#but he should’ve gone to law school and passed the bar the way everyone else does
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scottieharveys · 2 years ago
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so you’re telling me mike couldn’t go to law school because he got expelled from a college for selling a test to the dean’s daughter, but he could pass the bar and practice law as a licensed lawyer, without going to law school, after not only defrauding the law but also being condemned to prison for it? okay then 🤷🏻‍♀️
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keanureevesisbae · 5 years ago
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“Never out of practice” - Chapter 5
Summary: When Darcie’s father loses an important case, a killer seeks revenge, by kidnapping the entire Angel family. Though John thought that he was officially retired, he has to save his Darcie and her family, because he can’t lose her.
John Wick x OFC Darcie
Word count: 1.8k
Warnings: violence
Masterlist // Previous Chapter // Next chapter 
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Why is my back hurting like hell? I’m flat on my stomach, but manage to push myself up. When I open my eyes, I don’t recognize my surroundings.
Where am I anyways? What happened? But I don’t have to think about for a long time, before I remember exactly what happened.
Pete Stanford took me. When I look around me, I don’t see anyone else. My hands are tied together with zip ties and they cut in my skin. I stand up, but since my legs are wobbly, I slam against the concrete wall with my shoulder as I lose my balance.
John must be so worried, I think to myself. I can’t imagine what the cafe looked like when he finally arrived. He was too late. Or I didn’t stall long enough.
Oh my God, if John doesn’t find me, I know my parents and I are going to die today. We all know that Pete Stanford murdered Whitney Bell. We all know that he mutilated her body, dumping her out in the open. Everyone who kept track of this case knows that.
And now my parents and I are probably next.
If he didn’t kill my parents already.
There is no way I can escape, I realize, looking around me. There are no windows in the tiny room where I woke up. Only a door, that I can’t look from the inside. The small light bulb on the ceiling that make it a little bit more clear that I really can’t escape.
I try to wiggle my wrists out of the zip ties, but obviously the battle me vs zip ties is a battle that I’m destined to lose. I wish John was here to help me. I just wish that John was here, so he could wrap his arms around me and tell me that I’m okay. I just wish that I could give Tiki and Oreo one last kiss. I so desperately want Raye to make fun of me and Jennie to hug me.
I hear a scream and I think that it’s my mom. Oh my God, my parents. What are they doing to her?
A door opens and I look into the eyes of the man who threw me against the wall. He walks up to me and grabs me by my hair. I wince when he harshly tugs the strands. He takes larger steps than me, so I practically have to run to keep up with him. The man throws me on the floor and I manage to break my fall on the hard floor.
I see my mom, her hands tied in front of her and her face blotched with red spots and my father with a piece of ducttape over his mouth, his arms tied against a pipe above his head. ‘Mom? Dad?’ I manage to choke out. I want to push myself up, but I feel a foot on my back, preventing me from breathing practically.
‘Princess,’ Pete Stanford says, ‘did you know that your dad ruined my life?’
‘No,’ I say, thinking that he wants me to talk to me. It somehow helped a bit in the cafe, so I figure it will help now. And maybe I can stall the moment of my murder and hopefully give John a little bit more time to find me.
If he manages to find me of course.
‘Well,’ he says, releasing his foot off my back and he gently pulls me up my shoulder. He almost seems like he cares, but when he shows me the knife, slowly grazing my jaw, I remember all too well what kind of man he is. ‘Did you see that interview today?’
I shake my head. ‘I was working all day.’
Pete brings his face way too close to mine. I can smell the liquor he has had, but I don’t turn my face away. I don’t want to upset him even more.
‘What was it about?’ I ask. ‘What did he say?’
‘About how I should be put away for life and he’ll make sure I’ll be behind bars forever.’
I have watched enough Investigation ID during my true crime fascination in college, to know that the last thing I need to do right now is to make him even angrier. He already hates my dad’s guts, I don’t think he is such a great fan of my mom, since she’s a lawyer too, but I’m not part of that world. I simply own a cafe.
I’m just a girl whose boyfriend was a former assassin and is currently praying that he will find her.
‘But,’ I say, swallowing hard, hoping he can’t see through my nerves, ‘you’re a free man. You were innocent according to the jury.’
Pete chuckles. ‘Right,’ he says. ‘You’re the only one who understands. Maybe you should’ve gone to law school.’
