nasty comment your aunt made. 

His eyes find you again right when Marcus reaches over and squeezes your thigh gently under the table and you catch Harry’s grimace before you turn to your boyfriend and share a short peck on the lips. 

For your biggest surprise Harry doesn’t try to drop any nasty comments about you during dinner, not even after, when all adults gather in the living room while the kids leave to play video games in their room. Rosa is sitting on Harry’s thigh as he is supporting her back, letting her curiously look around in the room. You’re sitting on a loveseat with Marcus, curled up to his side and he has an arm around your shoulders. Occasionally you catch Harry’s eyes on the two of you, but you try to pay little attention to him and just enjoy the evening.

“I should get going soon,” Marcus tells you, checking the time. It’s past ten and he has to leave early in the morning.

“Why don’t you stay for the night?” Teresa asks when she sees the two of you getting up from the sofa.

“Oh, I didn’t want to bother too long, it’s my first time meeting you all, thought a dinner would be just enough,” Marcus chuckles and you bite into your bottom lip. Does he believe this or did he want to stay, but only tells this everyone because you didn’t invite him to stay the night? You’re not sure if you want to know the real answer...

“Silly, you don’t bother,” you mom huffs. “Isn’t it too late to drive home?”

“I’m fine, but thank you. I didn’t bring my stuff so I would have to leave extra early in the morning to make it in time. But thank you for having me, it was wonderful meeting you all.”

Marcus goes around and says his goodbye to everyone before the two of you head to the front door. 

“Drive safe, text me when you get home, alright?” you tell him as he throws his coat to the passenger seat before turning to face you. 

“Yeah. Have fun with your family and I’ll see you in a few days.” A genuine smile stretches across his face and it immediately triggers your guilt. He could have stayed the night avoiding to drive back to the city so late, but even now, standing out on the driveway you don’t feel like you want him to stay for longer. 

What you keep telling yourself is that it’s all because you haven’t been together that long and it would have been a too big of a step just yet. Seemingly Marcus is fine with your choice, but something is telling you that it bugs him deep inside. 

Leaning down he kisses you softly, a hand sliding to your waist and pulling you closer before you part your ways. Standing on the side you wave at him as he backs out of the driveway and disappears in the darkness of the woods. 

You stay out there for a little longer, the spicy coldness of the night feels numbing in a soothing way. Chewing on your bottom lip you contemplate if you’ve made the right choice by not inviting him to stay. You don’t find an answer for that before you head back inside.

Not much has changed since you left, but you notice that Valerie is back in Rosa’s hands and Harry is nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Harry?” you ask sitting on the ground next to your sister, eyes on Valerie as she is adorably babbling at you.

“He said he’s tired, went to bed.”

You look in his room’s way. That sounded like absolute bullshit, but you don’t have a right to question it. Maybe he truly was tired, he probably had to wake up quite early to pick you up and be here in time.

Nodding you reach for Valerie and take the little girl into your arms, making yourself busy with her.

***

Tossing once again in the bed you growl in annoyance. You haven’t gotten an ounce of sleep since you’ve come to bed hours ago. Turning to your side you tap on the screen of your phone and it shows you that it’s already past two in the morning. No position feels comfortable anymore and you’ve flipped your pillow way too many times, there are no cold side anymore. 

On cue, your stomach growls and you let out a sigh staring up at the ceiling. Maybe if you had a late night snack your body would finally relax and let you rest. Kicking the covers off you put on a pair of fuzzy socks and throw a hoodie on before heading out to the kitchen to find something you could feast on. 

You stop in your way surprised when you see that the lights are on in the kitchen and someone is clearly out there, probably with the same intention as you. Walking down the hallway you hear a plate getting placed on the kitchen island and soon enough the person starts eating, the fork meeting the plate.

Harry is sitting at the kitchen island in a plain white t-shirt and checkered pajama pants, a plate of mashed potatoes and meatloaf sitting in front of him. His head snaps up immediately when he hears that someone has joined him and you stop at the door.

“Hey,” you smile softly. “I see I’m not the only one having trouble with sleeping,” you chuckle shuffling your way to the fridge. 

“I don’t sleep too well at new places,” he admits, eyes following your frame as you pass by him before he turns his attention back to his plate. 

Grabbing the milk you are about to close the fridge when your eyes lay on the absurd amount of eggnog. Hesitantly you grab a bottle and take it out as well, thinking that a few sips might help you fall asleep easier. Then you grab the cookies the kids decorated this afternoon and sit on a stool next to Harry.

“Woah, in need of having some fun?” he chuckles seeing the eggnog and you just shrug your shoulders, pouring milk into a regular glass, then some eggnog into a smaller one in hopes you won’t go overboard with it. 

“I’m just… having a hard time falling asleep.”

“Empty bed?”

“What?” you ask taking a bite from a cookie.

“I mean, Marcus left. You must be used to sleeping next to him,” Harry explains and you look back at him with furrowed eyebrows. 

“Well, I do sleep better with someone next to me, but it’s not like I’ve done that a lot with Marcus,” you admit, turning your attention back to the cookies.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you shrug, not really in the mood to get into it, because it’s a whole spiral that would bring you down into depths you definitely don’t want to talk about right now. 

“You haven’t slept with Marcus?” he asks, and you notice how it could mean two versions. Either he is only talking about just sleeping or he is nosily trying to find out if you’ve had sex with him.

“That is… none of your business,” you tell him with a soft chuckle. Harry holds his hands up innocently before returning to his plate. 

A few minutes pass by in silence, just your munching and Harry’s chewing breaking it. As you pour a little more eggnog to yourself Harry stands up from the stool upon finishing his food, and after putting his plate to the sink he gets a glass for himself and sits back, holding the glass in your way.

“Want to have some fun too?” you ask, but pour him some eggnog anyway.

“Might help me fall asleep too.”

“Sometimes I feel like mom is right saying that I have a drinking problem,” you snort finishing up your cookie.

“Don’t think that’s true,” Harry tells you with furrowed eyebrows. 

“Well, you have seen me drunk quite a few times, but it’s nice that you think it’s alright.”

“What’s wrong with having a few drinks occasionally? It’s not like you blackout every other day.”

“My mom would want me to never blackout in general, but I don’t seem to know my boundaries with alcohol,” you tell him with a sigh.

“Happens to everyone, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Thanks, but I’m sitting here at two in the morning, drinking eggnog for no specific reason, because it surely won’t help me sleep, so... Maybe there is some truth to it.”

Harry thinks to himself a little before pouring some more to himself and some into your glass as well.

“I literally just said that I should stop,” you say, giving him a puzzled look.

“It’s fine if you have a reason,” he answers with a cheeky smile. “We’re gonna play never have I ever.”

“Oh hell no!” you chuckle looking at him with wide eyes.

“What? Are you afraid I might find out something nasty about you?” he challenges you, clearly trying to push you to play. “I don’t think you can surprise me with anything.”

“Excuse me? That’s pretty hurtful you think I don’t have surprising secrets,” you say putting a hand to your chest. “I think I’m the one who can’t find out anything surprising about you.”

“Hah, we’ll see, Y/N. All you gotta do is play,” he smirks and you already know you’re fucked. Sighing you take your glass and look at him with a murderous look, but the corners of your mouth are curling up. “You can start, just so you see how generous I am.”

“Oh, what a gentleman,” you mock him. “Okay. Never have I ever… gotten into a physical fight,” you say and watch Harry raise his glass to his mouth, but at the same time you do the same, already sure he is gonna be shocked.

Just as you expected, he freezes seeing you take a sip from your eggnog.

“Alright, rule is that we gotta explain them, because there’s no way you’re leaving without telling me about who you got into a fight with,” he tells you pointing a finger at you, but then adds: “Fighting with your sister does not count, Y/N.”

“It wasn’t Rosa,” you chuckle. “I had a huge fight with my best friend in third grade and we somehow ended up kicking and punching each other in the middle of the gym in class. We were both sent to the principal’s office.”

“Who would have thought you were a feisty little kid!” Harry chuckles and you just shrug with a proud smile.

“See? I told you I can surprise you. Your turn.”

“Okay. Never have I ever had a threesome,” he easily says and brings his glass up to his mouth as you stay put this time.

“If you think I’m surprised, I’m not. It’s literally written on your forehead that you’re the kind who enjoys that kind of stuff,” you scoff.

“Oh, please. Don’t pretend like you haven’t even thought about having one.”

“I’m not admitting anything outside the game. You have to ask that next if you are that interested,” you smirk, but you’re certain your eyes give you away, because Harry is chuckling and shaking his head. “Never have I ever cheated on someone,” you say and watch Harry’s glass stay on the counter.

“I’m not that bad of a person.”

“Never said you are, I was just curious,” you shrug and nod at him letting him know it’s his turn again.

“Never have I ever had a crush on a teacher of mine.”

You both drink.

“My finance professor, junior year in college,” you inform him.

“English teacher, senior year in high school,” Harry replies and you are already picturing him sitting in the first row just to be close to her during class.

“Did you write poems to her too?”

“You said no questions outside the game!” he retorts laughing and you roll your eyes at him.

“Alright, I have thought about having a threesome before, now your turn, spill the tea!”

“I wrote a song about her,” he admits and you raise your eyebrows at him. “Even planned on showing it to her, but my friends talked me down, luckily.”

“It’s kinda sweet and romantic.”

“Yeah, and very inappropriate,” he adds chuckling. “Alright, enough of Miss Hastings, your turn.”

“Never have I ever stolen something.” You both raise your glass and you smile at him swallowing the alcohol. “Virginities do not count,” you tease him, earning a laugh.

“Still would have drank. I was a little kleptomaniac when I was a kid. Liked to steal small things in the store just to see if I would get caught.”

“And were you ever?”

“One time, yeah. My mom was so mad at me, I got grounded for a week, never stole anything again,” he admits chuckling. “What about you?”

“It wasn’t regular, but I definitely have stolen candies when I didn’t have enough money to pay.”

“What a rebel,” he teases you and you just smack his upper arm jokingly. “Never have I ever snuck out.” Only Harry drinks and you roll your eyes at him.

“Again, not surprising.”

“I just wanted to know if you have ever snuck out, chill,” he smirks. “Guess you were a saint.”

“Never have I ever said the wrong person’s name while having sex.” A devilish smile sits on your lips as you watch him drink while you do the same. You see his eyebrows rise over the glass.

“Nasty,” he huffs. “When did that happen?”

“First year of college. I was casually seeing a guy, but I wasn’t really over my last ex from high school and accidentally called him Ethan.”

“And what was his real name?”

“I don’t even remember,” you admit with a laugh, clearly feeling the alcohol slowly kicking in. Harry’s mouth hangs open before his expressions turn into that iconic ‘not bad’ face.

“Never have I ever had a wet dream about a friend of mine,” Harry asks and you feel your cheeks heating up right away, eyes snapping down at your glass. Unwillingly, but you drink as Harry does the same. “Who was it?”

“I’m not answering this one,” you shake your head. 

“Come on! I promise it’ll stay between us. Was it Steven?” he grins at you, clearly enjoying your embarrassment. “I bet it was Steven.”

“Shut up, it wasn’t!” you snap at him rolling your eyes.

“Okay, then who? I won’t sleep tonight if you don’t tell me!” he begs, but you shake your head stubbornly. “Do I know him?” Oh, all too well, you think to yourself. “Is it someone who was there at the bar last time?”

“Can we move past it?” you sigh painfully.

“No, no way. I’m not leaving you alone until you tell me!”

“It was you.”

The words slip out fast and a little quiet, but he hears them clear. His lips part, a truly stunned look pulls on his face and you just wish you didn’t say a word.

“Happy? Now you know,” you snap running a hand through your hair.

“Was I any good in your dream?” he then cheekily asks and you gasp at the nosy, nasty question.

“Now that I won’t answer.”

“I have to know if I did good!” he protests and you laugh.

“It wasn’t even you, well, not your real version, why does it matter?”

“I’m a maximalist, I have to know if my dream self did good,” he pushes further and you can’t believe this is really what you’re talking about.

“Jesus fucking Christ, it was good!” you admit throwing your hands into the air, giving up to keep anything to yourself. He is just too damn annoying and stubborn to ever have anything other than his way.

“If that makes you feel better, I’ve had a few about you as well,” he admits with a straight face and the heat is back in your cheeks immediately.

“A few?”

“I didn’t count, but yeah. And you were awesome, if you’re interested.”

“Thanks, but I was not,” you say with a meaningful look, but he just smirks at you. “You’re such a pig, Styles.”

“Says the girl who was probably moaning my name in her dreams.”

“If you keep talking about this, you’ll be the second person I get into a physical fight with,” you warn him and he chuckles, but takes the hint and finally moves on. 

You easily forget about time as you keep playing for quite long. Question after question, some shocking and surprising things come up, but there are some absolutely ridiculous facts too. You’re definitely over the line of being tipsy, but you’re not at the drunk state yet. 

Harry clearly enjoys asking questions that make you nervous, but you don’t shy away from risky questions either. By the time the bottle empties out you are both laughing on something he said, your eyes are teary and you gasp for air, holding onto the edge of the kitchen island.

“Oh fuck!” you breathe out when your gaze wanders over to the windows and you see that it’s starting to brighten out there. “The Sun is coming up, what time is it?” you slur, having a hard time to get off the stool and keep your balance at the same time. Harry fishes his phone out of his pocket and his eyes widen.

“It’s six in the morning!” he whisper-yells and you almost faint.

“Shit, mom is usually up around six thirty, she can’t find us here like this! Quickly, we have to clean up!”

Harry takes care of the empty eggnog bottle while you wash the dishes and then the two of you head back to your rooms, but you just really don’t want to go to bed alone. Alcohol tends to make you clingy and you need the presence of someone next to you.

“Harry,” you whisper as the two of you stop in the hallway.

“Hm?” he hums, looking back at you with glassy eyes.

“Can I… sleep at yours?” you shyly ask.

Part of you expects a smart comeback, something dirty, but he looks down at you for a long moment as if he is debating what he should say and you start to think he is about to reject you, but then he takes your hand and pulls you in the direction of his room.

“It’s strictly friendly, okay?” you tell him once the two of you are in his room and the door is closed behind you.

“Like the dream you had about me?” he cockily asks grinning at you and you’re quick to smack his hard chest, making him chuckle.

“Shut up! I just really don’t want to sleep alone.”

“Chill, it’s all good,” he chuckles and stepping to the nightstand he plugs his phone in to charge as you crawl up to the huge, comfortable bed.

Tugging a pillow under your head you turn your back against him, only hearing as he lies down next to you, tugging some of the cover off you since there’s only a big one. He shuffles a bit more until you both stop moving, but you still have your eyes open. 

Knowing that he is right there behind you irks your mind and the urge to cuddle to his side is stronger than you will to stay still. You want to feel his body heat, his touch, hear his heartbeat under your face as you curl up to his side. You are dying to listen to his steady breathing from up close and your self-control is slowly but surely dissolves. 

Before your rational side could talk you down, you find yourself turning around and snuggling to his side, a soft chuckle emitting from his lips.

“It’s totally friendly, wipe the satisfied grin off your stupid face,” you mumble as you lay your head to his shoulder, bringing a hand up to his chest. One of his arms curl around your shoulders as he stays silent, letting you snuggle up to him all you want. 

It’s even better than you remembered. Last time the two of you were like this, the morning ruined everything and it had a whole different antecedent than now. You can only hope history doesn’t repeat itself and you don’t have to go through the same embarrassment like last time.

“Y/N?” he whispers and your eyes open at his voice.

“Yeah?” There’s a short pause before he speaks up again.

“Do you really… think that… there was not much Etta was missing?”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling at how self-conscious he just sounded, still thinking about the joke you made in the car on your way here. For a split second you think about lying again, but it’s clearly been bothering him, so much he felt the need to ask after several rounds of eggnog.

“No. I was just joking,” you admit and he lets out a relieved sigh. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you really think I have a fat ass?” you ask referring back to the time the two of you encountered at the hospital when Valerie was born. You feel him huff as his hand on your shoulder squeezes you gently.

“You have a great ass, Y/N. The best I’ve ever seen.”

“Are you just exaggerating?” you ask, lifting your head up and narrowing your eyes at him in the dark.

“No,” he smiles. “Swear to my sister’s life it’s the truth.”

Knowing well he wouldn’t bring his sister into it if he wasn’t telling the truth, you put back down your head, finally closing your eyes.

“Good night, Harry,” you mumble, feeling yourself drifting to sleep.

“Good night, Pretty Eyes.”

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[tataswish]

❝   at the rooftop  /  myg.

━   ・  paring:  aspiring rapper!min yoongi x reader. ━   ・ genre:  neighbors au, smut, fluff, with a pinch of angst. ━   ・ word count:  5.0k.   ━   ・  contains:  mutual pining, dirty talk, unprotective sex (wrap it before you tap it!), rooftop sex, and a little bit of sadness at the end. ━   ・  summary:  in which you look back at the memories you’ve made with yoongi, the neighbor who you once fell in love with. heavily inspired by the song ‘the one that got away.’

author’s note:  i had a dream about this so... here it is. LMAO. it’s been i while since i last wrote so excuse my rambling but happy reading! i thought about making a mini series out of this but... we’ll see. <3

The day you first met Min Yoongi was a memory you always looked fondly back at.

It happened one gloomy afternoon. After another tiresome day at work, you decided to find solace on your apartment building’s rooftop—a place that easily became your go-to whenever you wanted to spend time in solitude. No one ever really was up there (with the exception of the parties thrown by residents from time to time), so it was always strange seeing someone else who wasn’t you up there.

There was something about that place that brings you so much comfort. Maybe it was the string lights that hang perfectly across the ledges, the mixture of house plants displayed around the area, or the inviting smell of vanilla greeting your nose from the candles on almost every surface—it was nice. If the chance presented itself, you would be there for hours on end doing nothing and be content with it.

Making your way towards the rattan sofa that sat right beside the ledge, your tracks were suddenly put to a stop upon seeing an unfamiliar face sitting at that very same spot. He was leaning back on one side of  the off-white cushion, legs slightly spread apart, chilled bottle of beer in hand as his eyes gaze absentmindedly at the view of the city skyline beside him. He must’ve been so lost in thought, because even with you standing in front of him, he didn’t move.

“Is that seat taken?” you asked amidst the silence while feigning a warm smile.

That was enough for him to finally snap out of his trance, because you could see him jump from his spot and immediately straighten his posture. You couldn’t help but stifle a soft laugh. “No—no, yeah, no. It’s not. I was getting ready to leave anyway, so—” he was already beginning to stand from where he was sitting, obviously flustered at the situation he’s been put in.

“I don’t mind sharing!” you interjected before impulsively placing a hand on the stranger’s arm as some sort of reassurance. At the realization, your eyes began to grow two times its size, and you retracted it at an instant with your cheeks flushed.

It was silent for a moment. Between you trying to gage how he felt about the sudden contact and him wondering what the fuck just happened, it clearly triggered some sort of fight of flight response. Your mind was scrambling, trying to find the right thing to say, but before you could even open your mouth—

He laughed. It was a low, yet bubbly laugh—one that you never thought would eventually fall in love with. As the lights above perfectly illuminated his features, that moment was also the first time you saw him smile. There was something stirring up within you, a feeling that gave you so much warmth from merely watching this stranger express happiness, even if it was for a brief moment.

In fact, it was so contagious that you began to laugh too.

You didn’t think you’d enjoy being comfortable with silence until you met Yoongi. Despite the fact that you spent a majority of that evening sitting in silence, it didn’t bother you at all. In most instances with others, you almost always felt obligated to say something, anything after a while but you didn’t feel that pressure with him—this stranger that you’ve only met three hours ago.

Still, you basked in the moment. The two of you sat together on that large couch, sharing the view. You were sitting with your legs criss-crossed, both arms resting over them, while Yoongi relaxed by sinking deeper into the cushion, one arm resting on the couch’s back—which was also right behind yours. You immediately learned that he, unlike yourself, wasn’t much of a talker. In the few hours you’ve spent with him on the rooftop, you’ve only learned: his name, age, and the fact that he moved into this building just today. Why? That was a mystery you’ve yet to discover. You also didn’t want to be that person who practically interrogates the new guy, trying to discover his whole life story in the span of one night. If he was living in the same building, you were confident you’d see him around from time to time anyway. Besides, it was evident that the two of you were already comfortable with each other’s presence.

“What kind of music do you listen to?” The question took you by surprise. From staring at the skyline, he then glanced back at you, eyebrow slightly cocked.

It took you a minute to think of something. If Yoongi was the type of person who took people’s music tastes seriously, you wanted to make sure you’d give a solid response—but then again, you wanted to avoid an obvious copout answer either. Truth be told, your music taste was all over the place. Shuffling any of your Spotify playlists was a dangerous game, because it could jump from contrasting genres that wouldn’t make any sense.

So you kind of… panicked.

“I like anything,” you blurted out, already regretting your choice of words. Deep inside, you were cringing, because it left a bad taste in your mouth.

You knew he was going to be disapproving of that answer, but he surprised you with a different reaction instead. Instead, he let out a small chuckle. “Anything, huh? What about rap? I have something I want you to listen to.”

Intrigued, you adjusted your position on the couch, eyes watching him as he shuffled to get his phone out of his pocket. The black, chunky headphones that hugged his neck were then offered to you, and you flashed a small grin upon taking it before putting it on yourself. At this point you were curious. So, your prying set of eyes continued to watch his phone’s screen as he scrolled through a list of what seemed to be recordings until selecting a file that was named Trivia 轉: Seesaw.

You weren’t sure what to expect. Initially, you thought this was some random song recommendation that he wanted to share with you, but it was much more than that. The moment you heard the artist of this track begin to sing the first verse, you were left in shock. “Is this you?” you mouthed quietly over to him, who to your surprise, was now sitting incredibly close to you. It took you a minute to notice the way that your knees were pressed against one another, faces inches apart.

He smiled bashfully with a nod. Truth be told, you didn’t expect it. Yet, you were sitting there, head nodding to the beat as the melody graced your ears. Despite only knowing him for only three hours, you knew that there was something about this song that… suited him so well. You weren’t sure if it was the eloquent rapping or the deep lyrics behind it, it all screamed Yoongi.

And you were in love with it. It became one of your favorite things to listen to.

“I can’t believe…” you trailed off once the song finished, gently lifting the headphones off of you to give them back. “I went on with my life without being blessed by this song until now. Yoongi, that was fucking amazing. If I knew you longer, I would’ve started crying but… I spared you the misery tonight.”

He rolled his eyes with a smile, flattered—but feeling shy at the same time. “Relax, ____, you don’t have to kiss my ass. I can take criticism. It hasn’t even been released yet; I just wanted to get your opinion on it.” Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he looked at you expectantly. “Tell me the truth.”

“I’m serious, Yoongi. I swear on my life,” you assured softly, a smile growing across your lips as your hand raises to swear by it. “It’s definitely one of those songs that people are going to play on repeat. Everyone’s going to love it.”

“Yeah?” he asked, attempting to hide his widening grin.

At this point your gazes were locked with one another, and you could’ve sworn he could hear the rampant beating of your heart. “Yeah,” you confidently answered back.

Later that night was the time you discovered that Min Yoongi was actually your newfound neighbor. It all happened by accident—the two of you meant to part ways after leaving the rooftop, but ended up taking the same flight of stairs down, walking through the same hallway, and stopping right next to each other after saying “bye” at the same time upon reaching both of your doors.

“Stalking me already? Really?” you quipped playfully, looking back after opening your door.

“How do I know you’re not stalking me first?” he joked in return, suggestively raising an eyebrow. He finished unlocking his own door too.

“I mean, I lived here first, so… pack it up Joe from You.” And your answer was enough for the two of you to fall into a giggling fit after.

Yoongi was the first to say goodbye. He continued to stand before his door, hand on the knob despite not wanting to step inside any time soon. “Thanks for letting me crash your alone time today... and for listening to my shitty music. It was nice.”

“Of course,” you replied warmly. “I won’t argue with you, but know that as of today, I’ve become Suga’s #1 fan. Expect me to be in the front row of your shows from now on.”

Even with the roll of his eyes, you could clearly tell that he was amused. “Night, _____. Just don’t fall in love with me, alright? I don’t date fans.”

“Sweet dreams, neighbor. And don’t worry, I don’t plan on falling in love with you any time soon.”

Yet somewhere along the way, you found yourself falling in love.

He’d been your neighbor for a few months now, and the two of you practically became attached to the hip. You later learned that when he first moved into the city, he didn’t expect to make any sort of friends. Yoongi only planned on making music 24/7—hoping to kickstart his music career after some time. Apparently, before he moved into your building, he was working in some financial firm crunching numbers for eight hours straight. He was engaged too. But, when he revealed to his fiancée (now ex fiancée) that he wanted to quit his job and pursue music… she didn’t take it very well. So, they later separated and Yoongi searched for a new beginning in a city miles away from everything he once knew.

Unlike his ex, you strove to become extremely supportive of his music career. In fact, he was supportive of your teaching career too. On Wednesday mornings, he would always volunteer to come into your classroom and sing a few songs in front of your kindergarten students during circle time. He’d also stay to read a book or two before heading out to get lunch—only to wait for your break so that the two of you could eat together. Then on Friday nights, you would be standing front row in his shows. While his venues were mostly at nightclubs and the city nightlife wasn’t your thing, you were still there—singing along to his music and at times making the best attempt to rap as fast as he could. You’d wait for him by the back after his set, and it became a tradition to head to the nearest convenience store to fill up on ramen, alcohol, and shrimp chips (a staple for every night in).

It was hard not to fall for someone like Yoongi. There was just something about him that you absolutely adored, and even though you were sure he didn’t reciprocate those feelings in that way, you were okay with that. Having him be a part of your life was enough.

The two of you always joked about it though, how you were each other’s soulmates. How one would always complete the other; plus, sharing this sort of mutual understanding that doesn’t need to be talked about. You’ve never felt this strong pull with anyone else, and he’s admitted it too.

“There she is,” you heard the familiar voice coo from afar. Looking up from your phone, you spotted Yoongi leaving through the back door of the nightclub, approaching as if you were the one who just finished performing a show. Still, the grin on your lips couldn’t stop spreading at the sight of him.

“Oh my god, Suga! I’m like, your biggest fan! Can I get a picture?!” you shrieked, attempting to put on your best impression of the teenage girls who’ve been approaching him often lately. Even with all of his shows taking place in venues that only allowed people over the age of twenty, he still harbored a lot of young fans. While they weren’t allowed to watch his shows, they showed their support in other ways.

He rolled his eyes but attained the beaming smile swept across his lips. In all the time you’ve known him, you’ve discovered that Yoongi was never really one to crack a smile with others. But with you? You were the only exception to that.

His skin was glistening from the beads of sweat that trickled down after performing, and you took it upon yourself to gingerly sweep his coffee-colored bangs off of his face with your fingers. He was staring at you at this point, and you were desperately trying to keep it together without melting into putty in his hands. Because one thing’s for sure—the way he looks at you will always be your weakness. “What?” you challenged, now using a tissue you pulled from your bag to lightly dab his facial features. Your voice was faint, quiet enough to still be heard with your faces only inches apart.

“Nothing,” he replied lowly, stifling a small laugh. “I like looking at you.”

After another successful trip to the convenience store, you and Yoongi went back home to change into more comfortable clothes before meeting back up at the rooftop. It was nearing midnight, so the city was getting ready to turn in. The buildings gradually began to turn their lights off, which only made the stars littered across the night sky shine brighter than before. The rooftop was well-lit thanks to the string lights and candles around you, and even with the cool December breeze sweeping through, you were comfy underneath the plush blanket that wrapped around both of your bodies.

It was nights like this that you held special to your heart.

“Be honest with me,” Yoongi brought up amidst the comfortable silence. He placed the plastic bowl that held his ramen onto the coffee table in front of him before looking back at you. “Do you think I made a mistake? You know… leaving everything in my old life behind to do this? I mean—don’t get me wrong, I love it, I just… feel guilty. There’s always this voice in the back of my head that’s yelling at me for being selfish. My life was fine before, you know? I screwed it all up.”

You blinked slowly. It wasn’t the first time he’d shared his doubts with you, but it was always concerning how much it lingered in his head. At the end of the day, what’s done is done. No matter how many times he feels guilty, he shouldn’t look back anymore. This was his life now.

But how could you put it into words that’ll make him understand?

Finishing your food after setting your own bowl down, you took a moment to process everything and think of an answer. You knew very well that you weren’t some licensed therapist capable of giving credited advice, but you were fairly decent at providing comfort to others. “I don’t think so,” you finally replied, keeping your gaze on him steady. “You have to think about it this way, Yoongi. Yeah you were fine before, but… were you happy? Like, actually happy? And are you happy now?”

Those questions left Yoongi speechless. He really took the time to ponder on it, chewing on his bottom lip in thought. You tried to read his expressions, though, it wasn’t any help. It was quiet. Aside from the soft music playing in the background from the small bluetooth speaker that sat on the ledge, the silence that simmered between you two was piercing.

“I guess I wasn’t,” he breathed after a short sigh. “I was miserable.”

You felt his pain at that moment. There was something about the way he said it—how it made your heart wrench and your stomach churn. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay, it’s not your fault,” he waved it off, and you could sense the slight frustration in his tone. “If anything, meeting you made everything better.”

Biting back a smile, you instantly began to feel the heat rush through your cheeks. Your chest was pounding and your head was dizzy—shocked at how those little words could make your head go haywire. Still, you did your very best in keeping it collected. “Yeah?” you asked, sounding hopeful. Your glistening eyes met his, shifting your body a bit to fully face his.

“Yeah,” he reassured, unable to keep his smile any longer.

That very night was the night Yoongi decided to be bold. He brought a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind ear, only to lessen the distance between both of your faces. Even with your head spinning, you were still able to admire his soft features—the way his eyes literally sparkled when they looked at you, the way his rosy cheeks from the alcohol became more prominent. “You make me so fucking happy, ____. I thought you were just going to be another face I’d see from time to time when we met that night, but… you became more than that. I think I’m in love with you.”

And at that moment, it felt like time had stopped between you two. That nothing else mattered in the world aside from the fact that Min Yoongi—the neighbor you fell in love with—felt the same way.

“Be honest with me,” you decided to match his boldness by using a free hand to gently sweep his bangs off of his face. They were trembling a little, but he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes kept its focus on you and you only, feigning that same look that always makes you crumble.

He nodded, egging you to continue.

“Would you kiss me right now if I asked?”

Your lips were immediately met by his. It was sweet, and you could taste the hint of ramen broth and beer that lingered. The way his lips felt matched the way that he kissed you—soft, and tender. His hands found their way on your hips beneath the blanket your bodies shared, while yours rested perfectly on both sides of his jaw. With chests pressed against one another, you noticed that his heart was pounding too. And that only made you smile in between kisses.

At this point, neither one of you wanted to pull apart. Instead, your lips were roughly colliding in full-force, the intensity of the kiss amplifying. Yoongi’s hand began to trail down further until his fingers reached the inside of your thigh. Your breath hitched at his touch, desperately wanting him to explore further. But he chose to stop. “Yoongi,” you said his name in an unintentional soft whine after pulling away, practically begging for more friction.

Rational thinking was thrown out of the window tonight. You were riding from the high of Yoongi practically confessing his love for you, and all you wanted to do was have him. All of him.

“Hm?” he let out a quiet hum, fingers dancing closer and closer. His lips continued to wander across your skin, peppering kisses all over your neck and down to your exposed collar bones.

“Touch me,” you whispered into his ear. “Please.”

He didn’t waste another moment. He reached over to slide your pajama pants down in one quick pull and you assisted in kicking them out of the way. It gave him leeway to use the pads of his fingers to gently massage your clothed core, pressing just enough to provide pressure that had your lips leaving quiet moans that were thankfully, still masked by the music in the background. “Take this off and spread your legs for me,” he demanded lowly.

You’ve never seen this side of him before—but god he knew how to turn you on. If the blanket wasn’t over you right now, you would’ve felt exposed from the wetness pooling in between your thighs. But you did as you were told without any hesitation, sliding your panties down until they hugged your ankles, kicking them off entirely, leaving your bottom half bare beneath the warm fabric.

Yoongi took it as a cue to slide his fingers between your legs and prying them apart. You’ve never felt more vulnerable than at this moment. Even with the blanket hovered securely over your body, the way his gaze was on you was more than enough to make you feel like he owned you tonight. And you were okay with that. Slender fingers dipping into your dripping core, he used it as a way to collect the overflown juices before using it as a lubricant to massage your throbbing clit. His pace was agonizingly slow, but it still made your back arch off of the couch in pleasure.

The sight only made him mumble profanities under his breath.

“Do you think about me when you touch yourself, ____?” he asked, dark eyes still locked on yours. He was still close, and you could feel his hot breath tickle your skin at each word. Slowly inserting two fingers on the get-go, your eyes impulsively roll back at the way they stretched your walls in the best possible way. His pace soon began to quicken without a fair warning, and you couldn’t help but whimper each time they pump into your g-spot. “Do you think about me fucking you like this?”

Your headspace was such a euphoric state that you couldn’t even find the right words for an answer. Rather than saying anything, you only nodded feverishly to let him know that he was doing everything right. The thought of having Yoongi’s fingers fucking tirelessly inside you was more than enough to rile you up and near your orgasm.

You’ve thought about it multiple times before. Every time you see him on that stage, swiping the sweat off of the back of his neck that left his fingers glistening, your mind begins to wander into dangerous places. It was hot—there’s no denying it.

You were close. But as soon as you were about to finish, the momentum was put to a stop, because you took it upon yourself to remove his fingers out of you on your own. Confused, Yoongi began to look at you as if he’s done something wrong, though, you hoped he’d get the hint the minute your hand found its way to palm his hardening erection through his sweatpants. “I wanna finish inside you,” you breathed, planting kisses that began from his neck and worked its way up to his lips.

“Then do it.”

Using both of your hands to pull both his sweatpants and boxer briefs down, allowing for his length to spring free. After he successfully kicked them both off of him, you stood from your previous position to straddle him, putting both hands on his shoulders to support yourself. His eyes carefully watched you as you slowly unzipped your hoodie, revealing that you wore nothing underneath.

He was mesmerized. And it was all for him—with the blanket still covering both of your bare bodies, he was the only one who could see you like this. No one else.

A devilish grin laced your lips at the sight of him speechless as you helped remove his sweatshirt. Slowly but surely, you lifted yourself up slightly to line Yoongi’s erection up before sinking in.

The two of you both let out a satisfied moan in unison, and Yoongi’s hands began to wander around your warm body—hands stopping at your ass to dig his fingers into your flesh as you rocked your hips at a steady pace. His mouth on the other hand was busy with your breasts, tongue flicking against each hardened nipple even as they bounced.

“Do you think about me fucking you like this?” you mimicked him in a playful yet sultry tone, using both of your hands to lift his face up in order to make full-on eye contact with you while you continued to ride him. He threw his head back in response, all while still keeping his gaze on yours. From his expression alone, you could tell that he was wrapped around your fingers.

But instead of giving you any sort of real answer, he rolled his eyes and pulled you in for a kiss, satisfying his craving for your lips once more. Before you knew it, your positions had switched, and you were fully lying down on the couch with Yoongi on top of you. The blanket had been partially discarded since Yoongi couldn’t care less about it, only draping over the bottom half of your bodies. You let out a small shiver as you felt the cold air, but it all seemed to disappear the minute you felt his length fill you up once more.

“You’re my weakness, _____,” you heard him say softly once your foreheads touch, his lips brushing against yours. His thrusts were at a slow pace, but it was still enough to hit your g-spot each time. “After meeting you that night, I knew I was fucked.”

It was unfair—how Min Yoongi knew how to tug your heartstrings in any situation (literally). There was nothing more intimate than this, though. The two of you were left vulnerable, and he found the perfect moment to say it. “I feel the same way,” you whispered, hands lifted up to cup his flushed cheeks. “Because I think I’m in love with you too.”

Yoongi began to pick up the pace upon hearing you confess. With one hand gripping tightly on the couch’s arm rest until his knuckles turn white, another snuck in between your bodies to have his thumb rub your clit, matching the intensity of his thrusts.

“Yoongi, I’m so close—” you whined quietly into his ear while he continued to fuck you senselessly, walls fluttering and tightening around him. There was that familiar feeling building up inside you, and you were so close to coming undone. Yoongi continued to snap his hips into yours while tracing quick circles around your sensitive bundle of nerves until you felt yourself let go. Your body jolted as you cried in please, and even then, he didn’t stop. He milked every last drop of the wave of pleasure he’d given you that left you out of breath. There was this buzzing that refused to leave your ears, and your eyes were watery from the overwhelming feeling.

Smirking in satisfaction, each thrust became more sloppy and erratic. It didn’t take long for him to follow suit, pulling out to finish on you. He groaned as you felt his warmth spill across your frame, panting from the intense session the two of you just shared.

“Damn, I made a mess,” he said playfully after reaching out for a napkin on the table to wipe your body clean, which earned a soft slap on his end. He only laughed once you were able to sit back up, leaning in to steal a quick kiss on the lips.

Once the two of you were finished getting dressed and cleaning the area, you both decided to stay on the rooftop for a few more minutes. Both of you were nuzzled against one another for warmth, your back pressed against Yoongi while he had an arm wrapped around you. SUGAR by BROCKHAMPTON was playing in the background, and Yoongi was singing softly to the chorus while you quietly admired his small performance.  

“Remember when you said you wouldn’t fall in love with a fan?” the words left your lips with a smile, recalling the memory like it was only yesterday. At this point, you were just there to tease him. “Tsk. Can’t believe I’m into a hypocrite.”

He laughed, nose digging into your hair. “You’re different. I’d do anything for you.”

↳   PRESENT DAY.

“Ready to go, babe?”

You’ve spent the past hour sitting on the rooftop’s sofa in solitude, admiring the blue sky in front of you. You were quietly humming to Suga’s Trivia 轉: Seesaw to yourself as you watched the view, until you were interrupted by the familiar voice entering your ears. The smile on your face widened as he approached you, offering a hand to help you up.

It’d been months since you’ve last heard from Yoongi. He was off doing bigger, better things—and you were proud of him for that. After spending hours and hours of going back and forth with one another one night, the two of you had the realization that the long-term goals you both had didn’t align. He was asked to commit to a world tour for the next year and a half, and you wanted to stay where your life was. Here.

Yoongi was more than willing to drop his entire career to be with you, but you knew it wasn’t right. So, no matter how painful it felt, you had to let go. He’s made so many sacrifices to get to where he was, and you refused to be the reason why he couldn’t live his dreams. No matter how much you both loved each other.

Deep inside, you’ve always hoped that he’d come home. That one night you’d find him sitting in that very same spot on the rooftop, legs sprawled apart, absentmindedly staring at the night sky. But it’s been months. No calls, no texts—only a meek dial tone at the end of the line.

It was a hard pill to swallow, but Min Yoongi was simply the right person you’ve met at the wrong time.

“Yeah,” you answered Jungkook softly before taking his hand to lift yourself from the seat. A quiet giggle left your lips once your boyfriend pulled you closer to pepper kisses on your cheek, and the two of you began your walk out of the building. “Let’s get out of here.”

[nonstoplover]

accidental reunion ~ joe liebgott (band of brothers)

my masterlist  |  my hbo war masterlist

pairing: joe liebgott x female reader

short summary: they met in Austria on V-J Day, it was just one night, they still can't forget the other

words: 2.4K

a/n: not gonna say much just that i'd do anything for joe liebgott, even if it includes giving up my whole life

taglist: @how-are-those-nuts-sarge @50svibes @pennyllanne @liebgotttme @nowinnablewar

One fun night on one of Easy's last nights in Austria. With lots of drinks, games, and the company of residents of the small village that was Kaprun who were willing to spend some celebratory time now that the war was actually, finally over.

It was undoubtedly one of the best nights the soldiers had in the past couple years - at least for Liebgott it definitely was. He accidentally bumped into a girl about his age in the small pub when on his way to get a new round of alcohol and then spent the rest of the night with her.

They never shared full names or addresses with each other, all they got to know were mentions of small things dropped by accident. Now Joe's back in San Francisco, back to life in peace and he can't get the girl out of his head. There's nothing he regrets more than not asking for only these basic pieces of information. He let the possibly only good thing that war gave him slip through his fingers.

There's not a day he doesn't think of her. He sees the sparkle of her eyes in the street lights, the colour of her hair in the polychrome autumn leaves, hears her giggle in a random girl's voice on the street that makes him do a hopeful double take only to be left disappointed a moment later. When he's in a pub on a night out, the swirling booze in his glass reminds him of her and that one night they got to spend together. When a young woman gets in his cab with hair similar to hers, his heart always skips a beat as he looks back over his shoulder with sudden high hopes, his eyes always connecting with a pair of orbs that are clearly not hers.