The knife is still dangerously close near my throat. ‘Wasn’t smart enough for that,’ I quietly say, trying so hard not to make eye contact with my parents, because I know once I’ll see them, I’ll do something stupid.
‘But I listened well to what you said. You said that I was innocent according to the jury. Do you want to know how I murdered her?’
Oh dear Lord, please no! ‘Who?’
‘Whitney.’ He lifts his shoulders in disbelieve, like he can’t believe I asked that question. ‘Because I did it.’
‘Oh.’
‘And I really want to tell you and you know why?’
I shake my head.
‘Because for one, you’re the only one of this family that I somehow can’t despise.’ I think that is a good thing? ‘And I’m going to do the exact same things to you, while your parents watch,’—he wraps his hand around my throat, slightly squeezing, blocking the blood flow to my brain a little—‘how I kill their daughter.’
I’ve been acting “strong” for too long, because I start to cry. ‘No, please, I don’t want to die. I just want to go home.’
Pete opens his mouth to tell me something, but I hear deafening gunshots that echo in the empty space. I duck down, trying to cover my head with my arms, while I let out a scream. I look through my arms, to see my parents, my mom seeking cover and my dad closing his eyes. The men that took me from the cafe pull their gun, but before they can fire, they drop to the floor.
Pete pulls me up and wraps his arm around my neck, holding me up as a shield. I stand on my toes, while I hold his forearm with my hands. Tears are streaming down my eyes, but between the tears, I see a blurry image of my boyfriend.
John found me. He points his gun to us. ‘Let her go,’ John says in a low and dangerous voice.
Pete pulls out his knife and holds it near my face.
A cry leaves my lips, as I start to feel lightheaded. To make things even worse, he puts more pressure on my throat. My legs grow tired of standing on my toes, trying to keep my balance.
‘Let her go,’ John says again.
Pete hides himself behind me. I believed John when he said that he was quite legendary back in the day, but I know that even the best assassin can’t make that shot. ‘And why on earth would I do that?’
Seconds pass where John doesn’t say anything. His eyes are focussed on me. Everything that we’ve been through, I see it all passing by. His shy chuckle, where he would bring his hand to his mouth to cover it up. His warm embraces, when I need them when I’m sad, extra happy to see him or just really stressing out over work and all the paperwork. His smile when he catches my eye when I’m working.
The conversations he has with the high school kids, inviting them over to sit at his table. His love for Tiki and Oreo, how he tucks them underneath a blanket when they are sleeping. How he holds stuff above his head, so I can’t reach them when I really need it. How he always opens the door for me, no matter which one. He still takes off his jacket when I need to get out of the car and wear a short skirt or dress.
God, all the things he did for me… He did find me, but what if he can’t save me? Well, at least he can save my parents.
John points his gun to a point above us. When he shoots, I yelp of the loud sound. Pete starts to laugh. ‘I’m impressed,’ he tells him in a sarcastic tone.
I hear something, but I can’t really place it. But before I know it, I’m being pushed forward with such a force. Pete releases his grip on me and I topple over the floor. I open my eyes, to see Pete laying on the floor, but I see a flash in front of my eyes and hear a loud gunshot. I let out a scream when I see that Pete is bleeding from his forehead, but I feel two strong and familiar hands on my arms.
‘Darcie,’ John says in such a soft voice, that it’s hard to believe that he just killed a couple of guys, ‘I’m here. Don’t look at that.’ He pulls me up and engulfs me in his arms. His fingers go through my hair and then I let it all out. ‘I’ve got you, sweetheart,’ he whispers in my ear.
‘I thought I was gonna die,’ I mumble against his neck, his hard bullet proof vest not giving me access to his soft shirt.
‘Not on my watch,’ he says, kissing my wet cheek. He holds onto my face and gives me a long kiss on my lips. ‘God, I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost you, baby.’
John lets go of me and pulls out a knife. He frees my wrists from the restraints and kisses them tenderly. He stands up to help my parents, but he holds out his hand for me to take. Since I don’t want to leave his side anymore, knowing that I’m the safest when I’m with him, I eagerly hold onto his hand and walk behind him. I stare at a long wooden beam that is still attached to the ceiling, but cracks every time it swings a bit. That must’ve been what John shot at, that must’ve been what launched both me and Pete to the front.
John cuts through the zip ties and when he checks out my moms wrist, he says: ‘We should get that checked.’