He doesn't even know why he feels this way - he truly doesn't know her after all. Still, it's like in a matter of only a couple hours a connection has been created, one that's about impossible to break. If he believed in soulmates, maybe he'd say that it is just that. But he doesn't.

So he just lets the days pass with the occasional but somehow still almost constant thoughts of the girl. Every other week or when he just has the next day off, he might try to forget about her, find some inner peace with another woman, even though he knows that the next morning he'll wake up with her first name on the tip of his tongue just the same.

(y/n), on the other side of the planet tries to go on with her life after the war - she truly does. But still, it feels like there's nothing left for her in Austria anymore. Everything's changed. The village, the people living there, even her own perspective and thoughts on life has changed. Enough to help her make the decision of moving to the United States.

To her family she says it's only because of the seemingly endless opportunities there, in the process trying to convince even herself that it's not because of the fluffy brown haired paratrooper she met on the night of V-J Day.

Of course it's not because of him, all she knows about the young man is that his first name is Joe, that his fellow soldiers called him Lieb or something like that once or twice throughout the night, that he wanted to be a cab driver back in America, and that he was from San Francisco. It's nowhere enough information to give up her whole life and start a completely new one on the opposite side of the world.

Still, somehow it is enough for her, and it also gives her a starting point when six months after they first - and by far last - met she appears in the enormous American city all by herself, all her life packed up in two suitcases she drags behind herself, heart beating frantically as she eyes the buildings and hears the unimaginable street noise around her. To say she's anxious is an understatement - hell, she doesn't even speak English that good.

After the first and most important things are settled - a place to live in, a job to earn money with -, she's unable to stop herself and flips the telephone book up and calls a few of the cab companies around the city, trying to ask about him. But seemingly there are too many Joe's around who are driving taxis, and after the fourth or fifth unsuccessful try that leaves her feeling all stupid and naive she gives up.

She tries hard to fit in, makes friends at work and with the two girls she's rented the room she's now living in from, spends every evening improving her knowledge of the language. The more time passes, the better she feels - and the more she feels like she belongs -, though the feeling of missing something from her life never goes away. The feeling of missing somebody, to be more precise.

About two months later one day she oversleeps and is in a hurry to get to work in time so she decides to catch a cab instead of her usual choice of travelling by public transport. Almost practically falling down to the seat as she scrambles inside, she's already saying the address whilst also trying hard to catch her breath - she can only hope the driver can understand her panting words.

She closes her eyes, pressing her palm to her forehead and focusing on slowing her heartbeat back down to normal. Only half a minute passes though before she leans back in her seat and lets her eyelids open again, and her glance subconsciously falls on the cab driver.

Silently examining his features from diagonally and behind she can't help but feel a weird feeling tingle in her chest, as if her whole existence has suddenly found something familiar. Her eyes move back up on his profile, on the elegant line of his nose and the way a strand of brown hair has delicately fallen in front of his forehead.

"Joe," the name she still hears in her sleep every night leaves her lips in an almost breathless, subconscious whisper.

Then the next moment his head whips around - so fast that she can't help but worry he'll have whiplash - and the oh so familiar eyes connect with hers.

"(y/n)?" Comes the equally disbelieving, quietly muttered answer from him.

He remembers her.

Suddenly all the frustration of leaving her home behind and moving across the world, all the frustration of trying to find him feels worth it. She's found him. Or has he found her? It was most likely fate bringing the two back together, giving them one last chance to see what they would do.

"What are you doing here?" Joe exclaims excitedly, his glance moving back and forth frantically between the road in front of him and her face.

"I moved here," (y/n) shrugs.

"You what?"

She only giggles in response to his reaction - she's too overwhelmed with happiness to actually say something.

"It's good to see you," he admits, mentally adding that it's not only good, more like the best thing that has ever happened to him. He knows he can't just attack her like that, she probably didn't move here because of him anyway so he keeps his mouth shut to keep these thougths in.

"You too," she beams at him in the rear-view mirror before quietly adding one more thought, mainly to herself. "By now I thought I'll never find you."

And just like that the previous thought almost fully disappears from his mind, his breath hitching in his throat. "You tried to find me?" Joe asks with a smug grin on his face, one that's supposed to hide the swirl of his true and not at all like him emotions.

"Well, yeah, of course," the girl shrugs sheepishly, earning a joyous hum from him as a wordless reply.

For a couple long seconds they stay in silence, both of them deep in their thoughts as their minds try to process the sudden emergence of the other. Some previously never felt tension rises slowly in the air of the car, suddenly neither knows what to say or what to do. What they've been dreaming about for more than half a year now has just come true - and they weren't ready for it.

"Where're you going?" Joe speaks up again to break the quiet. "I mean, why are going there, 'cause I know where you're going."

This earns him a mental slaps from himself for behaving so stupid. What is he doing? Why is he like this? Where's his usual confident cockiness?

"Work."

Maybe it was worth it, coming here just to see him again, but there's no guarantee that he hasn't found someone else by now - even if he does remember her - or that he would even want to see her again after today. Doubt reappears in her mind, keeping her from speaking her mind and ask him about all the things she's been dying to ask him ever since that night back in Austria.

"When did you arrive here?"

"Two months ago."

"Sorry if I'm asking too much, I'll stop," Joe glances at her in the mirror, taking her reserved, short answers wrong, thinking that she just doesn't want to talk with him.

"No, no, it's fine!" (y/n)'s quick to reassure, eyes opened wide. "I should be the one apologising for not answering more or asking back. I'm just- ugh, I don't know. I've been thinking about this moment for so long that now I'm scared it's just a dream again. I don't want to get too empathized in case I'll only wake up in my bed again."

"This is real life, I swear," Joe chuckles - her words have managed to calm him down again. He lets go of the steering wheel with one hand and reaches back above the car seat - nothing but a simple signal towards her.

Mindlessly holding back her breath she raises a hand of her own and lets her skin bump into his for a short moment before daringly fully wrapping her fingers around his. An immediate smile takes over his features as he loosens into her touch.

"See? It's not a dream," he grins to himself, thumb moving over the back of her hand in soft small caresses.

"I'm glad it isn't," (y/n) giggles and Joe lets out a chuckle himself.

Before they could truly let go and enjoy the drive to the fullest, he pulls over outside a building that (y/n) realises as her work place when finally looking out the window.

Swiftly letting go of his hand she starts rummaging through her reticule to find her purse. When she pulls out the proper banknotes and tries to push them in his palm, he just shakes his head and moves his hand back to the steering wheel.

"You don't have to," he shrugs. "Take it as a welcome in San Francisco gift."

"Thank you," she mumbles with flushing cheeks before collecting her things and moving to get out of the cab.

She closes the door already when the sudden realisation hits her - she still doesn't know either his full name or his address, or anything for real.

Her hand rises almost on its own and her knuckles rap a fast rhythm against the glass next to the front seat. Joe's eyes are already on her as he scoots closer to roll down the window.

"I just wondered if I could have your phone number," she blurts out before she could think twice leaning down so her head pops back into the car.

With a raise of an eyebrow and a teasing smirk sitting upon his lips he nods in acknowledgement. "For the better part of this past minute I've been trying to find the courage to ask for your number."

(y/n) can feel the blood rush to her cheeks as she realises how truly straight-forward she's acted, but before she can raise a hand to hide her face in utter embarrassment, Joe starts moving around inside the car, and only a second or two later he retrieves his hand with a pen in-between his fingers. With his free hand he reaches out to gently grab her wrist and pulls it fully inside, pushing the material of her coat and long-sleeved blouse up towards her elbow.

Then he scribbles something on her soft skin, hissing whenever the pen doesn't want to write and he has to press the point of it deeper into her arm even though he really wouldn't want to hurt her even the slightest bit.

"There you go," his glance moves back up to her face when he finishes, winking at her.

(y/n) bites back a giggle before straightening back up, pulling out of the cab fully.

"See you later, Joe," she smiles at him one last time before turning around and rushing inside the building - the pinkness of her cheeks and the not erasable, wide smile on her face being true proofs of her emotions.

Later, when she's finally at her desk, coat removed and body gently slumping into the chair, her eyes catch sight of the writing again and she finally takes a better look at it. There's a phone number, completed with a simple Joe Liebgott and a don't you dare not call me under it.

A soft giggle escapes (y/n)'s lungs as she reads the last line, shaking her head in happy disbelief whilst also wondering how he could write so much in such a short time and without her even noticing. She must've been too entranced by the sparkling of his eyes, the way that one strand of hair fell and bounced in the air and how he - probably subconsciously - stuck the tip of his tongue out past his lips in concentration.

Then with a blissful sigh she lowers her arm again, eyes staring out of her head, looking at nothing in particular - instead picturing his face again inside her mind.

"Liebgott," she mutters to herself, tasting the name rolling down her tongue. She finally knows his name.

.::the end::.

my masterlist  |  my hbo war masterlist

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[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

The Wages of Sin

Before I found tumblr, I seriously believed I was the only person on Earth whose pulse went up when Samoa Joe appeared. He just broadcasts pure dominant energy and power. I miss seeing him in the ring but I’m glad he’s still on my tv on a (mostly) weekly basis. 

Pairing: Samoa Joe x reader

Word count: 3,732

Content advisory: BDSM smut

It was all you could do not to roll your eyes at his expression when you came in the door. It was always the same with men: they called to have a computer technician come over and when a woman showed up, they looked at you like there had been some mistake. Some would even be so gauche as to ask if you were qualified to do this sort of work. This guy wasn’t that bad but when he saw you, his eyes swept up and down over your body, lingering on your breasts longer than he should have before he waved you inside with nothing more than a grunt. 

“The computer’s in the office,” he informed you. “First door on the left back there. Off the kitchen. It’s been slowing down for a while and now it won’t even start up.”

“Ok. Other than slowing down, have there been any other problems you’ve noticed, Mr…” 

“Joe,” he grunts. “Joe is fine. And yeah, there have been a bunch of programs crashing.”

“Well, Joe, why don’t we have a look and see what the problem is?”

You head in the direction that he’s indicated and enter a neatly organized office space. There’s a desk in one corner, but the room is dominated by a large section coach flanked  by a couple of odd looking benches. It’s strange, because there’s no television in the room, no books, nothing that would indicate this was a place where one would sit and relax. You shrug it off. Maybe he likes to take a nap after he’s done working. Maybe this is where he takes women to seduce them.

Immediately, you try to push that image from your mind. You hate to admit it, even to yourself, but when he gave you that once-over, you’d felt a shiver run through your whole body. He was massive and while at first glance he’d appeared fat, you quickly saw that he was just powerfully built. As he stood behind you and watched what you working, he unbuttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt, pushing them up and revealing forearms like iron girders, the kind of arms you could imagine holding you down with ease, choking you, forcing you to do whatever he wanted. 

You try to shake those thoughts out of your head and focus on the task at hand. You boot up his computer in safe mode and, once you’re able to get a look around, it’s clear that the problem is a large number of files that have taken up so much space that the computer barely has any available memory to launch or run anything. On top of that, there are multiple malware programs that are deviously working away. You’ll have to work on those right away in order to get the computer stable enough for you to see the files and try to clear out some space. 

He stands behind you as you start to untangle the electronic knots, his breath heavy and incredibly distracting. 

“This is gonna take me a while,” you tell him.

“Well I’ll leave you to it then.” His tone is friendly but there’s a dark undertone to it, like he can see inside your mind and know that he’s having an effect on you. 

Once he’s gone, you settle down and focus on the task at hand. He pokes his head in a couple of times but leaves you alone otherwise. It’s just as well because what he’s got is a real mess and it takes a lot of work to identify and then scrub the malware. Normally, you could run a program to deal with the majority of the work but his computer is so unstable that it can’t run anything, meaning that you have to do everything manually. 

Thirteen programs. It takes two and a half hours but you’re finally able to remove all traces of the thirteen programs that have contaminated his hard drive. The early winter light is already starting to fade and now you have to start isolating files. Protocol is that you identify duplicates and separate them onto a second drive without ever looking but everyone takes a peek to see what secrets a client has. Nine times out of ten it’s porn, usually varying flavors of vanilla. It’s never happened to you personally, but a couple of the people you work with have found photos or videos of kids, something that immediately gets reported to the cops. (Peeking at a client’s files is unethical but not illegal, meaning that what the technician sees is fair game.)

When you see that the files are almost all videos, you figure you pretty much know what you’re in for. The nature of the videos, though, is more than you bargained for. This is hardcore stuff, all women getting flogged and bound and taken roughly in every hole as they scream in pain and ecstasy at the same time. There are dozens if not hundreds like this and mixed in among them are videos of Joe himself, proudly displaying his naked body and a thick cock that you can imagine would be rough to take even under normal circumstances.   

Watching all this, you feel your breathing grow faster and that familiar wetness in your core soaking your panties within minutes. The fact is that you’ve desperately wanted a man who’d take you like this, who’d use you and brutalize you, but you’d never found one. You’d eventually had to dump your last boyfriend because the sex was so boring you found yourself repulsed by it. You’ve watched plenty of videos like these at home, but knowing you were only a couple of rooms away from a man who clearly indulged in these activities a lot makes you squirm in your seat, trying to get some friction against the seam of your jeans to relieve a bit of the pressure. 

Your eyes flicker towards the benches you’d noticed when you came in and now you know what their purpose is. You open another file, Joe again with a woman tied up and bent nearly double, his hand wound around her pony tale as he pounds mercilessly into her. 

Looking once again at the benches, you imagine him strapping you to one and whipping you, making you beg for him. 

The woman in the video is screaming non-stop about how good he feels, how she deserves what she’s getting, welcoming every vile slur he hurls at her. 

You’re so caught up in what you’re seeing and in what you’re imagining that you don’t notice that the sound on this video is a fair bit higher than in the others, and are caught totally off-guard when you hear the voice behind you. 

“See something you like?” he drawls. 

Right away, you feel not just your face but your whole upper body grow hot with humiliation. It’s one thing for you to be fantasizing but this is you getting caught invading a customer’s privacy. Even if it’s understood that everybody does it, you’ll be lucky to keep your job if and when he complains. 

“Not really my scene,” you lie. “But I don’t judge. I just need to sort through stuff to free up some space. I’m going to install an external drive and move your videos there. It’s an extra charge but it’s not too much. You can call the office to find out the exact amount if you want.”

Joe gives a noncommittal sound and walks away without another glance. Your cheeks are still burning an hour later when you’ve dutifully moved the files onto the external drive, careful not to open a single one, even though you’re dying of curiosity. Trembling, you pack up your stuff and prepare to make a shame-faced exit. You’re wondering if you should just apologize to him, maybe say that you opened one of the files by accident and just started poking around, not quite believing what you were seeing. You’re unable to decide if that would be better than saying nothing and trying to pretend that nothing had happened. He’s standing in front of the door with an unfriendly look on his face. 

“Well,” you begin unsteadily, “you haven’t lost any files. There wasn’t any permanent damage, so other than moving some stuff to an external drive, everything will be exactly the way it was, but it’ll run a lot faster.” 

He folds his arms and looks down his nose at you without speaking. It takes you a few seconds to figure out what to say next under the weight of his stare. 

“There were a bunch of malware programs I had to remove. That was what was causing most of the problem. There are certain sites that tend to… have… lots of those things. Anyway, I installed newer antiviral software that should block them.”

You sound completely lost and you are. You feel like, rather than registering a complaint with your employer, Joe is preparing to kill you and eat you for violating his privacy. In the interest of getting out before you’re made into a main course, you opt to stop speaking and to leave the subject of your intrusion out of the conversation. 

As you reach for the doorknob, though, Joe presses his arm against the door and his scowl deepens. 

“You lied to me,” he seethes. 

“Excuse me?”

“Before. You were lying when you said you weren’t interested in those videos. I can always tell.”

“Oh,” you murmur, “about that. Look, I’m really sorry that I was going through your-”

“Yeah, that’s not what we’re talking about little girl.”

“It isn’t?” You feel yourself shrinking back from him and he leans closer as you do, until your back is pressed into the doorframe.

“No,” he purrs. “We’re talking about you and how you were turned on by what you saw. We’re talking about how your panties are probably still soaked because you were so excited.”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times as you fight to think of something to say. His broad chest is just inches from you, heat radiating from him and clouding your thoughts even more. 

“I have to go,” is what you’re eventually able to croak. 

“Is that so?” he hums. “Well I’ll tell you what. I’m gonna go get into something more comfortable. If you want to go, you go. I won’t stop you. But if you want to find out what I can do to you, what I can make you feel, then you get back in the office and wait for me.”

He steps back and heads up the stairs without another syllable, leaving you with a decision to make. There are assuredly better ways for you to find a man to dominate you. But you’ve seen what this man can do and you’ve felt the power and confidence roll off him, leaving you quivering inside and out. You take a deep breath and head back down to his office. 

He makes you wait. It’s a good fifteen or twenty minutes before he reappears wearing nothing but boxers, a towel over his shoulders and an arrogant expression that says he never had any doubt you’d be here. 

“Eyes down.” It’s an order, you know, even though he speaks as quietly as ever, and you immediately comply. 

You’re able to see him toss the towel on the sofa and you hear him opening something- a drawer?- and then close it again a second later. Whatever he was looking for, he knew exactly where it was. 

“Top off and hands behind your back.” His voice is behind you, even as ever. 

You comply right away, stripping yourself of your sweater and t-shirt, hesitating a little at the thought of removing your bra. 

“Everything off,” he whispers, much closer than he was before. 

Keeping your eyes on the floor, you remove it and try to steady your breath. You feel a light line traced across your back by something you can’t identify. It’s thin and pliable, but has some strength to it, like the branch of a sapling. It makes you shiver as he continues to move it softly back and forth across the widest part of your back. 

“So you like snooping around in other people’s things, do you?”

“No,” you stammer, “I don’t usually do that, I don’t know what I was-”

Immediately, there’s a sharp crack as he brings the branch-like thing, a riding crop, you guess, down on your back with force. You give a short scream and your breathing speeds up as you feel the pain leak from the narrow band of impact across your skin. 

“You’re lying to me again,” he taunts. “We both know you do that kind of thing all the time, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp, trying to focus on anything but the pain and at the same time feeling the juices pooling between your thighs.

“What a bad girl you are.” You flex your muscles, anticipating another strike but he does nothing. You let yourself exhale and relax just a little and that’s when the second blow comes, even harder than the first. The scream you give is louder and tears spring to your eyes. Behind you, you hear him hum in satisfaction and it reverberates in your core. 

“You were watching quite a few of those videos. I saw you,” he continues, to your shame. “Tell me, what did you like the most about them?”

“I- I don’t know…”

This time, the strike hits the flesh of your inner arm, exposed because you have your hands clasped behind your back, the way he told you. 

“If you’re not going to be honest with me, this is going to be a very rough night for you.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” And there’s a sharp impact on your other arm that draws a sob and a long whine. 

“Get to the point, little girl.”

“I liked seeing you. I got turned on by what you were doing to those women because I’ve wanted someone to do those things to me.”

He presses himself against your back, running his thumb roughly along one of the whip marks he’s made there. “Now was that so hard?”

You shake your head, struggling to keep your eyes fixed on the ground as he circles around you. He presses the handle end of the riding crop- you were right about that- under your chin. 

“Look at me.”

You do as you're told, more tears dripping from your eyes as you lift your head. 

“Already crying? Are you sure you want this?”

“I do,” you assure him, nodding your head vigorously. 

“It only gets rougher from here,” he warns you. “So if you want it to stop…”

“I want to keep going.”

“So you think you deserve to be punished.”

“I do.”

“You know what you did was wrong. And you know that you’re a filthy girl for liking what you saw so much.”

“Yes.”

“That’s ‘yes, sir’” he corrects you sharply. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you think about doing things like that when you’re by yourself? About big, mean taking whatever they want from you? About them hurting you and using you?”

“Yes.”

You hear the sound of the riding crop cutting through the air, but not in time to brace yourself for the impact. It hits right across your nipples and if you had thought that the blows to your back and arms hurt, they were nothing compared to this. 

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir,” you sob. 

He snaps the riding crop across the same point, the center of both nipples, making you shriek. 

“Show me your hands.”

You lift them for his inspection and he whips your palms repeatedly, like you’re a misbehaving child. 

“Now take off the rest of your clothes,” he instructs. “And give me your panties.”

You move to follow the order, flinching in pain at having to use your wounded hands. He paces in front of you, seeming impatient but letting you take the time you need to get fully undressed. When you’re done, you offer him the garment he requested, which he snatches away from you. 

He smirks as he rolls them around in his hand. To your relief, he places the riding crop on the desk behind him before he approaches you. 

“What’s this?” he sneers, wiping the soaked cotton over your face. “Is this because of what you saw?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You liked it even more than I thought. You really are a dirty little slut. Do you think you deserve to be punished more?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ask me.”

“Please, sir,” you stammer, “I want you to punish me because I’m a dirty slut who got turned on watching your videos.”

He gives you a smirk that carries just a hint of approbation. “Very good, slut. Go kneel on the sofa, ass out, arms on the back.”

You scurry over and do exactly as you’ve been told. Once you’re in position, he follows you, hovering over you. 

“Your eyes stay straight ahead,” he cautions. 

He kneels on the sofa beside you and reaches down, producing a pair of handcuffs already attached to the old-fashioned heater, obviously installed for the purpose of chaining women in place. You let him take your wrists and manacle them, flinching because the metal is actually hot on your skin. Once again, he disappears behind you. 

His hand comes down on your ass with a thunderous noise and you swear you can feel the reverberations in your skeleton. You let out a half-gasp, half-cry but before you’re able to regroup, he smacks your other cheek just as hard, if not harder. He continues this, increasing the pace as he does until you’re screaming and crying. 

“Have you learned your lesson?”

“I… I think so?”

“I don’t know,” he muses, “your pussy is dripping. I think we might need to look at punishing you another way. I think I might have to pound that slit with my cock to show you what happens to dirty sluts who go looking at things they’re not supposed to.”

“Yes, sir, you should.”

“Is that what you really want?”

“Yes, please, sir, I want your cock.”

“What’s that?”

“Please fuck me, sir. Show me how bad I am.”

He bends over you, pushing his boxers off, and whispers harshly in your ear, “Well as long as you’re absolutely sure.”

You nod and he accepts that, grasping your bruised ass tightly and ramming into you like a jackhammer. He pounds relentlessly, leaving you with nothing to do but take what he’s giving, gasping and mewling in ecstasy as each brutal thrust seems to increase the sensitivity of your cunt, the sensation of pleasure flooding through you. 

“Is this what you needed?” he snarls, panting. 

“Yes, oh god, yes!” You’re a little shocked at the volume of your own voice but all you want to do is scream because what he’s giving you is what you’ve fantasized about for so long, what your body has always known it needed but could never get. You can feel every nerve rushing towards climax and just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge, he pulls out, pressing the tip of his dick against your tailbone, just above the crack of your ass, and he comes, the hot liquid trickling down between your ass cheeks and your swollen lips in streams. He traces the flow with his thick fingers, up and down, making you whine in need. Finally, he grabs the towel he brought with him and wipes you off. You’re still whimpering, moving your hips all around, searching for any kind of contract. 

He gives a dark chuckle and you hear him walk away. You want to cry but he’s back in a moment, close by you. Immediately, he starts to wind a rope around your legs, soft like silk and strong. He binds your thighs to your calves, your ankles together and then he flips you over, the chain on the handcuffs pulling your arms taut. 

You could not be more vulnerable, spread open before him. He wipes his dick across your chest to remove the remaining mix of your juices. 

“I’ll bet you think you deserve to come, now, don’t you?” 

“Yes, please sir.”

“Why should I let you.”

“I’ve tried to be good for you, sir. I’ve done everything you asked. I’m sorry I lied to you before but I told you the truth after. And you just turn me on so much, sir.”

He smirks again and plants his tree trunk of a thigh on the sofa between your legs. 

“Like this,” he growls. “You want to get off? You fuck yourself on my leg like an animal who doesn’t know any better.”

Part of you wants to resist, but you’re so desperate for it that you press yourself against him and start grinding into his thigh. You can feel the powerful muscle beneath the flesh as he flexes, giving you a little more friction. It’s still slippery and the way that you’re bound makes it difficult to move the way you need to, but you’re able to make it work. 

“Are you close?” he rasps. 

“So close, sir!”

“And am I good to you, letting you cum on my leg like this?”

“Yes, thank you!”

You thrust yourself even harder against him to add just the little bit more pressure that you need, moving faster as you can feel your orgasm ready to burst through you. 

And with a nasty grin, he steps back. 

Your clit is so engorged that the sensation of air hitting it is actually painful. Although you’d like to remain composed and be angry, you just sob, tears welling up yet again. 

“Why?” you cry at him. 

“You don’t get to cum until I decide you’re ready.”

“Please, sir, I’m begging you, I need to.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Not yet.”

He pulls his boxers back on and grabs the towel, heading towards the door. 

“Wait!” you yelp after him. “Where are you going?”

He laughs again, deep and almost demonic. “I’m a busy man. I’ve got a lot of things to do.”

“Aren’t you going to untie me?”

He smirks and throws the towel over his shoulders again. “Oh no. You’re gonna stay right there until I’m ready to use you again.”       

[tommytranselo]

i think a huge part of the vito & henry dynamic is based on the fact that henry is one of the few people (especially outside vito’s blood family) who sees him as more than just joe’s sidekick, and the fact that they’re both “odd men out” in a way–henry is outright stated to not have a lot of friends bc he’s very reserved, while vito spends the majority of the game’s actual timeline away from home (war/prison) and so much of his identity is tied up in being joe’s best friend (i have a lot more thoughts about that for another time) that he ends up kind of isolated.  but as far as i can tell, joe and henry haven’t known each other for very long when joe introduces them.

i think that’s why vito is so insistent on trying to talk to him in ch 5 when they’re waiting for their mark to show up–he wants henry to be his friend, not just joe’s friend that he happens to know.  i’m always thinking about that shot of the two of them at the window, standing so close to each other with joe asleep in the background framed between them...joe connects them.  and in that scene he chimes in occasionally, but it’s mainly vito’s insistent questioning that gets henry to spill about his father (which is especially interesting to me bc vito’s primary motivation is essentially “avoid turning out like my father even if it kills me”).  the whole conversation is so awkward–henry’s one word answers (at first) and the pauses where vito is clearly waiting for him to elaborate but he doesn’t, but nevertheless, henry finally ends up opening up somewhat.

and then in ch 11 it’s significant imo that joe isn’t there at all for the whole first part, cause we get to see vito and henry talk one on one.  first of all, good lord is it awkward, especially the first scene–which is understandable, because they haven’t spoken in six years, and henry (accidentally) got vito sent to prison, and vito (and joe) killed off most of henry’s crime family.  and they’re both these quiet, snarky, honestly kind of uptight guys trying to act tougher than they are, but the conversation ends up surprisingly genuine.  the way “hey, vito, long time no see” and “so uh, how’s life?” have the exact same awkward energy because they’re just reciting cliches to each other but really, what else is there to say?  the latter is especially endearing imo cause it’s the most awkward possible way to phrase it, but the question seems so genuine, like he really does want to catch up–which makes it a little sad when henry immediately starts going off about the hotel, although it’s understandable why.  plus the delivery of “yeah, long time. what do you want, henry?” is so melancholic.  hell, i could talk about the voice acting in this scene all day.

and then the way vito agrees so quickly and easily to vouch for henry after nothing more than a frankly kind of shitty apology that segways directly into a plea for help; personally i think part of the reason for that might be that since getting out of prison he's even more stuck in the role of being joe’s sidekick cause joe knows everyone and he really doesn’t, plus he’s already so used to loss that when henry–someone familiar to him–comes back, vito doesn’t want to let him go again.  he wants the past to be the past and he wants henry to stay his friend (i think that might also be part of why he so insistently denies any involvement at the hotel, especially considering how he and joe were worried about henry getting back before they set the bomb off).  and he doesn’t makes any wisecracks when henry drops the hint about how he’s willing to work for falcone, either–vito is the one who asks outright if henry wants to join up with them, which makes me think he hopes the answer is yes.  hell, he’s a lot less of a smartass that whole scene than he normally is.  and the way henry seems afraid to ask for his help and stunned when he gets it–i think he expected vito to tell him to go fuck himself.

and then (assuming you get caught), the three of them in leo’s kitchen, vito and the two people who really know him best besides joe.  the absolutely killer line “dammit, henry, i’m your friend here! i’d do the same for you and you know it!”  henry insisting that it’s just business and it’s too risky for him to let leo go, even if he’d like to help, but then he does it anyway.  the parallels between vito saying leo was like a father to him (and saved his life, was the reason he got made etc) and what henry says about his father in ch 5, which i think is probably a big part of why henry ends up sparing him, because he’s familiar with that exact same pain and can’t bring himself to inflict that on vito.

idk.  they’re both awkward and stupid and clearly care about each other and i have a lot of thoughts about them

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 9: Now I Love Your Shadow And I Love Your Curls]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield. 

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sex, violence, and drug use.

Word Count: 7.6k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @maggieroseevans​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @escabell​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​ @deacyblues​ @tensecondvacation​ @brianssixpence​ @some-major-ishues​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @youngpastafanmug​ @simonedk​

Field Trip

“You want to go to Chicago with me?”                

I coughed, having almost inhaled a chunk of pineapple off my slice of GrubHubbed pizza. We were sitting on the grass outside Forks And Spoons under the shade of the maple trees, which were turning from jade to ruby to amber to fool’s gold, rejoining the earth they once rose from one fallen leaf at a time. It hadn’t rained in almost four days—was that some kind of record?!—and the leaves littering the ground crunched when I stepped on them, which I did purposefully and often. The breeze was soft and whispery and temperate. I could get used to this whole having actual seasons thing. “What, in like a hypothetical, at some point in my life kind of way?”

Joe smiled. His U Chicago hoodie of the day was black. “No, as in this weekend.”

“Really?”

“The Cubs have a game on Saturday, and it’s supposed to be rainy and overcast the whole time, and I just thought...” He shrugged, toying with a piece of pizza crust before tossing it to the squirrels. He’s nervous, I realized. How the hell do I have the ability to make the sexy undead Italian man nervous? “It might be nice for us to be able to get away for a few days. Away from my family. Away from Charlie. Not that I don’t appreciate the ambient noise of his snoring from the living room couch, it’s super endearing, I seriously consider dating him instead of you at least twice a week.”

“Go for it. Charlie could use a rich husband. His pension is pathetic.”

“You wouldn’t miss me?”

“I am not necessarily opposed to clandestinely seducing my sugar daddy stepdad should the occasion arise.”

Joe crossed himself like a nun passing tattooed, cursing, lip-pierced teenagers on the sidewalk. “Lord, protect me from this harlot.”

A weekend away. No Charlie, no constant and chaotic whirlwind of Lees, no Ben. I hadn’t spoken to Ben since our misadventure in the Lee kitchen; if he wasn’t avoiding me of his own volition, he was following orders to stay away. Joe claimed that they’d talked it out. I wasn’t sure if I believed him. “I accept your invitation. Although, truthfully, I’d rather get hit by a bus than watch an entire real-life, no-commercial-breaks baseball game.”

“I accept your acceptance. And I’ll throw in a visit to the Shedd Aquarium, just for you. They have baby sea otters.”

“Sweet.” I checked my iPhone. “I’m gonna be late for Chemistry.”

“Anything fun planned?”

“We’re doing a lab involving hydrochloric acid. I’m highly concerned that Ben will accidentally spill some on himself. The miraculous instantaneous healing thing might raise a few questions.”

“Hm,” Joe replied. But he wasn’t looking at me; he was looking at my bandaged hand. And he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Joe, I’m fine.”

“Yeah.” He took a preoccupied swig of his Dr. Pepper. Solemnity never seemed right on him; it was like he was wearing somebody else’s skin. “You’ve mentioned that.”

“Hey. Mob guy.”

Now his eyes flicked to mine.                              

“No more sad spaghetti.”

“Okay.” He surrendered, took my face in his hands, gave me a kiss on each cheek and then one quick parting peck on the forehead. “You win. I’m not sad. I’m ecstatic, actually. I’m gonna be eating my weight in hotdogs and mustard-slathered pretzels on Saturday. What’s there not to be ecstatic about?”

“The fact that your license says you’re only twenty and consequently can’t get a beer?”

Joe blinked, remembering. “Fuck.”

I drained my Diet Coke, flung my pizza crust to the skittering grey squirrels—no eerie albino forest friends today—and pulled on my backpack. “See ya. Have an awesome time in Game Theory.”

“Thanks, I probably won’t!” he chimed, waving, grinning compliantly; and yet did I still sense some lingering menace of disquiet, of fear? I suspected I did. Chicago would cure everything.

Ben tensed when I walked into Professor Belvin’s classroom, ran his fingers through his unruly blond hair, peered fixedly down at his notebook and feigned obliviousness. There was already a metal tray of Erlenmeyer flasks, labeled bottles of solutions, burettes, goggles, gloves, and an unassembled ring stand crowding our small table by the open window. Autumn air poured in like seawater through cracks in the hull of a ship.

“Guess who’s gonna see the Cubs play up close and personal this Saturday?” I announced.

He pretended to have just noticed me. “...You...? But that doesn’t sound like you.”

“It was Joe’s idea. I’m acting like I’m not totally thrilled and freaking out about it, but I am. Don’t tell him.”

Now Ben was the one staring at my bandaged hand. His green eyes were large and unfocused.

“I’m fine,” I insisted.  

“Sure,” Ben returned noncommittally.

I started skimming through the packet of lab instructions and setting up our titration experiment as Professor Belvin circulated through the classroom, observing, commenting, offering suggestions and critiques. My wounded hand—still sore in the lull between Advil doses and relatively useless—was quite the embarrassing hinderance; I fumbled with a large glass flask and almost dropped it.

Ben shook his head and reached out to stop me. “Here, oh my god, this is so pitiful, sit down. Please sit down. I’ll set it up. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks.” I peeked at his notebook. “Your handwriting is atrocious. Haven’t you had like a century to work on that?”

“Penmanship was never at the top of my to-do list, tragically.”

“What language is that, anyway?” The phrases scrawled in black ink in Ben’s notebook definitely weren’t English. Or Italian. “Elvish? Are you a lowkey Lord Of The Rings fan? Magic and self-sacrifice and nearly insurmountable evil, I could see that being your thing.”

He smirked, struggling with the ring stand. “It’s Welsh.”

“Welsh,” I repeated, perplexed. “Welsh...like how Gwil is Welsh?”

“Precisely.”

Professor Belvin checked in on us, nodded in approval, reminded me that I was always welcome to stop by at bowling league activities, and resumed his wandering.

“Gwil still speaks it,” Ben continued. “The rest of them speak it too. At least enough for basic communication.”

“I didn’t know,” I said, fascinated, examining the long, unfamiliar words riddled with Ls and Ws and Cs. “But that must be very useful.”

“It is. Welsh is nearly a dead language at this point. It’s like talking in code. I always refused to learn it on principle...or maybe I was just being difficult. I would study other languages, Arabic, Japanese...but not Welsh. That was always Gwil’s language. Their language. It was a Lee thing. But now...”

“Now you’re sort of a Lee too,” I finished for him, smiling.

“Whatever,” Ben said, hiding behind his bangs.

I watched him as he at last tamed the ring stand, secured the burette, placed the Erlenmeyer flask. Then he began reading the labels on the solution bottles. “Guess what else.”

“What, Baby Swan?”

I grinned, showing off my unremarkable, entirely benign human teeth. “I’ll bring you back your very own U Chicago hoodie.”

That night, after a pleasantly prosaic dinner with Charlie—burgers, one veggie and one of the conventional variety, and milkshakes at Danny’s Diner—I started packing a small, Arizona-sky-blue suitcase as sparse raindrops pattered against the roof and moonlight streamed in through the open window. Then I ticked off my mental inventory.

“Jeans, sweaters, pajamas, socks...”

I pawed through the top drawer of my old, scratched dresser—the same one that had once upon a time been Renee’s—and contemplated the bra and panty options. Would my theme be comfort and practicality, or feral impenitent seductress? Friday and Saturday in Chicago would be our first nights alone together. That had to be significant, right? After some deliberation, I gathered a handful of lacy, transparent, and/or exceptionally skimpy lingerie from Victoria’s Secret that Jessica had more or less forced upon me during a shopping trip in Port Angeles last month. As I dropped them into the open suitcase, I glanced up to see the albino owl outside my open bedroom window.

“You never know,” I told the owl, shrugging.

It leered judgmentally back at me with those gory red eyes.

“Oh shut up. How many eggs have you laid in your lifetime, Casper The Unfriendly Ghost? Probably like a bazillion. Freaking feathery trollop.”

The owl had nothing to offer in its own defense.

“Why don’t you ever come around when Joe’s here? I’m sure he’d love to meet you. He’s pale and weird too. Although I like his eyes a little better than yours. No offense, Snowflake.”

The owl blinked, tilted its gaze at me, ruffled its feathers and sent the raindrops that had gathered there flying in every direction.

I slid my iPhone out of my back pocket, spun around, and snapped a quick selfie with the owl in the background. “Say cheese, Marshmallow!”

The owl immediately unfurled its wings and flapped off into the trees, vanishing.

“Huh. I guess homegirl is camera shy.” I texted my selfie to Archer, typing out with my thumbs: I am the Steve Irwin of Forks. Behold, one of my many forest friends.

Archer replied a few minutes later: WOW! Pasty and mildly disturbing. Exactly your type. :)

“Yours too, apparently,” I murmured, smiling in my empty room.

I went to my full-length mirror with the plastic, teal-colored border, briefly appraised my reflection, felt a dull swell of approval for what I saw there. The version of myself that had once been so consumed by fears of inadequacy seemed impossibly far away, maybe even fictitious, a dream so vivid I could mistake it for truth. Three things were taped across the top of the mirror: Joe’s Official Citation!! No More Sad Spaghetti!! post-it, his Official Whatever You Want Pass, and a photo of us dressed up together and standing in front of the limo in the Lees’ driveway just before the Calawah University Homecoming dance. I peeled off the Official Whatever You Want Pass, carefully folded it into a neat little square, and tucked it into my wallet.

When the rain began to pour and thunder rolled in off the Pacific Ocean, I closed my bedroom window; but I remembered to leave it unlocked for Joe.

Departure

“Got your license?”

“Yes, Dad,” Joe sighed.

“Got your airport snacks?”

Joe held up the gallon-sized Ziploc bag filled with pumpkin and white chocolate chip cookies. “We’re ready to rock.”

“Call me when you get there safe,” Mercy fretted, hugging me and then Joe. “And Joseph, sweetheart, you make sure you keep an eye on her. She’s never been to Chicago before, it’s a big city, and O’Hare is an absolute nightmare, it’s so easy to get lost...”

“I don’t think he needs any reminders, love.” Dr. Lee laid a hand on her shoulder, stroked his neatly-trimmed beard with the other, watched us with a vague and wistful smile.

Mercy went back to trimming the flowers she had spread out across the kitchen countertop, white calla lilies that she threaded one by one into a translucent sapphire blue vase. “Now don’t forget to say goodbye to your brother. He’s out back feeding the new ducks. And I expect these ones to stick around for a while, thank you very much.”

“Mom, I don’t need to say goodbye to Rami. I’ll just think it. Really loudly.” Joe rubbed his temples with his fingertips and squeezed his eyes shut. “Peace out, you nosy bastard.”

“Joseph,” Mercy pleaded.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go say goodbye. Don’t get all aggressive. Don’t take it out on the flowers.” Aggressive...what a joke. I doubted that Mercy Eleanor Lee, formerly Martin, had a single aggressive bone in her immortal body; not even the infinitesimal stapes of her inner ears or the sesamoids of her feet.

“They’re calla lilies,” she replied dreamily, tending them like children. “And they symbolize love, and beauty, and fidelity...”

My nostrils itched and burned faintly in dissent. “I think I’m allergic to them.”

“You’re allergic to fidelity?” Joe asked, raising his eyebrows. “That’s it, now you’re definitely not getting my reclaimed virginity. No ma’am. I am not hit-it-and-quit-it material.”

“Oh sweet baby Jesus,” Mercy murmured.

“I’m going,” Joe said, showing his palms in capitulation and disappearing out the back door. I dragged my suitcase to the front one, politely declining Mercy and Gwil’s offers to help.