He stands up and pulls out a card. He brings his phone to his ear, but then he wraps an arm around my frame. I close my eyes, while I hear him say: ‘This is Wick. I’d like to make a dinner reservation for six on behave of the Continental.’
Taglist: @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @flhorah​ @allie1804-fan @cynic-spirit​ @raven-black102
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katsukiboom · 5 years ago
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Our Turn - KiriBaku
this was just something i wrote for fun, please do let me know if you guys liked it ^^ i had wanted to write something about kiribaku for a long time and this seemed like the perfect idea to use!
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Just who do you think you are?
Crimson eyes locked onto the back of his so-called best friend walking in front of him, Bakugou strolled quietly into the first class of the day, Psychology – the room was half full already, murmurs filling the silence that would’ve otherwise been soothing to his mind, but the headache that tormented him that morning wouldn’t have gone away just like that. He wasn’t entirely sure if he felt good enough to have actually left his room, but he kept reminding himself he had to endure it if he wanted to pass the upcoming tests.
It was their second year of college and Bakugou along with his squad (or part of it at least, as only Kirishima and Sero had made it into the major with him) were now studying to grasp most of the things about heroes that they couldn’t learn at school, most of it being how to deal with the aftermath of fights, medicine, and even laws so they could properly carry their duties. It was exhausting but having his friends around made it lighter, even if he didn’t admit it out loud and even when they liked to party every now and then; they claimed it would be dishonourable to go to college without going out to bars or even have some fun nights at the dorms, but all Bakugou wanted to do was study and get things over with.
That was until Kirishima invited him to one of their gatherings, and Bakugou just couldn’t say no to him.
It was one of those things he’d never tell anyone even if they threatened him – the way Kirishima’s soft personality made him feel, or the countless dreams he’d had in which he’d be only inches apart from him, or even how his heart fluttered every time the self-proclaimed manliest guy in all the campus did so much as put his arm on Bakugou’s shoulders. He’d always push him away or just grunt at the interactions, but deep down he knew just how much he loved them ever since he did that back in high school. That was partly the reason why he had accepted to go despite everyone else’s be on whether he’d do it or not, the other part being his own boredom now reaching sky-high levels.
He regretted it almost as soon as, in the middle of the night, five or four people started to play a dumb round of spin the bottle with an empty Sake bottle and Kirishima wanted to join, dragging Bakugou along and sitting right next to him; there was nothing that could even make it seem like there was anything out of the ordinary yet a certain feeling of jealousy arose inside his body when he imagined Kirishima having to kiss anyone else in that circle, biting his lower lip in an attempt to quell the bad thoughts.
But it only took two rounds for the bottle to land on Eijirou, and as Bakugou turned for a moment to let out a quiet yawn everything around them suddenly became silent – he was horrified to discover, when he reluctantly turned back to the game, the neck of the bottle was now pointing towards him. His breath hitched in his throat and he wanted to throw up; how the hell would he cover up the fact that being that close to his crush would make him turn as red as a tomato? How would he disguise the stutter that was sure to follow? Would he be teased for it afterwards? All those questions flew through his mind but Kirishima’s laughter pulled him away from his train of thoughts, and he looked at him like he was crazy. “Come on Bakugou,” he said, but there was something in his eyes that Katsuki could not decipher. “The public’s waiting.”
Katsuki looked around and, effectively, all the eyes in the room were on them while the music played over all the whispers and murmurs; some seemed excited to see what would happen, others looked ready to pull out their phones to record everything and Katsuki was left trapped in a corner, but as his gaze locked on Kirishima’s again he knew that there would most likely not be another chance to do it.
With a swift move he put one hand on his friend’s neck and brought him close enough to his face to feel his breath hitting his face, a faint smell of beer tainting it. Laughs and gasps were heard, and then everyone started to chant for them to do it. “I’m… really fucking sorry,” he whispered and Kirishima’s confused look was the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes and quickly pressed his lips to Eijirou.
Katsuki would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t imagine what kissing his best friend would be like, but the softness of Kirishima’s lips greatly contrasted the roughness he had pictured. No, they weren’t only soft; they were soft, gentle against his and he even seemed willing to go further, apparently considering moving a bit more to deepen the kiss but as he remembered they weren’t alone thanks to the outpour of cheers and yells as they kissed he pulled away. It was short but it was all Katsuki needed to feel like his chest was about to burst, a million shivers running up and down his body as the sensation of the redhead’s lips remained. “So manly,” he heard Kirishima say on the low, but he wasn’t truly sure about what he meant.