Lucy—her bleached hair in a high half-ponytail and wearing polka-dotted black tights, combat boots, a plaid miniskirt, and an extremely Octoberish orange sweater—was sitting cross-legged on the roof of Gwil’s Volvo. God, he’s such a dad. “Have a nice time,” she chirped artfully.

I opened the hatch of Joe’s Subaru and threw my suitcase inside. “Why do you sound like you already know I will?”

“I might have some relevant clairvoyant insight.”

“No way.” I stared up at her, stunned, my hands on my waist. “But you can’t see me, right...?”

“True. But this vision wasn’t of you. It was of Joe. You just happened to be there.”

Interesting. Very interesting. “And what transpired in this vision?” A night full of hot, steamy, blissful vampire sex? A girl could dream.

Lucy closed her eyes, recalling it fondly, maybe even cherishing it. “You were sitting in the stands of a professional baseball game. I could hear the crowd roaring, the umpire’s trumpeting interruptions. Blue and white...everyone was wearing blue and white. And you were there together—Joe a vampire, you human, side by side, almost entwined—shouting to each other over the thunderous noise and laughing and pushing nuggets of soft pretzels into each other’s mouths. So happy. I’d never seen Joe so happy.” Her striking pale eyes came open. “And he’s someone who’s already rather prone to happiness, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“I have,” I agreed.

“He’s never been serious about anybody else. I hope you know that.”

“I know that’s what he tells me.”

“It’s the truth,” Lucy insisted. “I would know if it wasn’t. Rami would know, Ben would know. Joe...he’s kind of the opposite of you. He’s always been the easiest to read. He’s the one Rami hears most loudly, the one who shows up most often in my visions. He’s clear, you know? Uncomplicated. Authentic. And what you mean to him...it’s something everybody sees. It’s a contagious sort of lightness, of joy. So thank you for that.”

And if whatever mysterious genetic switch that renders me immune to your talents wasn’t flipped, I’m pretty sure I’d look the same way. “I should definitely be thanking you,” I said. “You guys have a pretty cool existence going on here. And I’m so grateful to be invited into it.” For however long this lasts, anyway.

“None of us really invited you,” Lucy demurred. “We just let it happen.”

“So everyone knew I was coming? Because you saw it?”

“Everyone but Joe.”

“You never told him?”

“No. Not even now.” Lucy turned sharply towards the trees, as if she heard something in the soaring western hemlocks that swayed drunkenly in the wind. After a moment, she continued. “I’m not sure if I can even explain why. It wasn’t that I feared changing the timeline or something...my visions always come true regardless. Always. But I guess...” She tugged on her short half-ponytail, pondering. “I guess I didn’t want to cloud any of his decision-making, any of his emotions with the specter of the inevitable. I wanted whatever he felt for you to be completely organic. And it is.”

I considered her. “You are extremely thoughtful for someone who spends as much time shopping as you do.”

Lucy laughed in a high-pitched, almost juvenile trill, netting her fingers beneath her chin, her elbows resting on her bent knees. “I do like to shop. I didn’t always though.” She peered off into the trees again, this time pensively. “Did Joe tell you anything about my life before Gwil saved me?”

“Aside from the copious hippie jokes, not really.”

She nodded, her eyes far-away and still lost in the forest. “Gwil and Mercy are inordinately wonderful people. My biological father and mother, unfortunately, were not. And maybe they couldn’t help it, because from what I understand their parents were monsters too. I don’t think of them very often now, not even to resent them. But when I was alive I burned with it, with all that hatred, with all that bitterness. Every bruise was another log on the fire. Every screaming match or hurled plate was a splash of gasoline. So I ran away and found what I fancied to be a new family, and I lived on basement couches and out of vans and in abandoned buildings, and I explored increasingly inventive ways of putting that fire out.”

The October breeze cascaded through the trees, carrying echoes of birdsong and disembodied distant voices and the scent of pine. It reminded me of Joe.

“Chemically speaking,” Lucy said, “that first hit of heroin, that first high...it’s the best you’ll ever feel in your entire life. Nothing else will ever compare. Not skydiving, not backpacking through Southeast Asia on some Pulitzer-prize-winning journey of self-discovery, not winning the lottery, not the births of your children, not falling in love. And once you accept that, what’s the point in stopping? Everything you ever experience will live in the shadow of that needle. You’re twenty-five and you’ve already seen the endgame. You’re born, you suffer, you catch a glimpse of paradise, you pay bills and push shopping carts down the aisles of grocery stores and insipidly smile your way through your husband’s work parties until you die. What’s the fucking point? So I didn’t stop shooting heroin. And the whole time, I knew it was killing me. That’s what they don’t tell kids when they force them to make those idiotic classroom promises to never do drugs. You know it’s killing you, but you don’t care. Because it feels so goddamn good. Because it becomes the only sliver of your existence that doesn’t cut like glass beneath your skin. Sometimes you love things so much you let them kill you, isn’t that ridiculous?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer her; still, I heard my own voice: “Yes, it is.”

“It took dying for me to see that life is worth living. That there’s magic in the mundane and the frivolous. And that there’s beauty everywhere if you bother to look for it.” Lucy uncrossed her trim legs, leapt gracefully off the Volvo, and—with definite but not unkind scrutiny—pulled at the collar of my thrift shop sweater. “Even in your very, very, very misguided fashion preferences.”

The front door of the Lee house swung open, and Joe jogged out, carrying his suitcase. Gwil, Mercy, Scarlett, Rami, and Ben appeared on the porch to wave us off.

“What’d you do?!” Joe demanded, pointing at Lucy.

“Nothing,” she quipped.

“You guys gotta stop doing this!” Joe exclaimed. “You know what you’re doing, you know exactly what you’re doing, you gotta stop cornering people and forcing them to listen to your creepy tragic backstories! Nobody freaking asked!”

Lucy chuckled patiently and stood on her tiptoes to hug him goodbye. “Have fun.”

“You know it.” Joe tossed his suitcase into the Subaru and opened the driver’s door. “Ready, Baby Swan?”

“Almost.”

I walked to the wrap-around porch, climbed the steps, held my hand out to Ben. My stitches had almost completely dissolved over the past week, and the clunky impediment of bandages was no more. Joe crossed his arms and watched from beside the Subaru with an uneasy frown, but he didn’t try to stop me. He nodded to Rami, so subtly I almost didn’t notice. Rami nodded back.

“I will miss your melodramatic brooding immensely,” I told Ben. “Please do some fun family stuff while we’re gone. I’ll see you soon. Dan eich bendith.”

“Dan eich bendith,” he replied, taken aback. And then, after a moment’s hesitation, he ignored my outstretched hand and embraced me, his grasp so strong and yet so careful. His scent like crisp leaves and salted caramel and autumn sieved into a bottle unfolded in my lungs like an opened book.

“I Googled that especially for you,” I whispered. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m in awe.” His words were characteristically sardonic, but I heard warmth in them as well. When Ben pulled away, I saw that everyone else was smiling. Mercy had tears in her eyes.

I retreated back down the porch steps and met Joe by the Subaru. “Okay, mob guy. I’m good.”

He slid on his sunglasses, shook his head, flashed a proud and toothy grin. “You definitely are.”

All the way down Route 101 to the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, we listened to Joe’s classic rock mixtapes and my NOAA Ocean Podcast episodes, reviewed the weekend itinerary, ran through the bare essentials for me to understand an MLB game (“Which I am totally not excited about whatsoever,” I informed Joe, who knew enough not to believe me).

When the Boeing 747 ascended above the clouds and unimpeded sunlight poured in from the other passengers’ windows, Joe put on a black sleeping mask over his sunglasses and reclined his seat, tried to nap, passed the time until he would be safe beneath the curtains of the sky again.

Somewhere over the Dakotas, as I leafed through a book about the Great Barrier Reef for my Marine Botany class, Joe’s hand bumped mine. “Hey,” he said drowsily, seriously; and I braced myself for some emotional declaration, some dire warning, some grave realization of the futility of what we agreed—almost always wordlessly, and yet unfailingly—was love.

“Yeah?”

“It’s an emergency.”

“Uh oh,” I replied, smiling now.

“Flag down the flight attendant and get some more of those honey roasted peanut packets,” Joe said. “I’m starving myself back to death over here.”

The Windy City

The bat cracked deafeningly against the baseball pitched at nearly a hundred miles per hour. It was a home run. The crowd erupted into mindless, primal shrieks of conquest; and when Joe jumped to his feet, clapping and cheering and nearly spilling his blue-and-white bucket of popcorn, I found that I did as well. I screamed for the team of a city I’d never lived in, sank back into my seat beside Joe, nestled against his chest as his right arm closed around my waist and hauled me in closer, as his left hand teased me with a soft pretzel nugget hovering just out of reach. And in that moment, I felt like Lucy, snatching Polaroids out of the space-time continuum of the present and the future and the past. There was where Joe and I were right now, of course; the day we had met each other in the nonfiction section of the Calawah University library; the dance floor at Homecoming; the first night he snuck soundlessly into my bedroom window; all those years we still had left to spend together. Not forever, but perhaps long enough.

“I like this baseball thing,” I told him over the roar of the crowd, twirling my fingers around the curling locks of dark hair that stuck out from under his Cubs cap. Or maybe I just like you.

“Whew, thank god.” Joe wiped his forehead with the back of his hand in mock relief. “Now I don’t have to break up with you.”

After the game—a 5-3 Cubs victory, close enough to keep the spectators’ blood pumping throughout—we boarded the L, held onto the metal railings as the packed train car bumped and swerved along, and disembarked in Little Italy. Historic brownstones were interrupted by a freckling of pizzerias, Italian ice stands, and sports bars spilling out shouts of triumph and despair. We were staying in the Four Seasons with a view of Lake Michigan; but we had an hour of daylight—albeit chilled, dreary, and forever threatening rain—left in our Saturday. Tomorrow would be the aquarium, and then dinner before catching our flight back to Seattle, back to the greenery and fog and eternal dampness that I was beginning to think of as my home. Had I really only left Phoenix two months ago? Had I ever really lived there at all?

“So,” Joe said as we walked under shedding green ash and black cherry trees, his arm draped across my shoulders. “Guess what the University of Chicago has. In addition to a killer Economics PhD program, which yours truly will be graduating from in approximately 2027, astonishingly aged not a single day. Maybe he’s born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline.”

“Hideous sweatshirts?” I guessed.

“One of the best Marine Biology departments in the world. And the affiliated Marine Biological Laboratory up in Massachusetts, where they send their PhDs to do research.”

“Wait, seriously?” I stopped abruptly, the heels of my boots squealing against the sidewalk. “You mean...for me?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, for my other girlfriend who is also inexplicably super obsessed with the ocean. I clearly have a type.”

“You want me...to come to Chicago...with you...after graduation? For like...a five to seven year commitment?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Well, that just sounds...serious.”

“Huh. What do you know. I guess we’re serious after all.” He took my hand and pulled me gently forward, leading me down West Taylor Street. He seemed to have a destination in mind.

“How is this going to work for you, anyway?” I asked, beaming uncontrollably now, trotting along beside him. “Living in a place that isn’t Washington or Scotland or Alaska?” Chicago was cold and cloudy for a lot of the year, true, but few cities were Forks-level wet and sunless. Forks-level tyrannically depressing, I would have said two months ago.  

He shrugged, unphased. “Night classes. Sunglasses. Faking a chronic illness so I don’t have to leave our house. I’m really good at that one. Plus I can get a doctor’s note any time I want one. I’ve got connections, you know.”

Our house. He said OUR house.

Joe came to halt in front of a stately yet plain brownstone which now operated as a trendy bookstore, the kind that sold six dollar lattes and hosted anarchist poetry slams on Friday nights.

“Is this where we’re going to crack hipsters’ kneecaps as a bonding activity?” I asked.

“This is where I grew up.”

I looked again, studying the earth-colored stone quarried over a century ago, the wrought iron railings that framed the front steps, the rectangular windows revealing the illumination and shadows of other families’ lives. “Joe,” I said softly, leaning into him, searching for my words.

“There were eight Mazzello kids: Joseph, Charles, Mimi, Salvador, Donna, Lucia, Bianca, and Giuliano.” He rattled them off like a jingle from a fast food commercial. “And I was the oldest. So when my dad dropped dead of a heart attack in the middle of his shift at the Zenith Radio factory, it was my job to step up and figure out how to keep everyone fed. I was seventeen and completely hopeless at school back then; Sal was always the smart one, the disciplined one, he ended up as a math professor at Loyola University. I was just some directionless, grieving kid who never shut up. But there was a place for boys like me in Chicago in the 1920s. The mob could get you money. The mob could turn that same incessant chatter that got you bruised at school into something useful. And the mob could give you a family.”

Joe watched the brownstone solemnly, meditatively, his hands in his pockets.

“My mom sobbed for an hour the first time I brought home an envelope full of bills with Hamilton’s face on them. She knew how I got it. But how could she say no, how could she tell me to stop? We’d never seen money like that. All my siblings could finish school. My sisters could have new dresses on days that weren’t Christmas and Easter, my brothers new shoes, Sal the glasses he needed so badly. My mother always had something to put in the offering plate at church. And once you were in the mob, it wasn’t exactly easy to leave. But they took care of their own. After I died, they sent my mother money for years, until her own children were established enough to support her. That’s when I learned that money wasn’t just something that put food on the dinner table or kept the lights on. It’s a way of showing loyalty, of giving people peace and comfort and meaningful choices in their lives. It’s how I’ve been taught to give back to the world. So I guess I shouldn’t have disparaged my fellow vampires back in Forks, because there’s a slice of my tragic backstory, Baby Swan. Now you know. And you should know everything, since we’re in this thing together. Or maybe I just want you to.”

I laid my palm against his cool and flawless face, ran my thumb lightly across his cheek. “You really are serious about me.”

“I am alarmingly serious about you.”

“Even though this thing of ours has an expiration date?” Since I can never become a vampire. Since I will never have the distinction of being a permanent fixture of the Lee coven.

“That’s not a problem for today. That’s a problem for ten or fifteen years from now, whenever you decide you want to settle down and have kids and do the whole Great American Dream bit. You’ll be sick of me by then anyway. You’ll be dying to get away from us. Hahaha, get it? It’s a pun. Dying to get away from the vampires.”

I couldn’t imagine ever being sick of Joseph Francis Mazzello. Still, ten or fifteen years felt almost as good as forever to me. Fifteen autumns, fifteen Christmases, fifteen journeys around the sun that he avoided so deftly. “Why me, Joe?” I asked, incredulous. “You could have anyone. Any human, any vampire. Why me?”

“Because you’re you,” he said simply. And his mystified dark eyes added: What kind of a question is that? “You’re smart and you’re hilarious and you actually care about the world, about where it came from, about where it’s going, about people and places and animals that you’ll never meet. You’re indomitable. You’re fearless almost to the point of recklessness. And yet you’re so kind. You’re even nice to Ben, and humans are never nice to him...they’re either horrified or confused, or they’re too busy fantasizing about him to remember that he’s a real fucking person. But you’ve always tried to see the good in him. Even when he didn’t deserve it.” Joe shook his head, marveling. “And yeah, I’ve...I’ve screwed around, full disclosure. I’ve done the hookup thing. And it was great for what it was. But I never wanted more. I never felt some gnawing, sentimental, Hallmark-channel need for connection, to understand who they were as people. And then I met you, and...I want to know every single goddamn thing about you. I want to know your favorite color, what books you read, what the hell is so appealing about pineapple pizza, what you dream of. I feel like I could never get tired of trying to understand you.”

A refrain circled through my mind like a whirlpool, dragging every other thought down into oblivion: I love him, I love him, I love him. “Blue,” I said at last.

“What?”

“Turquoise blue, like the sky in Arizona. That’s my favorite color.”

The smile, slow and wonderous, rippled across his face. He took my hand again. “Come on.”

Joe led me onwards, down a few blocks and around a corner, as the muted sun receded from the sky and the first stars took its place, pinpricks of celestial light in a blanket of violet, azure, amber, rust. He stopped in front of the Church of Saint Lawrence, established in 1902 according to the sign mounted on the brick wall that faced the street, perhaps the same church that he had once visited with his family as an impatient child, snickering with his brothers and sisters and kicking the back of the pew in front of him with shoes that never fit quite right. There was a fountain bubbling with transparent water, a statue of the Virgin Mary at the center, coins made of copper and nickel and zinc glinting through the water under corridors of silvery luminance cast by the streetlights.

“I lied about not having my own superpower,” Joe informed me mischievously, not at all serious.

“Oh, did you now?”

“Absolutely.” He opened his wallet, rooted around, pulled out a penny and handed it to me. “I can make wishes come true. So go ahead.” He nodded towards the fountain. “Make your wish.”

The penny was worn and nearly indecipherable, but I was just barely able to read that it had been minted in 1928. The same year Joe was turned. “Joe...I can’t just throw this away!”

“You’re not throwing it away. You’re exchanging it for a wish. Now wish.”

I closed my eyes, chose my wish, tossed the penny into the fountain. The plink it made when it hit the water was bright and yet mournful somehow, like windchimes, like flickering candlelight.

“Outstanding job,” Joe complimented.

He was so visibly proud, so content, so faultless. The streetlights threw shadows across the sidewalk, the fountain, the whole world it seemed. I laced my fingers behind his neck, gazing up at him. “What are we doing tonight, mob guy?”

“I’m so glad you asked. You see, we have options.”

“Let’s hear them.”

“Door Number One,” Joe began. “It’s been a long day, and you’re exhausted from the illustrious honor of witnessing a Cubs victory firsthand. So we go back to the hotel, find some shark documentary on tv, order room service, shower, and drift off into a peaceful slumber. Just like last night.”

“Not bad. How about Door Number Two?”

“Door Number Two. You’re tired, but not that tired. We go back to the hotel, find that same aforementioned shark documentary, but totally ignore it and make out instead. Maybe we even round second base, in the spirit of the Cubs. Whatever you’re up for. Then we shower and drift off into a peaceful slumber.”

“Even better,” I said, and I meant it. “And what’s Door Number Three?”

Now Joe became jittery; his eyes darted to the fountain, the church, the cars that rolled lazily by. He was so desperate to conceal his hope, to not impose any undue influence upon me. I felt infinitesimal, almost weightless drops of rain against my cheeks, my collarbones, the downy undersides of my arms. “Well, uh, Door Number Three is...it’s...well...uh...it’s...”

Door Number Three is a home fucking run. “I want Door Number Three.”

“Really? Because you don’t have to say that, you can say no, that’s completely fine, it’s more than fine actually, it’s awesome, it’s totally cool, I’m seriously fine either way, and you can obviously change your mind whenever—”

“Wait.” I broke away from him, yanked my own wallet out of my purse, found the Official Whatever You Want Pass, hastily unfolded it, and presented it to Joe. “I want Door Number Three.”

He barked out a shocked laugh, accepted the pass, studied it in disbelief. “You are full of surprises, ma’am. It took me a hundred years to find a woman like you. And I don’t think I ever will again. Makes one wonder if this whole eternity thing is all it’s cracked up to be.” He tucked the pass into his pocket and kissed me beneath the streetlights, beneath the stars. “So there’s one tiny caveat to my wish-granting superpower.”

“Yeah?”

He smiled impishly, nudging the tip of my nose with his. “You have to tell me what you wished for.” He was joking, as he almost always was; I didn’t have to tell him anything. He wouldn’t press the issue. I doubted that he was really expecting me to answer at all. And yet I wanted to tell Joe; I yearned, for once, to be as clear as Lucy had said he was.

“For you and me,” I replied in little more than a whisper. “And for forever.”

Home

The only thing that startled me was how profoundly unstartling it all was, how wholly uncomplicated, how effortless.

I didn’t feel like a different person afterwards. I didn’t feel that some latent spark of lust, of carnality had been ignited, had singed through me, had left me forever marked like the heights of children ticked off on a doorframe over decades; I felt neither ruined nor awakened, no wiser, no older, no more enlightened as to the incalculable eccentricities of the vast and enigmatic universe. I felt only happiness, and exhausted satisfaction, and a deep, dreamless peace that engulfed me like frothy fingertips of waves dragging pebbles and shells back into the sea. I felt only a homecoming that was measured not in miles but in soul.

We slept in as the morning sun rose over Lake Michigan, bought Ben a hoodie (black, of course, per his usual aesthetic) from the University of Chicago gift shop, strolled unhurriedly through the dimly-lit, relentlessly blue pathways of the Shedd Aquarium. As I stood in the glass tunnel and watched sawfish and blacktip reef sharks soar by overhead, Joe linked his arms around my waist, tucked his chin into the dip of my collarbone, kissed the slope of my jaw.

“What do you think?” he asked, perhaps a touch apprehensively. “Could you get used to the Chicago life for a few years?”

“I would be tempted to kidnap some of these guys and bring them home to live in our bathtub. But yes.”

And Joe murmured, smiling, his lips to my temple: “That’s illegal, ma’am.”

Our flight back to the West Coast took off after dusk, and there was no blinding sunlight for Joe to avoid; only immense glooms of clouds and gleaming distant stars and the unfathomable void of space, cursed with crushing pressure and darkness like the cervices of the ocean floor.

Fifteen years might not be enough, I thought, resting my forehead against the cold airplane window as the city lights died behind us, as Joe’s hand weaved through mine on the armrest. But forever sounds just about right.

Larkin

There once was a boy born in a stone cottage with a dirt floor in a vanishingly inconsequential village just west of Clifden, Ireland. It was February 9th, 1672, bitterly cold, miserably wet, and the sea was murderous with storms. His mother was illiterate, as her mother had been, and as her mother had been as well, all the way back to people who painted mammoths on cave walls with their fingers; she was thirty-three and already exhausted with living, her seven children forever underfoot, her full and ruddy cheeks perpetually smudged with dirt from the field and ashes from the fire. Her husband was a failure and a drunk, but half a day’s worth of work once or twice a week was better than none at all; and as much as she never would have admitted it, he was a tether for her in a world that was often, as she had learned, both lonely and cruel.

She gave the baby boy a name—a strong Irish name, none of that audacious English rubbish—that meant rough or fierce, just like the sea that rose and ruptured against the rocky cliffs outside. He would need to be rough to survive in this world. He would need to be fierce.

He began like all the other children had been: sweet and yet anonymous, yielding, needful, worryingly small. She rocked him absently with one arm as she stirred the stew pot with the other. She sang to him, told him stories long before he could comprehend them, tales of the Lord and the saints and all their malevolent adversaries: serpents, pestilence, demons, dragons. She tossed stray sticks to him so he could carve pictures into the dirt floor and keep out of the way as she labored with the laundry or the sewing. And he grew, and he grew; and there was nothing remarkable about him at all, that boy speckled with mud and soot and the perpetual bruises of children mostly left to their own devices, that boy with pallid skin like his mother’s and black hair like his father’s and eyes so light and vibrant a brown they were nearly gold.

The boy was a baby, and then a child, and then a young man. And his mother realized one day—all at once, as a mother does when their attention is divided among so many other lives, when the children’s analogous faces bleed into each other and even their names sometimes escape her, even those names that she had chosen herself from the stories her own mother once passed to her through threadbare whispers—that people had a habit of following him, of listening to him. That there was an ether of allure that hovered around him like the mists that clung to the precarious, crumbling cliffs that touched the sea; that there was something like what the heathens called magic. And when the war came, that boy who was no longer a boy left his mother’s stone cottage and enlisted in Clifden, lied about his age, signed his name with an X because that was all he knew how to spell. But he was sure to tell the man who handled the ledger that he did have a real name, a good Irish name, a name apt for a soldier, a name that his mother had told him meant rough or fierce: Larkin.

There are men who join wars out of loyalty, principle, love for their homes; and then there are men who join to escape their homes, perhaps to forget them entirely. If you were to consult that ledger signed in a pub in Clifden, Ireland in 1688, you would read that I fought for Ireland, for the Catholics, for Christ the Lord and all his saints. But what I really fought for was my own resurrection: to take that boy stained with dirt and ignorance, drown him in the blood of other mothers’ trivial sons, and dredge up some greater version of myself that I had always known existed, that was hidden somewhere in the netlike darkness of the marrow of my bones.

People follow me, and they always have. I couldn’t tell you why. When I called them to enlist, when I thrusted swords and pikes into their calloused farmers’ fists, when I told them they could fight and live to see their wretched homes again, they believed me. I climbed the ranks like a ladder, like a mountain made of bones. And all those other mothers’ sons laid down for me so I could walk across the bridge of their spines to what I mistakenly assumed was invincibility.

At the Battle Of The Boyne, my horse was shot out from under me. A Williamite caught me beneath the ribs with his dagger. And as I bled out, staring up at the sky and impatiently waiting for the pain to vanish as my consciousness withdrew like low tide, I became aware that someone was lifting me, holding me, spiriting me through the battlefield and then the wilderness; and that my pain, in a disconcerting turn of events, had swelled to a vicious and unrelenting inferno.  

Three days later, I woke to find that I was resurrected again, this time as something more than human. The man who turned me was blond-haired, light-eyed, agile and yet gentle, ancient and yet ever-changing.

“I thought you’d survive,” Nikolai said in a thick Slavic accent, standing over me with a kind smile. Then he helped me to my feet. “You have greatness in you. It sweats out of your pores, it’s in every word you speak. What a shame it would be for all of that to go to waste.”

He taught me everything: how to read and write, how to hunt, how to dodge the sunlight, how to survive an existence that was both theoretically endless and yet forever on the precipice of being cut short. He introduced me to the Draghi, to vampires who were remarkable for their ferocity, or their creativity, or their curiosity, or their cleverness, or all those things at once: Victorien, Honora, Elizabeth, Kestrel, Zhang, Sergei, Ana, Gwilym. And most crucially, Nikolai showed me that my human talents were magnified several times over, that his own followers were not immune to them, that there was power in collecting exceptional individuals like pieces of china stacked in a locked cabinet; and that if I could learn to climb immortal bones, the ladder never needed to end.  

You never quite get used to the power, to the invincibility, to the promise of eternity. You never take it for granted. It hits you, again and again, in ceaseless and victorious waves. Once I was a barefoot toddler who sketched dragons and Catholic saints from the stories my mother told me into the dirt floor of our drafty stone cottage. Now I live in palaces with marble floors, with spiral staircases and libraries and gold-dripping ballrooms, with unobstructed views of any sea I choose. Now I am the dragon.

My phone rang, and I checked the name on the screen. Then I answered. “Hello, beauty. How’s the other side of the Pacific treating you?”

And Liesl answered, in a soft and astonished voice: “I don’t think Lucy can read her. I don’t think any of them can.”

I could feel it again. Another wave, crashing through me like the ocean, like the unstoppable rolling of time: power and insatiability and exhilaration. I smiled in my twilight-lit study as long-dead stars rose outside and the wind howled like wolves over the East Sea. “You know what to do.”

[meepmoopfanfics]

you don’t get a win unless you’re playing the game: Daveed Diggs x Reader. Chapter 2.

Reminder: this is gonna be a long fic! please be patient :)

You are finally ending an excruciating first week of dance rehearsals.

You’re gearing up finishing Act I finally, your brain feeling completely fried from all of the material given, especially the vocal parts. You were so used to singing the melody line of all the songs and being given the alto part was a challenge in itself, let alone applying singing while doing the choreography. The dancing was second nature but you didn’t realize how much stamina you’d actually need to getting the notes out without sounding breathy, pitchy or exhausted. You did NOT want to embarrass yourself in front of the OBC when it came time to integrate.

You had only worked with the ensemble closely so far and were getting close with Stephanie, the universal dance captain of the show. She had mentioned to you that the principals and ensemble members would be having a little hang out session at her brother’s penthouse apartment downtown after rehearsals ended tonight.

“Brilliant work today everyone. I know it’s been tough. But take the weekend to really review the material and let everything sink in.” Stephanie’s eyes were lit up. The way she was so attentive to detail and every backstory of every movement was so inspiring and eye opening.

You wiped the sweat off of your face as you partner, aka M3, aka George Eaker, aka Cedric, gave you a wink and a thumbs up. You were way too lucky to be matched with Cedric. If you jumped across the stage, somehow you’d trust him to catch you with seconds to spare before landing.

The ensemble cheered together and began to pan out to the house to grab their things and head up to their dressing rooms to get ready for the party.

“Is everyone coming tonight?” Stephanie yelled excitedly.

You heard a cannon of yeses and hell yeahs around the group.

“The wolfpack’s coming too!” That was her nickname for the OBC crew. “It’s gonna be a raaaaaager!” She started gyrating her hips. Everyone erupted with laughter.

“A safe one at that, of course. Be on your best behavior around Lin… just kidding he’s an absolute child.

Alright now go, get out. Go get hot.”

You followed the ensemble up the stairs backstage to end up at your dressing room which you shared with W4, Michelle.

“Girl... what’re ya wearing tonight? I can’t decide.” Michelle asked while anxiously rummaging through her back full of scribbled on legal pads, muscle rollers, and random items of clothing.

You had packed your favorite black jeans that made your legs look flawless, your signature suede boots, and a Kith hoodie. You wanted to look put together but also casual and cool. Most importantly, you wanted to impress all of your idols. This was your only chance to give them the best first impression of you.

You thought about grabbing your Oakland sweatshirt that your parents got you as a gag gift for Christmas, in honor of your celebrity crush’s hometown. You immediately regretted even thinking of wearing it, as Daveed would definitely find it way too weird. You were from Massachusetts... not California. The Bay Area would be embarrassed for you.

“I just brought these little guys. All black, of course. Feel like it does the job. Also, the sweatshirt will let me eat alllllll of the pizza guilt free.”

Michelle stared longingly at your suede boots. “These are fuckin fancy!”

“They’re only Steve Madden!!” You were proud of your ability to find luxury looking goods for a cheap price. You don’t think that will ever change, even when you saw your first broadway check hit your checking account.

You were happy you could share a safe and fun dressing room space with Michelle and knew the two of you would become close friends.

You both ran into the shower room across the hallway, and quickly washed off. You decided you were going to straighten your long light brown hair. You loved your hair, but it got so curly and tangled when you sweat. Thankfully they were going to put you in a wig for the show instead of using your natural locks. Being a head sweat-er was the worst. Your makeup was minimal, as you looked best with a nice dewy makeup glow, with highlighted cheekbones. You wore a nude matte lipstick, which matched the natural color of your lips, and lightly liquid lined a cat eye over your big (insert eye color) eyes.

You saw your reflection. You didn’t know if it was the confidence of finally reaching your goal or if you just were having a good hair/makeup day... but you were stunning.

“Damn mama!” Michelle gasped as she saw your finished look. “Whose mans are you about to steal at this gig? Better not be Cedric, he’s mine.”

You laughed. You couldn’t help to think about who you already had your heart set on.

“Definitely not Cedric.”

Michelle opened her iPhone 11 plus and immediately opted for a mirror selfie. She quickly opened Instagram and posted it to her story.

You opened the app yourself to go check if it looked good.

Posted 32 secs ago

#MamaHam and #TheBullet hit the town 🎉

“Ready?” Michelle asked, putting the final touches of her gold Fenty highlight on her cheeks. “We should grab a quick bite before hitting the place. I plan on drinking my weight in Truly seltzers tonight.”

“Let’s get it.” You smiled. “I’ll call the uber.”

——

You called the uber, hopped in, and began driving downtown. You felt your anxiety creeping up on you.

“Trulys? Really? I’m gonna need to be doing shots of Jager in order to be able to speak a single word to any of these principals.”

“What are you... nervous? You already got the role. You’re equals with these guys.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“Guess I’ll just have to act as chill as possible. That’s the plan anyways... also Michelle, wanna know something ridiculous?”

“What?”

“I’ve had a middle school full fledged crush on Daveed since I can remember.”

She blurted out with laughter.

“Well girl he is on the market now. Shoot ya shot.”

You already knew this. Daveed was recently single and focusing on rebuilding himself up. His breakup with his last girlfriend wasn’t bad. It was mature and mutual. You knew he was taking time to himself, so you didn’t want to be overbearingly flirtatious when you first met him.

You also couldn’t stop thinking about your ex, whom you left last year around this time. His goals just weren’t lining up with your future. He hated musicals, he hated almost everything you liked... but you couldn’t stand the fact you shattered his heart.

“I’ll see what happens... after 5 shots.” You responded, winking at Michelle.

__

You arrived at the cutest little Italian place downtown in TriBeCa. You knew carbs and wine were the perfect pregame for this shindig.

After loads of pasta and splitting a bottle of wine, you began to feel the confidence needed to shake the nerves from you. You hit the bathroom to give yourself a double check before walking to your final destination.

—

As you walked up to the massive high rise residence, you couldn’t believe this was your lifestyle now. As you approached, you noticed an extremely familiar face exit the revolving door.

Holy shit, that’s Rafa.

Rafael Casal. Daveed Diggs’ best friend.

You stopped in your tracks stunned.

He turned his head immediately in your and Michelle’s direction.

“Y/N?! What’s going on?!”

“Shut up shut up shut up...” you whispered through your teeth. “Just keep walking.”

As he passed you both, he smiled, and turned into the Duane Reade on the corner. Probably picking up something he forgot.

You realized you would be on edge all night not being able to keep your cool. Rafa wasn’t even in the damn OBC and here you were, freaking out entirely on the freaking sidewalk.

Through the doors you went, passing the crystal clear marble floors, giant chandeliers, and up to the doorman.

“Can I help you beautiful ladies?”

Michelle blushed. The doorman was actually attractive.

“We’re here for Klemons? Penthouse 2?”

“Oh yeah! Hamilton!!! Love that show. Have fun!”

You hit the elevator as you looked down at your phone.

9:18pm

Perfect timing. Almost 20 mins late. Fashionably late, of course.

“Oh shit shit shit.”

You realized you haven’t changed your wallpaper from Daveed grabbing his crotch.

Michelle laughed as you fumbled to change your wallpaper to a pic of you and your family from when you were younger. Perfect. A conversation starter. Your overthinking was killing you softly.

Your teeth were legit chattering. You felt anxiety waves rush through your nervous system. The pit in your stomach grew. Your heart was beating a mile a minute. This was it. Your chance at something greater than you ever thought was possible to achieve.

The elevator doors opened to the open concept apartment. Voices were clashing over the blaring hip hop music in the dimly lit room. A full bar in the corner, Joe’s pizza scattered over the island in the kitchen. Beer pong set up on the dining room table.

There they were. Every single one of em. Scattered across the flat. Starstruck wasn’t even the beginning of what you felt.

Your eyes scanned quickly around.

There he was. Curly headed locks and all. Leaning up against the floor to ceiling windows that circled the place, holding a cocktail in his strong, large right hand accessorized with a few rings. Simply staring at the sights of the city. He looked like a million bucks and he was in a simple casual outfit. Light washed jeans, black boots, with his left hand in his black hoodie pocket.

Wait. You guys were wearing the same hoodie.

The same fucking hoodie.

Of course this would happen.

tag list:

@alexander-hamilhoe

[incidentreport31]

Episode 2 - Secure TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts.

Recorder clicks on.

SFX of a mug being set down on a counter. Water pouring and then the clink of a spoon against ceramic. Then, an abrupt almost dropping of said mug as Zach begins to speak.

ZACH:

Tea? Really?

ARCHIVIST:

(stammering)Oh, hi, hello, can… can I help you…?

(beat)

ZACH:

You can help yourself by getting some coffee. Tea isn’t gonna do anything for you, you know. It won’t keep you going for the whole day. You’ve gotta get that good ole cup of joe to start your morning.

ARCHIVIST:

I’m… sorry?

ZACH:

You can’t tell me that you actually like that garbage, right? I mean what kind are you even making?

[shuffle as he grabs the box off the counter]

English Breakfast? Really? English? Compensating for being in the US are we?

ARCHIVIST:

(defensive for no reason beknown to the listener but painfully known to them) I happen to like it, actually but- no actually wait a minute, who are you? Do you work here?

ZACH:

(also defensive for previously explained reason) Yeah, I do. Do you?

ARCHIVIST:

Yes, indeed I do. I’m actually the head archivist. May I ask what in the hell you might do around here? Other than, of course, critique drink choices?

ZACH:

Oh. (beat) Oh you- (another beat) You’re the archivist?

ARCHIVIST:

(huffing out a breath) Quite right. Once again. What the hell do you do here?

ZACH:

Oh I’m Zach. Zach Baker. I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were… my… boss.

ARCHIVIST:

(hurried and with false confidence) Yes, of course. I’m Val West… your boss. Which means that I’m in charge here. Which then means you should… watch yourself in bothering me about these small things. Yes.

ZACH: It’s not my fault you have the worst taste in drinks-

ARCHIVIST:

(coughs to cut him off)

ZACH:

Well, you do. I’m just saying, okay? And- hold on, are you recording this?

ARCHIVIST: Hmm? Oh, yes I suppose I am.

ZACH:

Where’d that thing come from anyway? It looks ancient.

ARCHIVIST:

It is, from what I can tell. But Mr. Banks has instructed me to record all of my (said with distaste because the archivist is a dick to account givers) “little stories” into it. Apparently, silent reading does not do much in the way of furthering the plot of a story told in an audio format.

ZACH: Yeah, I guess he has a point there.

ARCHIVIST:

Fair enough… Either way, I'm not the biggest fan of the old girl, but she hasn’t broken down on me so far, so that counts for something I reckon. Not that there aren’t better ways of recording things, but I digress.

(a beat)

But, I guess I’ve just gotten in the habit of turning it on when it seems like I’m about to do something noteworthy that might further the plot, you know?

ZACH: Like… making tea.

ARCHIVIST:

Yes, yes, I believe you’ve already expressed your opinions on tea, but some of us prefer it to that… grimy coffee that you seem so attached to.

ZACH:

(flustered and compensating, sputtering his words out) Well you can defend your tea all you want, but I am still objectively correct and everyone else definitely agrees with me too, even if the coffee pot goes missing once a week-

ARCHIVIST:

The coffee pot what?

ZACH:

(feeling like he shouldn’t have said that as it seems to have hurt his argument, starting slow and getting increasingly heated) I… it goes missing sometimes… and I haven’t figured out who keeps taking it yet, but trust me I will, and anyways in the meantime, it’s a bit inconsiderate of you to continue trash talking my drink choice-

Recorder clicks off.

Recorder clicks on.

ARCHIVIST:

God, I had to cut that conversation off… It was getting quite past the point of relevance to anyone listening. Pointless debate. So… back to what I was hired on to do, I suppose. (clearing their throat) For the consideration of Boston College: Jordyn Mackenzie’s encounter with an odd child in her parents’ neighborhood, and her request to be exempt from her midterms. No date, once again. [mutters] I am starting to question my predecessor’s competency when it came to filing these out. Her story begins:

[ACCOUNT START]

Every Wednesday night, I make the drive over to my parents’ house to have dinner. When I first moved into my dorm, I had stubbornly been forced into these dinners, as if they were ripping away my freedom so shortly after I had received it. As time went on, however, those Wednesday night dinners have become what I look forward to most. After a while, the glamour of college began to wear off, and I got homesick easily, even if my mother and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye. There’s something so comforting about being able to step away from the bustling atmosphere of campus, and go somewhere quiet, and familiar. We’ve lived in that house almost all my life, and even with all of the bad memories attached to it, I can’t help but think of all the good ones. Perhaps that’s because I always try to see the glass as half full.

(beat)

It’s not just the house I enjoy. My parents live in a small gated community, just about twenty minutes away from school. The houses are all fairly new, with that white picket fence quality to them. In spite of that, each house has its own personality and charm to it. My favorite is probably this blue one with rabbit figurines out front. There’s a park in the neighborhood, too. Not a fancy one, just some monkey bars, a couple of slides, and a grassy field, but it’s great for picnics. Though, in all my time living there, I’ve hardly seen any other children there. I just assumed there weren’t many young kids in the neighborhood.

(another beat)

Thus, you can imagine my surprise when I met this particular child. Now, after dinner each night, I go out on a walk around the neighborhood. It’s small enough to walk the whole span of it in less than half an hour. My father used to come with me, but he’s been having troubles with his knee, so now I walk alone. The weather this time of year is near perfect for a walk—cold enough for it to kiss your face and wake you up, but not enough to freeze to death.

ARCHIVIST:

(mutters) Good lord, spare me the bad poetry. Would love to get to the actual point soon. Anyways.

[ACCOUNT]

It was on one of these walks that I first encountered the kid.

ARCHIVIST:

(mutters) Thank you.