That night, he excused himself from the game and walked away, ignoring the grunts and complaints of the other ‘players’ and even Eijirou’s voice asking him to stay. The walk back to his room seemed longer than ever but once he got there and made sure his roommate was long asleep he sunk on his bed without even taking off his clothes, burying his face on the pillow and trying his best not to yell – the weight of what happened only dawned on him then, and he worried that he might’ve had ruined the years-long friendship he so cherished.
He wasn’t sure what Kirishima would think of him then but his fears were quickly dispelled the very next day by an overly-friendly Eijirou who went up to him as soon as they saw each other and asked him for forgiveness, claiming that he had been the one to put him in that situation and that it was okay if he felt weirded out when he didn’t back out of the kiss. “Shut up airhead,” Bakugou replied in his usual manner, “we’re still friends, right?”
Yet things seemed to change as the days moved forward, Eijirou starting to avoid Bakugou and making the blond feel like he had definitely fucked things up, and now after a week it was driving the blond insane. He had wanted to ask what was wrong but he was always brushed off, Eijirou was always busy and it didn’t really help that Sero didn’t reveal what was going on either. “It’s all good,” Hanta always replied when asked much to Katsuki’s exasperation, “he hasn’t told me anything weird.” He wondered if their friend knew about what had happened, but he wouldn’t be the one to let the word go around – no matter how long it would be he wouldn’t be the one to admit he missed having the redhead around.
Facts spoke for themselves though, and that morning as Kirishima walked in front of him without even turning around to say hello he felt like he wanted to explode. The killer headache that tormented him only seemed to worsen as the classes and hours passed, and when noon arrived all Katsuki wanted to do was take a cold shower and sleep. As he ate his lunch sitting on a bench on the outsides of campus, he was surprised when someone tapped on his shoulder and he coughed when he saw the familiar face behind him as he turned.
“Uh, hi,” Kirishima said with a small smile and slightly reddened cheeks. Bakugou felt light-headed – he wanted to scream at his friend, wanted to know what he had done wrong to deserve the silent treatment but the words wouldn’t come out, and all he could do was stare at him with confusion drawn all over his face. The annoying fast heartbeat returned as well as Eijirou circled the bench and sat down beside him, his gaze locked on something on the ground, something that Katsuki mimicked almost instantly. “I…” he started, his voice softer than he had ever heard, “I’m sorry… these past few days have been hard, but I never should’ve turned away from you.” Silence fell over them as Katsuki thought about what to say in order to avoid the conversation turning even more awkward than it already felt, but he knew he’d have to say something sooner or later – yet when he opened his mouth to reply the redhead cut him off, with a small sentence that made Katsuki’s world stop for a minute.
I have to tell you something… about us.
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Assassin’s Greed: The Story of Charles Guiteau
My favorite historical figure has got to be presidential assassin Charles Guiteau, a person you’ve likely never heard of.  You probably know John Wilkes Booth and Lee Harvey Oswald, but Guiteau (pronounced get-oh) is not a household name.  Where Booth and Oswald shot famous presidents, Guiteau shot James Garfield, who had served for only four months at the time and is best known for having been assassinated.  Guiteau was cartoonishly twisted, with delusions of grandeur and a Type A god complex.  He believed himself to be faultless, guiltless, a renaissance man, a master political advisor, and perhaps even the Third Coming of Christ (yes, third; you’ll see what I mean below).  His life story sounds like something scripted to be as pathetic and conceited as possible, and it would be funny were it not so tragic.
So come with me on an adventure back to the gay old days of the 19th century, so we can delve into the mind of America’s least favorite assassin.  Strap in, cause this is a long one.
Charles Julius Guiteau was born in 1841 to a family of French descent (you may have been able tell because he’s an -eau).  Despite this, it is important to remember that he never learned to speak a word of French.  Keep that in mind.  He flunked out of school because he never felt the need to study for any exams.  He was convinced he already had perfect knowledge on any given subject, “why fix what ain’t broken?”