[ACCOUNT]

As I previously stated, there aren’t many kids in the neighborhood, so it took me by surprise to see a new face. He looked to be about seven or eight, with unkempt, dirty blond hair, and blue eyes that were almost unnaturally large on his face. He wore a basic white t-shirt and jean shorts, and sure, I liked the weather, but a kid dressed like that must have been freezing, right? He did not shiver, however, hardly even emoted. Just walked right down the center of the road, staring dead ahead, carrying a bright orange toy gun.

(beat)

Of course, I worried for the kid. Where were his parents? Why was he out so late by himself?

I called out to him. He looked up at me with a surprised look, as if he was shocked to see me actually speaking to him. I asked him what his name was, but he didn’t answer. I tried to ask him lots of things—where his house was, why he was out so late, if he needed help or if his parents were nearby. He wouldn’t respond to anything I said. Just stood there and stared intensely into my eyes. I have to admit, it made me a bit squeamish. Eventually, I just walked away, hoping that whoever was responsible for the kid knew where he was, and that he would make it home safely. I tried not to think about it too much after that. The following week, when I went to dinner, I didn’t go on a walk. My parents had decided they wanted to play a board game, and I was more than happy to comply. The event with the kid had left me feeling unsettled, so I was a bit wary of going on a walk regardless. After another week, however, I had finally gotten over it. I figured it was just one weird kid, nothing more. I mean, looking back, I couldn’t blame him for being scared to talk to a complete stranger. I mean I wasn’t even certain looking back that the expression on his face was all that disturbing. It likely had just been fear, right? Surely, his parents knew where he was, and he was simply out for a post-supper stroll like I was. It was a fairly safe neighborhood, after all. So, the next time I went to my parent’s house for dinner, I went on another walk. There was a slight breeze, but my body heats up as fast as an oven with the slightest bit of exercise, so I welcomed the blasts of cold on my skin. The leaves in the trees rustled, and combined with the sound of windchimes, it was like a symphony of nature’s design.

ARCHIVIST: dropping down papers

(frustrated) I thought I said no more poetic imagery, christ- oh good it ends.

[ACCOUNT]

It was lovely, up until it wasn’t. I saw the kid again, still standing in the middle of the road. He was wearing the exact same outfit as before, the shorts even having the exact same grass stains they did before. It was uncanny, sure, but I figured it was just a coincidence. This time, I harbored far less discomfort or worry. It was just a kid. What could he do to me?

(beat)

A lot, turns out. (stumbling through the sentence) A lot meaning… scare me, but you know what I mean.

Before I even opened my mouth, I realized he was staring dead at me. As if his doll-like eyes were drilling holes into my skull. The weight of being watched hit me like a freight train, but I tried my best to shake it off. I apologized to him for being so invasive the last time we met. Again, he didn’t answer, just continued staring. I wasn’t quite sure what to say after that. It would be hypocritical if I began asking him questions again, immediately after I had apologized for doing exactly that.

ARCHIVIST:

Not sure a child understands what hypocrisy is, but, if it lets you keep the moral high ground, Ms. Mackenzie.

[ACCOUNT]

I didn’t like the way he looked at me, though. My desperate need to fill the silence was an instinct of some kind. As I stood there, teetering back and forth on my heels as I tried to think of what to do next, something strange happened. The kid, still staring at me, slowly began to raise his arm. In his hand was the same toy gun as before. He raised the toy gun until it was pointing directly at my head. Well, what the hell was I supposed to do with that? I knew it wouldn’t actually hurt me if he fired it, yet I still found myself frozen in place.

That was when the car, driving far too fast for a neighborhood, came barreling around the corner. The kid didn’t move. Didn’t even look to see the car coming. My feet lept to action before I processed what I was doing. I ran out into the middle of the street and tackled the kid. We stumbled towards the sidewalk on the other side as I dragged him. The momentum knocked us to the ground. Pain surged through my shoulder and my hip, but I hardly processed it until later, when I saw the large bruises that had formed. We had just barely managed to clear the car’s path. The driver didn’t even stop to apologize, or check to see if we were okay. Didn’t even slow down. I didn’t get a good look at the driver’s face, or the license plate. All I remember is that the car was black and might have been a Honda. Wherever they are, I hope karma did a good deal on them for their reckless driving.

Before I could focus on my injuries, I checked to make sure the kid was okay. Other than a scrape on his knee, he appeared to be fine, but it was hard to say. Even after all of that, his expression still hadn’t changed. For some reason, this made me indescribably angry. How could you almost get hit by a car and then still act completely neutral? Regardless,if he was in any pain, there was no way I could tell. I offered to take him back to my place and clean up his knee, but he shook his head. I noticed he was staring intently over my shoulder. When I turned around, I realized his toy gun had been destroyed. Orange and yellow plastic bits covered the street, almost like broken glass. He stood up and walked towards the remains. As he picked up what used to be the trigger, his face was still blank, but if I looked closely enough, I could have sworn I saw something adjacent to sadness. Disappointment, perhaps. For the first time since I had met him, he opened his mouth, and—god, I wish I had stuck around long enough to learn more. I wish I had pressed harder, since I now knew he was actually capable of speech. Hearing what he said next chilled me, though. I can’t quite say why. All I know is that after he spoke, I got up and ran back to my house, never wanting to see that kid again. Do you want to know what he said? The only words I ever heard him speak? It was this, with no further details or elaboration: “He’s not going to be happy about this.”

Paper shuffling.

ARCHIVIST:

And that seems to be where it ends. Jordyn gave us the name of the neighborhood this took place in, as well as the exact street the incident happened. The problem is, as she stated, it’s a gated community, and none of our staff had a code to get in. It says here in an attached slip of paper labeled: Incident Report, (sighs) date not given, that they contacted the head of the community in an attempt to gain access, but the head of the home-owner’s association said to, quote, “shove it in a place the sun doesn't shine, you conspiracy theory creeps.” Luca writes here that there was an issue involving a cup of… tea… thrown at their face… what a waste.(mutters) Rich people.

Because of this, there’s not much we can do. Without a stated name for the kid, or any known relatives, it’s hard to try to track this kid down. Frankly, I don’t think Jordyn’s story is all that concerning, other than the incident with the car, which we also could not find due to her vague description.

(beat)

It’s likely the child she met was simply shy, or possibly processed his emotions in a different way than she was used to. Her university certainly agreed with me, since it seems she was not given her requested time off. Thus, as far as I can tell, this is another instance of someone making something deeper than it needs to be and then trying to get an extra vacation. I can’t blame her, I suppose, since nearly seeing a kid get run over would certainly be upsetting. It does appear that Oliver, our resident psychological consultant, did recommend her a therapist, but she never went.

(beat)

Trust me, Jordyn, I would love to take a break as well, but post-grad school is expensive, and I doubt Mr. Banks would give me paid time off even if something worthwhile were to happen. It’s the world we live in, I suppose. Gotta pay off the student loans one way or another. (sigh)

End recording.

Recorder click off.

CREDITS:

Incident Report Number 31 is a podcast made by Three-Eyed Frog Presents. This episode, “Secure,” was written, directed, and produced by Val West and Luka Miller with sound design by Luka Miller. This episode featured Val West as the Archivist and Kaleb Piper as Zach Baker. Music is produced by Luka Miller. To keep up with the show and find transcripts, make sure to follow us on our Twitter at @IR31Pod and on tumblr at @IncidentReport31. To contact us with any questions or concerns, feel free to email us at incidentreport31@gmail.com. Thanks so much for listening!

[neverdoingmuch]

I just really love Two Person Love Triangles and Identity Porn. So, maybe a You've Got Mail AU? Or a superhero AU when one of them falls for both the masked hero and the secret identity?

because i love both of these aus i’ve written both!! but they’re pretty long bc i wouldn’t be me if i didn’t plot out an entire fic so the superhero au is here. 

as for the you’ve got mail au, i went off and watched the movie for the first time and i am delighted by your taste anon,,, the au works so well!! 

(okay for some reason tumblr won’t let me indent my bullets so idk how to fix that so big rip)

so we have lan & sons books, a company that prides itself on providing cheap books for everyone to read. think less evil corporation and more we wanted to provide easily accessible books for all people and ended up getting really rich off it

mr lan dadman was meant to be in charge but he ran off and lqr stepped up until lxc was old enough to take over and now lqr just kinda assists lxc when he needs help and does some other work

lqr is definitely the old guy who had a letter thing with this one woman who was enchanting but instead he was chatting to cssr and she was shameless 

anyway lwj works as *random high up job that joe fox has* and his best work friend (and real friend) is jin zixuan

jin zixuan is the heir to some coffee franchise and the two families have a deal which is why you have the cafe inside the bookstores

we gonna give lwj some friends

as for wwx, his mother owned a bookstore, the burial mounds (why did she name it that?? idk she probably told bssr that she wanted to call it that as a joke and bssr tried to call her bluff so she ended up having to call it that a la suibian)

anyway he grew up with his mother and grandmother and they left the store to him (idk what happened to them?? maybe they just retired and are now travelling the world while wwx gets to have the bookstore)

now for the actual plot!!

lwj and wwx met on omegle an instant messaging site and now exchange emails. wwx goes by yiling patriarch and lwj goes by hanguang-jun bc we want that flavour

so they’ve been emailing for years and they never share any personal information - wwx knows that hgj has a pet rabbit but not hgj’s name or his job

as for the significant others?? idk let’s pretend they don’t exist. 

wwx’s best friend nhs, who writes a column for so-and-so, always just comes over to his place and now he’s semi moved in and wwx isnt really sure why he’s here but he is. 

lwj just vibes bc i can’t see him putting up with a patricia unless his uncle  forced him to. even then he’d probably just be ~mysteriously~ gone while she’s home

maybe he has a really annoying pa who thinks its his job to come over and like make him breakfast. it’s su she,, it has to be

so wwx goes into work one morning and wen ning is waiting outside as he always is, ready for him to open and then like ten minutes later wen qing comes in and lastly granny wen comes in

why do they work together?? idk?? granny wen and bssr were close and so the wens and wwx kinda grew up as siblings? yeah i like that let’s go with that

so when cssr decided to go travelling wwx gets left with her store and he kinda knows how to run it but also he doesn’t have enough staff so he ends up hiring the wens (except granny who’s mostly there just to hang out with her family)

bonus: a-yuan always come to the shop after school and wwx gets to recreate the childhood he had with his mother with a-yuan. when the store closes wwx and a-yuan just twirl and twirl until they get too dizzy to stand up and then they lay on the floor and discuss their favourite book they’ve read this week. it’s very sweet

okay so the next day lwj gets to babysit his cousin/uncle/nephew/idk-how-they’re-related-person lan jingyi who is like eight or something?

they go out and hang at a festival and lwj does not buy him a goldfish bc i was very stressed by the way they treated the goldfish in the movie but he does get him balloons and a stuffed toy and plays all the games with him

eventually they’re walking back and see that the small bookstore near the new lan bookstore is hosting a story time so they go inside 

lwj walks in and he’s immediately taken by the atmosphere of the store bc that place was absolutely beautiful and then he hears this voice and follows it around to the back of the store to see the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen in his life sitting on a kinda too small chair with a princess hat? cone? thing on top of his head

he’d planned to stay for like one story and then take jingyi home but he ends up staying for the entire book and it’s definitely not because the guy reading the book smiled at him once or twice

after the story time ends, lwj is reluctant to leave so he ends up letting jingyi pick a bunch of books and looks at a few fancy first edition books with wen qing

and maybe his mother used to love collecting books - the old ones with the yellowed pages and beautiful pictures - and that’s why lwj helps out with his family business,, bc he wants everyone to be able to have books like that (never mind that all their books are like mass produced and lack any sentimentality & the staff dont actually care about the books)

anyway he sees wwx help jingyi pick out books and lets him borrow his handkerchief when he sneezes and lwj’s like oh nooo he’s good with kids too so now he has to talk to him 

so he goes up to buy the books and wwx’s telling jingyi about how much he likes daisies and lwj just blurts out “can i ask what your name is?” and wwx blinks but then smiles and is like i’m wei wuxian, but you can call me wei ying, and i own this store. what about you? and lwj is like wangji, you can call me wangji

wen qing takes one look at lwj and the way he’s staring at wwx and goes you’re going to come back aren’t you and lwj is trying so hard not to just run away so he just ignores her but then she mentions something about lan books and he’s Panicking and jingyi almost says that he’s a lan and lwj just kinda guides him over to a table and then goes back to flirt talk with wwx

anyway wwx ends up going on this big tangent about books and what they mean to people and the whole when you read a book as a child it becomes a part of your identity and who you’re going to become the way nothing else does (and lwj remembers his mother and her books) and then he apologises for going on and lwj is mentally going marry me, but he ends up calling wwx and his mother shameless

but it’s okay!! wwx & cssr are proud of it!

and then yada yada lwj buys the kinda expensive books and ends up awkwardly shepherding jingyi out of the store 

cut to the next day when the lan book store opens properly and lwj ends up telling lqr about how he met wwx and lqr is like >:/ the son of that shameless woman,, how terrible,, it’s okay he won’t be a problem for long bc they’ll be driven out of business. which isn’t the response lwj wanted but lxc seems supportive enough if a bit concerned about how it would work with them as business enemies 

business is already bad for wwx and it’s barely been a week since the lan store opened and he’s pretty bummed out but hopeful that maybe it’s a fluke

then nhs invites him to some fancy dinner with him bc wei-xiong they’re all so boring and smart and have opinions, please don’t make me have opinions so wwx gets dragged along

he ends up talking to lwj at the bar bc how could he not talk to the man who’s standing in front of all that fancy alcohol and getting some fruit juice. (he’d get water but lwj has had to put up with su she all evening so he needs something stronger)

anyway they chat and it’s pleasant but then after wwx gets approached by someone who’s like wow im surprised you’re talking to lan wangji and wwx is like lan?!

cue their passive aggressive argument around the food table complete with caviar and a turkey knife. 

now bc it’s lan wangji,, instead of making scathing comebacks he just makes like factual and to-the-point statements that end up being really bitchy (or does he intend them to be that way? it’s a mix of both of them tbh but in this case he’s definitely being bitchy on purpose) and wwx is spluttering bc that boy does not stand up well against hot and mad people

nhs ends up coming over and defusing the situation but wwx makes a point of stealing the rest of the caviar off lwj’s plate before leaving 

lwj ends up ducking out early as well to avoid su she and emails wwx that night at like 9:45 bc the guilt of being so rude kept him up late and yllz is like oh no that’s so sad ): but impressive! i wish i could zing people,, my brain just turns off the second i need to make a comeback

creative liberties,, wwx is good at teasing but not being genuinely mean? lets go with that

anyway now we get the delightful montage of wwx hiding behind cheese displays and lwj walking out of coffee stores with a newspaper covering his face as they try to avoid each other

when wwx gets in the wrong line at the supermarket lwj comes over and kinda glares the checkout woman into submission and gets her to let wwx use his card which wwx is really conflicted about bc why would he help me?? and once again angry lwj = hot lwj

a few weeks later wwx ends up asking hgj for help bc business isn’t getting any better but refuses to give any details and i refuse to have lwj watch the godfather so lwj just straight up messages him and is like tear that bitch apart

and so wwx decides to tear that bitch apart and asks nhs for help. nhs, fan of the arts and small businesses and local culture, is 100% down for it and writes a scathing article about lan books and how they’re destroying all the aforementioned things nhs cares about

it ends up getting a lot of traction and people show up to protest and wwx even goes on television

lwj ends up seeing the news coverage on the matter while he’s at the gym with jzx

jzx is 100% the guy who goes to the gym just to apathetically walk on the treadmill while lwj jogs

he sees the interview with wwx and lwj is like he’s not this nice in real life and jzx is like you met him?? and lwj is like mn. then jzx is like i bet he’s not as hot and lwj is completely silent but his ears are bright red and that’s how jzx knows that wwx is just that hot

also?? lwj goes on tv and says like three words and he’s kinda annoyed how the news decided to spin that but he also said like three words so what did he expect?

but, despite all the publicity, sales don’t get any better so wwx is like fine can we meet in person and lwj is like sure

he brings jzx along bc he doesn’t know the way there, it’s not because he’s nervous and kind of in love with yllz, it’s because he doesn’t know how to get to the cafe. (it’s two blocks from his apartment)

anyway jzx is like oof man it’s seems like yllz is wwx but he is that hot so not all is lost and lwj is like yikes no not happening im not going in but he also feels bad about standing wwx up so he ends up going in and sitting down in front of wwx

and lwj is like wei wuxian, all this publicity will do nothing to save your business and wwx is like lan wangji who do you think you are (or however that scene goes) but instead of lwj being asked to leave wwx decides he’s not gonna chicken out first so they end up spending like two hours having the most aggressive cup of coffee and chat he’s ever had

lwj is exhausted but he also refuses to give up

but then wwx spits something about how lwj is some cold, heartless suit who doesn’t actually care about or appreciate books so how can he possibly dare to think that he’s better than wwx and that hurts bc lwj had thought that he’d been doing exactly that so he leaves

anyway the next morning wwx is moping around the bookstore bc he didn’t get stood up, he swears. am i not cute enough he moans to wen qing and she’s like your hgj doesn’t know what you look like. but what about my personality? is that cute enough? and wen qing eventually manages to grit out that yes it is cute enough

wen ning comes in and is like are you okay? you got stood up? that’s good! your date might have been the rooftop killer xue yang! he got caught last night! and wwx is like i wish, i just got stood up like a chump

so they ignore each other for a few weeks bc wwx is very hurt and lwj doesn’t know what he’s going to say but wwx ends up caving and emails hgj about how guilty he feels and how even though wwx probably means nothing to lwj, he’s worried that maybe he did hurt lwj and also please hgj i still want to talk to you

now hgj never says a lot, he’s always really succinct and direct but this time he takes the time to write a proper apology. it’s not an explanation bc he doesn’t want to give this up, even if the yllz he thinks he loves is the wwx that he hates, but it is an apology

the next day wwx goes to lunch with granny wen and finally dares to ask her whether it would be okay to shut the store down. he doesn’t want, of course he doesn’t want to, but he doesn’t think he can afford to keep it open. granny just tells him that it’s okay and that if the time has come, the time has come

we don’t have to worry about wwx breaking up with anyone, so he just goes home and asks nhs if he can have some space and nhs quickly packs his stuff and goes home. as he stands in the doorway with his last box of stuff he tells wwx that he’s sorry and wishes he could help more and wwx sends him this tremulous smile but manages to hold it together until nhs leaves and then he cries and cries 

the next day he goes back to work and tries to stay bubbly and cheery even as he sees all of his shelves slowly being emptied and people who haven’t stepped foot in his store in six months are telling him what a shame it is and how they wish it didnt have to come to this and wwx is internally screaming

he manages to stave off any actual screaming but when he closes up that day he ends up going to the children’s section of lan bookstore and just as he had thought, none of the staff care about the books, none of them know any books and he ends up recommending a series to some young mother

lwj, who’d spotted wwx and come over to see if whether he was here to pick a fight, comes to the awful realisation that maybe wwx is right about his store lacking heart

he goes home that night and su she tags along even though lwj just wants space and the elevator breaks. he’s sitting there on the ground listening to his neighbour talk about reconnecting with family and the elevator button pressing dude talks about getting engaged and su she is just there whining about his job and the inconvenience and lwj goes fuck this. when the elevator starts working again he grabs his rabbit and goes back down to the ground floor, ignores su she’s shouts, and goes back to his childhood home

wwx gets stuck closing his store down. he looks around at the shelves and tables he’d grown up with and sees his childhood and a-yuan’s and countless moments he’s had with people he’s loved and realises he’s going to lose it all forever. he grabs the bell, the last thing he has left of the store and closes up for the very last time

in the meantime, lwj is living the high life. he hangs out with his bunny, gets to read pride and prejudice for fun and actually manages to get all the way through it and then his brother comes to visit

apparently he’d broken up with jgy bc he was gold digger-esque and had decided to run off with someone richer and lwj is like oh thats so sad ): anyway nmj is right there and he fills your heart with joy and lxc is like have you ever had someone like that? and lwj immediately thinks of wwx and is like fuck

his first order of business is to buy wwx’s shop bc it broke my heart that she didn’t get it back in the og movie and he starts filling it with books again. he buys ten copies of his mother’s favourite books and places them on the shelf by the door and then he sees a book that reminds him of jingyi so gets some of them and he sees a book covered in daisies and thinks of wwx. and slowly, slowly he’s building up his own library, his own store, and this time every single book means something and for once lwj looks out across the floor with pride and satisfaction

his second order of business is to apologise to wwx for being a dick. he buys some daisies and goes to his place and comes in and cooks soup for wwx. lwj apologises and tells him it wasn’t personal and wwx is like that’s not true, it was personal to me and it’s personal to a lot of people and lwj understands that now. he remembers the way he’d filled wwx’s store and left his own touch and bared his heart through each of those books and he understands. he doesn’t actually say this and just tells wwx that he wants to be friends 

lwj considers coming clean about being hgj but he knows now that he definitely loves wwx and knows that wwx currently hates him but damn is it hard not to say anything when wwx is telling him how much he loves hgj

anyway he’s like organise a meeting again with hgj 

i’d say it’s ooc for lwj not to come clean but this is the man who pined for x decades and just didnt tell wwx that his son was alive so like not ooc at all

so lwj decides he’s going to woo wwx as best as he can and organises to meet up with yllz and then goes and meets with wwx and they end up going to hang out and for some strange reason, even though wwx keeps getting stood up, he doesn’t seem to care too much. he keeps agreeing to meet hgj and when he doesn’t show is more than happy to spend the rest of his day with lwj

and slowly, they start to get closer. wwx takes a sip of lwj’s coffee and lwj buys him daisies. wwx brings him an interesting book and lwj tells him about his mother. they chat freely about hgj and lwj is happy for the first time in a long time

eventually lwj organises the final meeting. wwx is really confused about the place he picked but he’s hopeful that maybe this time hgj will show. after wwx and lwj’s farmers market date ends, lwj ends up asking wwx if he could love lwj and wwx is like you put me in such an uncomfortable situation. ie stammering and blushing and eventually going oh no ill be late and running off

anyway a couple hours later wwx finds himself standing outside his old bookstore and he refuses to look at it bc he doesn’t want to see what it’s become but then, through the open door of the store, a bunny hops out and over to wwx

lwj comes running out after it calling out its name (bichen?? flopsy?? rabbit?? one of them) and wwx looks up and is like oh,, it’s you, i’d hoped it was you and he’s all teary and lwj has a handkerchief that he’d embroidered himself (with gentians of course) and he’s like dont cry yllz and then they kiss and it’s beautiful

bonus: lwj takes wwx inside the store and shows him everything and explains the meaning behind every book that they’ve picked and then wwx does cry for real bc there is definitely an entire two walls dedicated just to wwx

do they open the store as a bookstore again and work together? does wwx end up writing books?? idk up to you. i like the idea that they open the store for story time and sell children’s books but lwj still works with lan & sons to get some heart in their stores and wwx works on his own books in his spare time

[365days365movies]

January 14, 2021: GoldenEye (1995) (Part 1)

He’s suave. He’s sophisticated. He’s spy. He’s...

The late, great Sean Connery. 

Ignoring the less then savory aspects of his personality (AKA the Barbara Walters interview...both of them), Connery is undoubtedly the most famous Scottish actor of all time. Sorry, Whovians, I love David Tennant, too. But Connery’s got him beat. He’s been in so many iconic films and roles, his influence is undeniable. But most famous of all is his turn as Agent 007, the man himself, James Bond.

I’ve seen all of Connery’s original Bond films (not counting Never Say Never Again), and my favorite is Goldfinger, in case you were wondering. But outside of that...I haven’t seen any Bond movies. Since him, the character’s been played by David Niven, George Lazenby (now THAT’S an interesting story, lemme tell you), Roger Moore, Timothy Dalton, and the two I’ll be looking at this month: Pierce Brosnan and Daniel Craig.

I’ll be looking at Brosnan tomorrow, in Casino Royale. But today, I’m looking at arguably the third most-famous Bond, Pierce Brosnan, in one of the most famous modern Bond movies, GoldenEye.

Also, yeah, never played the game I KNOW IT WAS A ‘90S CLASSIC I WASN’T ALLOWED TO HAVE VIDEO GAMES. 

So, what to expect from a Bond film? Well, I’ve got a checklist here, hold on...HERE we go:

Gadgets

Girls

Good-for-Nothings

...Good music?

I’m feeling a little alliterative of late. But, yeah, looking for the Bond Girl, looking for cool gadgets, looking for dastardly villains, and listening for the theme song for the film. Got my list set, and expectations are set to Connery levels. Let’s do this, shall we?

Recap

We start at a dam in Russia. Bond James Bond (Pierce Brosnan) is infiltrating the dam, and we get our gadgets checked off right away, as he whips out an acetylene torch. He barges in on a guy in the bathroom (rude, and awkward), then meets up with Alec, AKA Agent 006 (Sean “he dies, he’s the villain, or he’s the villain who dies” Bean).

Yeah, calling it now, Alec here’s gonna die, or he’s the villain, or he’s the villain who’s gonna die. It’s Sean Bean. More importantly, it’s Sean Bean in the ‘90s. There are very few options for him. Anyway, the Russians try to stop them from blowing up the plant, and...well, Alec’s being held hostage. Yyyyyyup. And he gets shot?

I don’t know how...but I’m betting that he’s still the villain. He’s Sean Bean. C’mon. He doesn’t die this early in a movie.

The unambiguously evil Russian general (hey, the Cold War just ended) almost get Bond, but he escapes in typical Bond fashion. They chase after him, and Bond chases an airplane. How, do you ask? I WILL FUCKING SHOW YOU HOW.

WHAT??? WHAT??? Physics just broke, and Issac Newton just tunneled to China. And then the facility blows up.

And THEN the opening begins. Let’s hear the Bond song and check out the opening.

...WOW. Just...I mean...OK, so Bond songs. From the first Bond movie, Dr. No, up until the one before this one, Licence to Kill, the intros were designed and directed by Maurice Binder. They were all composed of silhouetted women, often against colorful backgrounds, and almost always nude or skimpily dressed. There would often be themes or objects seen in the film itself, and sometimes actual scenes, often projected onto women themselves. They all definitely had a similar feel and style. And then, Binder sadly passed away in 1991.

Enter Daniel Kleinman. This is Kleinman’s first take, and this is also the first movie to use CGI. While it’s not terribly obvious or gaudy in the film proper, Kleinman uses this new technology to make this intro SURREAL AS HELL. It expresses the film’s connection to the fall of Soviet Russia, and a post-Cold War society. And is does that in a pretty obvious, if abstract and dramatic, manner. And honestly, on retospect...yeah. It definitely works. Even the song, which is sung by Tina Turner and written by Bono (yes, really), works well by itself, and in my opinion, better when with the actual film. So, crazy and weird as this sequence it...kinda grew on me. I like it! Weird, but I like it a lot.

We cut to nine years later, with Bond taking a woman on a drive/race on a cliffside highway with...well, there’s our Bond girl! This is Famke Jannsen, playing...Xenia Onatopp.

Yes. Really. Oh boy. We aren’t being even slightly subtle about this, huh.

The woman in the car demands him to stop, and they make out, as one would expect. That night, he heads to a party, as James Bond does. At the party, James enters a card game with Xenia. Again...as James Bond does. This is immediately followed by him hitting on Xenia, ordering a vodka martini (shaken not stirred), introducing himself as “Bond, James Bond,” commenting on the Bond Girl’s name, and saying suave shit. 

HOLY SHIT THAT SENTENCE ALONE HAPPENED WITHIN 1 MINUTE OF SCREEN TIME

Look, movie, when you got a Bond...you gotta space that shit out. Ration it a little bit, not front load all of it WITHIN FIVE MINUTES AFTER THE OPENING’S FINISHED. It’s like giving someone a beer, and then they EAT THE FRIDGE.

Jesus. OK, Miss Moneypenny (Samantha...Bond, that’s neat!) gives Bond some information, tells him not to have sex with Xenia until they tell him to (yes, really), and then say’s that she trusts he’ll say…”On-a-Topp of things.”

YES. REALLY.

Speaking of Xenia, she’s with an Admiral, having the most TERRIFYING sex I’ve ever seen in a movie. And I’m legit not sure if he survived after it. Like, real talk, it was...frightening. Somebody steals his ID, real nonchalant like, and we cut to the next morning, after his maybe-death? James makes it onto the yacht the next morning (they were on a yacht, by the way), planning on getting some information.

Meanwhile, the ID is used by...someone...to get into a leader of global military leaders. Pretty sure the Admiral got Kegel’d to death; not even joking, it’s a real possibility, and I am shaken AND stirred. And so was the Admiral.

See? Toldja.

Looks like their unveiling a new tactical helicopter, the Tiger. However, the pilots are shot by Xenia and someone else, and they take their place, stealing the helicopter. Bond tries to stop it...even though there’s literally no way he could’ve known they were going to steal the helicopter? I mean, I guess you could assume that, but...I dunno, it’s a stretch.

Meanwhile, in Siberia, a group of radar analysts or some such, where we meet Boris (Alan Cumming, who I feel like I never see play an actual Welsh person...or in a good movie) and Natalya (Izabella Scorupco). Boris is a thirsty computer nerd who hacks the US government for fun (because ‘90s nerds in movies were basically only this), and Natalya puts up with him.

The Tiger helicopter arrives, carrying Xenia and the General (Gottfried John, by the way) from the dam 9 years ago. They show up here, seeking something. Xenia shoots up the place, killing everybody except Natalya (and maybe Boris, since we didn’t see him die). Xenia, by the way, appears to be a straight sadist, enjoying inflicting pain on unsuspecting victims. The two leave, getting what they came for.

London! James Bond returns to MI6 headquarters, and meets his secretary Miss Moneypenny, who calls him the fuck OUT. She is my favorite character now.

MI6 has intercepted a distress call from the station in Siberia, and found the helicopter. The mission is heard by both Bond and M (Dame Judi Dench herself, pre-Cats). Meanwhile, the base in Siberia is hit an electromagnetic pulse originating from an orbiting satellite, which causes EVERYTHING to explode. Pretty sure that’s not what EMPs do, but why not? Suspension of disbelief. 

Natalya’s still alive in there, by the way. And she’s not having a great day. You know those work days, right? Your coworkers are all dead, your equipment and office space explode, you’re trapped in a burning building, two American jets get hit by an EMP and crash into the building. Mondays, amirite?

And in case literally everything didn’t make it clear by now, this is a Cold War movie, taking place after the Cold War was concluded. See, the McGuffin for this film (it’s a Bond film, it’s kind of a requirement) is Project GoldenEye, a nuclear weapon meant to detonate in the upper atmosphere, creating an EMP. The weapon was developed during the Cold War, and has now been stolen by the Janus Crime Syndicate, whose heads include Xenia Onatopp. General Ourmunov is also suspected to be a part of it.

This information all comes out during an exposition speech, as is standard for a Bond movie. But after that speech...OH...OH, it’s so good. See, up until now, Miss Moneypenny was really the only major female recurring supporting character in Bond’s life. But we’ve flipped the script, having M played by Dame Judi Dench. And lemme tell ya...what follows is Dench REAMING BOND THE FUCK OUT. And it’s glorious.

Mind changed, M is now my favorite character. She tells him what’s what, then gives him his mission: get GoldenEye back.

We finally get our big gadgets showcase, as we see...Q (Desmond Llewelyn)! First introduced in From Russia With Love in 1963, Q is the MI6’s spy gadget man, and has been played by Llewelyn since then! He’s the only remaining cast member from the original Connery films, and it’s awesome to see him here! He’s been in more James Bond movies than anyone else, at 17. Sadly, he died in 1999, but it’s still cool to see him! We get cool gadgets, of course, including a pen grenade, a car with missiles behind the headlights, a leather belt with a grapple, a LOT of shit in the background, and a missile hidden in a leg cast and wheelchair. This is such a funny sequence, and absolutely the best scene in the movie so far, holy shit. More of THAT, please.

Meanwhile, in St. Petersburg, the General finds out that Natalya is alive, as well as Boris being missing. Calling it now, he’s been taken by Janus, or he’s working with them. Bond arrives and meets up with CIA Agent Jack Wade (Joe Don Baker), whom I also really like. He’s had enough of Bond’s spy bullshit, and he cuts to the point. He also identifies himself by showing a rose tattoo with the name of his ex-wife, Muffy. Yes, really.

Bond meets up with a Russian gangster whom he has a...pre-existing relationship with. Apparently, he shot him in the knee, then slept with his wife. You stay classy, Jimmy. You stay classy. This man is Valentin Zukovsky (Robbie Coltrane), an ex-KGB agent and current gang leader. He tells him that the head of Janus is descended from Cossacks, a group of Russians that worked for the Nazis in World War II.

Natalya finds a way to contact Boris over the internet, who tells her to trust no one, and sets up a meeting with her at a church. This is, of course, a trap, as Boris is working with Janus. Xenia, for her part as a Bond Girl, does her duty and finds James to have sex with. Xenia, it should be noted, is ABSOLUTELY THE FREAKIEST of the Bond Girls. Like, Goddamn is she kinky, you have no idea. Like...is this sex or a fight scene? The film genuinely can’t decide.

Bond forces Xenia to take him to the head of Janus, who’s in a Soviet statuary of some kind. And who’s waiting there but…

Yup. Called it.

See you (and Sean “died, but didn’t die, and is a villain, but is still gonna die” Bean) in Part 2!

[zackcollins]

when you cry, i cry with you || b.bichette/c. biggio

Author’s Note: I'm back with another fic about these two! This is my way of coping with the fact that they got knocked out of the playoffs. Everyone's got there ways of coping and apparently mine is to write fanfiction. GIF credit to austonandersen!

Warnings: I don’t know if this is really a warning but I’ll include it here just to be safe. I watched an interview that Cavan did and an interview that Bo did to help myself cope a little as well. I realized something about Cavan after watching his interview. He acts and talks very similarly to the way I act and talk. Maybe I'm projecting, but it felt nice to see myself in someone like him. I hope I did a well enough job trying to portray that into his characterization for this fic. I may have the issue I was trying to characterize but I've never been the best at portraying my own issues onto characters. Let me know if I can improve anything!

Word Count: 1.2k+

Title: Cry With You by Hunter Hayes

Additional: If you found this by Googling yourself, are in this yourself, or know someone in this, please click back. No harm was meant in the creation of this fic. It's fictional and purely as way to help me, and anyone else that needs it, cope with the unceremonious end to the season. Everything aside, I hope you enjoy this!

Cavan felt defeated. He had worked his entire career to make it to the postseason in the Major Leagues only for it to end so abruptly. All he wanted to do was cry.

 When the team made it back to their hotel, Cavan was barely inside the elevator before tears started to prickle the corners of his eyes. Randal, Joe, Travis, and Lourdes were in the elevator with Cavan and all of them seemed too engrossed in their cellphones to notice the tear stains on Cavan’s cheeks. Cavan was extremely grateful for that. He was in no mood to discuss how he was feeling.

 As soon as the elevator opened onto the team’s floor, Cavan pushed his way through his teammates. Randal grunted but didn’t say anything in protest. Cavan apologized anyways before hurrying off down the hallway towards his room.

 Cavan fumbled his keycard a few times before he finally tapped it against the card reader. When the indicator turned green, Cavan swung the door open and entered the room. He barely made it beyond the entryway before he collapsed onto the sofa and started sobbing.

 He laid on the sofa, sobbing until his head began to ache. When he sat up after what felt like an eternity, his head began to spin. Cavan had to grip the armrest to keep from falling face-first onto the carpet.

 “Hey.”

 Cavan startled at the voice. He hadn’t heard anyone else enter the room. He didn’t even know anyone else had a keycard.

 “Bo.” Cavan raised an eyebrow when he saw who was in the room. “Where did you come from?”

 “Next door.” Bo motioned to the wall behind him. “I opened the connecting door when I heard you crying. I wanted to see if you were alright, man.”

 Bo stood from the chair and walked over to sit beside Cavan on the sofa. He made a move to grab Cavan’s hand, but Cavan recoiled it.

 “Not…” Cavan sighed. “Not right now.”

 “Sensory overload from everything that’s happened tonight?”

 Cavan nodded, running his hands along his thighs. After a moment, he tapped his fingers against his knees before folding his arms in his lap.

 “My brain is on max capacity,” Cavan said, bringing a hand up and knocking it against his temple. “And I’m not sure what to do to turn it off.”

 “Netflix,” Bo said, standing and walking towards Cavan’s suitcase.

 He pulled out Cavan’s laptop and set it up on the coffee table in front of the sofa before sitting back down beside Cavan. When Cavan saw that Bo had selected Atypical as the show, he smiled.

 “Thank you,” Cavan mumbled. “This is my favourite show. I like—“

 “I know, man. You like Sam because he’s a lot like you,” Bo said, chuckling.

 “Oh. How many times have I told you that?”

 “Several. But it doesn’t bother me. It makes me happy to see you excited about things.”

 Cavan blushed, smiling softly as he focused on the laptop screen.

 The longer they sat and watched the show, the more relaxed Cavan was starting to feel. The stress of not being good enough at the plate. The stress of losing the game. The stress of being knocked out of the playoffs. The stress of being knocked out of the playoffs so early. The stress of being knocked out of the Major League playoffs for the first time in his career. The stress of the circumstances surrounding the season. It was all decompressing from his brain as he sat here and watched Atypical with Bo. This show always helped him calm down from any sort of stress. It helped him feel like he deserved to be in the Major Leagues because people like him were just as important as people that weren’t like him.

 Since Cavan was starting to decompress, he had started inching closer and closer to Bo on the sofa. He was ready to cuddle Bo but Cavan wanted to ease himself into it to be on the safe side.

 When Cavan finally dropped his head against Bo’s shoulder, Bo didn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around Cavan. Bo pulled Cavan closer, bringing Cavan’s hand up and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

 “Your brain finally shut off, huh,” Bo said, not looking away from the laptop.

 “Yeah,” Cavan replied. “Thank you for coming over and checking on me, Bo. I appreciate it.”

 “I’m your boyfriend, man. It’s my job to make sure that you’re alright.”

 Cavan hummed, pressing a kiss to the underside of Bo’s chin. Bo chuckled and ran a hand through Cavan’s hair. Cavan smiled and placed his hand on Bo’s chest.

 “You know that I love you, right,” Cavan said looking up at Bo.

 Cavan felt Bo’s heartbeat pick up underneath his hand. Cavan felt his brain start to fill with anxiety again, unsure if that reaction was positive or negative.

 When Bo didn’t say anything, Cavan felt tears prickle the corners of his eyes. He made to move off of Bo’s shoulder but Bo grabbed Cavan’s head and held Cavan in place. Cavan had tears in his eyes as he glanced up at Bo.

 Bo ran his fingers through Cavan’s hair softly, holding his other hand on top of the hand that Cavan had over Bo’s heart. Cavan felt his brain relax, anxiety starting to wash away.

 After a few minutes of running his fingers through Cavan’s hair, Bo pressed a soft kiss to the top of Cavan’s head. He whispered a few words that Cavan couldn’t understand before he lifted Cavan’s head so they were looking at each other in the eyes.

 Cavan blinked when he saw tear stains on Bo’s cheeks. He reached out and wiped them away. Bo hummed, leaning into the touch. Cavan kissed Bo’s forehead, brushing a piece of hair out of his face.

 “Yes, I knew,” Bo said. “For ages.”

 “Why’re you crying, then,” Cavan asked, grabbing Bo’s hands and rubbing the pulse points on his wrists.

 “You’re not very good with emotions, so it feels nice to hear you say it.”

 Instead of replying, Cavan leaned forward and pressed his lips to Bo’s. Bo hummed, kissing back almost immediately. Bo brought his hands up to cup Cavan’s face and Cavan brought his hands down to grip Bo’s shoulders.

 They kissed for what felt like forever before they pulled back, panting and gasping for air. Bo brushed some hair out of Cavan’s face and Cavan brushed some hair out of Bo’s face.

 Bo kissed Cavan’s forehead before he draped his arm around Cavan and pulled Cavan’s head down against his chest. Cavan hummed when he felt Bo’s heartbeat against his temple.

 “This feels nice,” Cavan mumbled.

 Bo replied by running his fingers through Cavan’s hair, gently massaging Cavan’s scalp as he went. Cavan sighed happily, closing his eyes at the feeling.

 The longer Bo continued his actions, the sleepier Cavan was becoming. He let out a soft yawn, wiggling closer to Bo.

 “Go to sleep, man,” Bo said. “I don’t mind.”

 Cavan nodded as best he could given his current position.

 It was only a few moments later that Cavan felt himself drifting off to sleep. The last thing his conscious brain registered was Bo mumbling softly into his hair.

 “You know that I love you, too, right, man?”