In 1860, he joined a cult because his dad was friends with the leader.  (Side note: this cult would later dissolve when a tornado destroyed their headquarters, transforming into a company that made spoons.  This has nothing to do with the story, I just thought it was funny). This cult coined the phrase “free love,” which at the time just meant everyone was allowed, nay, encouraged, to bone everyone else; older women were ordered to act as “sexual mentors” for adolescent boys because they were the least likely to conceive. It was messed up.  The cult also thought that Jesus had already come a second time, in 70 AD, so they had free reign on Earth to do whatever they wanted with no consequences.  The end of days had come and gone, so it was smooth sailing from here on out.
Guiteau idolized the cult leader, believing him to be the perfect man in every way.  The cult leader however believed Guiteau was unstable and unfit for the community.  Do you know how messed up you have to be to get kicked out of a cult?  People were so put off by his behavior that they gave him the nickname “Charles Get-Out,” and when he sued the leader for mistreatment his dad wrote a long apology letter saying “I’m sorry my son’s a weirdo, please don’t think less of me for it.”
He became a lawyer by sheer blind luck, barely passing his bar exam because he just so happened to work as a clerk at the Chicago law firm in question.  He lost the one and only case he argued in court, and spent the rest of his career as a corrupt bill collector.  He short-changed all of his clients, overcharging and under-refunding, pocketing the difference before skipping town to avoid the police.  He did this often, hopping from town to town and leaving right before they could run him out on a rail.
In 1872 he endorsed Horace Greeley for president against incumbent Ulysses S. Grant; both men were Republicans, but Greeley caucused with the southern Democrats and became their nominee.  He lost in a landslide, and died less than a month after the election, but again, that’s not important to the story.  What is important is that Guiteau was convinced that had Greeley become president, he would have rewarded Guiteau’s endorsement with a federal appointment.  Guiteau was just some schmuck, a nobody, but he believed that his approval was somehow the most important thing a candidate could receive, and that they would be undyingly grateful for it.
Guiteau believed that he was ordained by God to spread His word, and so concluded that his own word was therefore the word of God.  He tried to start his own cult, plagiarizing the text from the cult leader he idolized, but it never got off the ground.  In 1877 he was on a boat that collided with another; theirs sunk, but his made it back to port, so he was further convinced that his life had been spared for a higher purpose.  If Christ had come again in 70 AD, Guiteau believed he had returned for the Third time this very day.  At this point, his dad thought he was possessed by the devil.
You could say they didn’t exactly see eye to eye.
1880 comes along, he’s been embezzling and stealing even more money from even more cities, avoiding consequences all the while, and decides to once again throw his hat in the ring of politics.  He endorses Grant for a third nonconsecutive term, despite having “campaigned” against him in 1872.  Guitaeu changed his mind with Orwellian confidence, “oh, I always supported Grant, Greeley was destined to lose, I knew it and actually did my best to make sure his campaign floundered, I was always looking out for my main man Ulysses!”
Guiteau handed out leaflets and gave a speech endorsing Grant to basically no one; he may as well have just stood on a street corner shouting his opinion at passersby.  Grant lost the nomination to one Congressman James Garfield, so Guiteau took the leaflets, crossed out Grant’s name, wrote in Garfield’s, and continued passing them out. The rest of the text remained the same though, so it made no sense, praising Garfield for leading the Union Army to victory during the Civil War, and saying he deserved a third term despite this being his first time running.  Garfield won the presidency, and Guiteau was absolutely convinced that it was because of his leaflets.  “What else could it have been?”
March 1881: Being wholly responsible for Garfield’s election, he starts writing him fan letters singing his own praise.  “As you already know, I got you elected (you’re welcome, by the way).  I did this out of the kindness of my heart, and all I ask in return, all I feel I deserve, is an ambassadorship.  France will do nicely, I’ve always wanted to live in Paris!”  As you remember, he can’t speak a word of French, “but I can learn on the job!  I’m the best at learning things, but I’m sure you already know that about me.  I look forward to our partnership. Your biggest fan, Charles.”
No word from the president, but Guiteau doesn’t worry.  He just writes more letters.  “Didn’t hear back from you, don’t know if you read my first letter, but just in case you didn’t, I’ll recap; you won because of me, I’m ready for my federal job whenever you are.  Thanks and you’re welcome.  Your smartest and most qualified fan, Charles.”
Still nothing.  He moved to Washington, DC and became a homeless vagrant.  He went from house to house, spending a night, eating the food, then leaving before rent was due; classic Guiteau!  The White House kept ignoring his letters, so he decided to take matters into his own hands and personally confront the Secretary of State.  “I’m sure you’ve read my correspondences, you know my qualifications, I am ready to go to Paris, just say the word.”
“Oh my God, we’re not giving you a federal job, stop writing us letters, leave the president alone, you’re a total nutjob.”
Guiteau was heartbroken.  He couldn’t understand how Garfield could be such an ingrate!  “I gave everything for that man, I sacrificed so much, and this is how he thanks me? I campaigned for him, I gave speeches, I handed out, like, so many leaflets!”  He felt ignored, he felt BETRAYED.  “How dare he? How DARE he?!?  He owes me! He’s got to be the least considerate person on the planet!  I put him office, I-”  At this, he had a horrible realization.  “Oh my God, I put him in office... He’s only there because of me... It’s all my fault!  I gave this bastard the key to the White House... I gave him the nuclear codes!” [Guiteau was again misinformed, because nuclear weapons wouldn’t be invented for another 64 years]  “I’ve created a monster!  I put him there, and only I can take him out!  I need to assassinate President Garfield.”
And so the pieces begin to fall into place.
He borrows money from his brother-in-law to buy a gun at a pawn shop.  He believed God was telling him to kill the president; either that or he was telling God that the president needed to die and was just giving Him a heads up.  At the pawnshop he specifically chose an expensive revolver with an ivory handle because he thought it would look better in the display case of the museum they would eventually build for him.  He even managed to haggle down the price one whole dollar (about $26 today, so good on him, master deal maker).
July 2, 1881.  President Garfield arrived at a train station in DC, and Guiteau is there waiting for him. He had no body guard because this was the 1880s, and nobody thought someone would be crazy enough to shoot the president in peacetime.  The only government employee present with Garfield was the Secretary of War, a young man by the name of Robert Todd Lincoln.  Yes, that Robert Todd Lincoln, son of Abraham, the first and so far only president to be assassinated.  And he got to witness the second, firsthand.
Guiteau shot Garfield twice, but only wounded him; he fell to the ground, bleeding but very much alive.  Despite this, Guiteau was confident the job was done. “Don’t worry everyone, you don’t need to panic, the tyrant is dead, you can thank me later.”  The police ran at him, “officers, please, take the former president’s body away, it’s bleeding all over the train station. He’s as much a nuisance dead as he was alive, am I right?  Wait, why do you have those batons?”  The tackled him to the ground, as police are wont to do to people who shoot the president.  “Okay, o-ho-ho-kay, I get it, you guys need to put on a show for the crowds. I understand, I shouldn’t have used a gun in public, I should’ve waited until I could had him alone, I get it, you don’t need to be so rough with me. Listen, just talk to President Arthur, he’ll have my back, I just put him in office, he’ll vouch for me, it’s cool.”
Garfield lived for two more months, wasting away in agony from infection because his doctors didn’t even think about washing their hands.  They would poke around his bullet holes with their fingers to fish out fragments, poking organs, tearing muscle, just making it much worse than it needed to be.  Garfield may have survived if they had just left him alone; years later, Teddy Roosevelt would be similarly shot, and survived with the bullet in his chest for seven years.  Garfield died on September 19, 1881, at which point Guiteau was officially charged with murder.
Being a lawyer, he wanted to represent himself in court, but he was appointed a public defender instead.  The defender quit after a week because Guiteau was impossible to work with, so his brother-in-law came on as his new lawyer; he wasn’t a criminal defense lawyer, just another bill collector like Guiteau, he was literally the only person willing to help him out for free.  Guiteau claimed he was not guilty by reason of insanity, that God had possessed him, simply using his body as an avatar and smite Garfield.  “It was divine intervention, nothing could be done to stop it, it was out of my hands.”
He made a mockery of the trial, cursing at everyone from the judge to the jury to his own lawyer to the crowd.  He ignored his lawyer and started asking courtroom spectators for their advice, he wrote his testimony in the form of poems and delivered them to the captive audience.  He reveled in being the center of attention, ignoring the fact that literally everyone hated him for killing the president.  He expected a swift acquittal, and started planning his own campaign for president for 1884, “President Arthur owes me for putting him in office, so I’m sure he’ll step aside and let me run in his place, it’s the least he could do.  Maybe I’ll choose him as my running mate, I haven’t decided yet.”
January 1882, he was found guilty and sentenced to death, to which he responded by calling the jury a bunch of “consummate jackasses” (and yes, that’s the real, actual quote, no joke).  He was dragged out of the court, screaming obscenities at everyone within earshot.  He wasn’t worried though, because he was convinced Arthur would pardon him.
In jail, he composed more poems singing his praise, “Ding dong, the witch is dead!  Which old witch? The Garfield witch! Ding dong, the Garfield witch is dead!”  Arthur didn’t pardon him, so he called him an even worse ingrate than Garfield; Guiteau tried to appeal his case so he could shoot Arthur too, but it was rejected for obvious reasons.
June 30, 1882, he is led to the gallows to be hanged.  For his last words, he delivered yet another poem, this time an epic ballad about how he was now leaving this mortal coil to return to the kingdom of Heaven.  Entitled “I am going to the Lordy,” it had a second or third grade reading level, with lines like “I wonder what I’ll do when I get to the Lordy?” and “I saved the party, glory Hallelujah.”  He wanted to have a full orchestra come and give the piece musical accompaniment, but the jail told him no, again for obvious reasons.  He didn’t even write music for it, he just thought it was so inspiring that the orchestra would know exactly what he intended and improvise something great.
He read the poem out loud to the crowd gathered to see him die, and was so overcome by how good it was that he broke down crying multiple times, “I’m such a genius!”  He may or may not have done a little jig to go along with it, as you do when delivering the world’s greatest poem about the world’s greatest man.
Black hood, noose, trapdoor, neck snap, dead.
The jail refused to turn over his body to his family because they were too poor for a proper burial service (he had wasted all of their money on his defense).  An autopsy showed that he was unable to retract his foreskin, so doctors theorized that was what drove him crazy enough to kill the president.  Gotta love 19th century psychology; Freud has been largely discredited in 2019, but in 1882 he wasn’t even credited yet, he was just some random doctor, not famous for anything.
The warden sold pieces of Guiteau’s noose as souvenirs, and eventually disinterred the corpse to donate to a museum so people could pay money to see the man who shot the president.  They cut out his brain to figure out what was wrong with him; one of its membranes was thicker than normal, possibly syphilitic, and modern medical professionals debate over which topical mental illness he likely had (some say schizophrenia, most agree that Narcissistic Personality Disorder had a huge part to play).  They also spit-polished his skeleton and turned it into a dummy to hang up in the corner of a science class, but for some reason they hid it away in a storage room rather than giving it to a university as intended.
And so ends the story of Charles Julius Guiteau.  He was a man without reason, without honor, without a lick of common sense or self-awareness.  I feel bad for him because despite how horrible a person he was, he was clearly sick and needed help at a time when no such help existed.  His life story is comical and tragic.  He’ll never be as well known as John Wilkes Booth or Lee Harvey Oswald, and that’s probably for the best.  A fitting end for a narcissist, to be mostly forgotten by history.
His gun isn’t even in a museum, the police eventually misplaced it.  And I’m sure THAT is what he’d be most mad about today.
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piccolina-mina · 6 years ago
Text
She's Like a Song
Fandom: Roswell, New Mexico 
Pairing: Michael/ Maria 
Words: 3900
Inspo: One day he decided maybe without even thinking about it that he was going to look out for Maria DeLuca, and he never stopped.
A/N: Borrowed a bit from you lovelies and expounded upon our chats. It's a freestyle, and I'm beyond rusty, but here's to you, you know who you are. :)
i.
He never told anyone before, but the Wild Pony was like his home. A teenager had no business in a bar, but Mimi DeLuca orchestrated a soup kitchen for the homeless, and while he had a pallet on the floor at his latest foster home, he may as well have been homeless.
They appreciated the paycheck, and he could put up with the less than ideal situation because it brought him home to Max and Isobel. Most days, his foster parents didn't pay him attention at all and being invisible was better than being a punching bag.
But Max and Isobel had a comfortable home with doting parents, and he was just the rabble-rousing kid from the wrong side of the tracks they weren't supposed to spend time around.
On his worse nights, he ventured to the Wild Pony. Mimi DeLuca once told him he had inexplicable energy, and it scared him shitless, but then she slid a sandwich across the counter and tousled his hair with a wink, and he felt comfortable there ever since.
She called him for maintenance help sometimes because she knew he was good with his hands, and on nights when his foster father drank too much, she put a cot up in the back room of the Pony, but more importantly, she never asked questions. She just knew. Maybe she was psychic after all.
He didn't mind this exchange between them until one day Maria DeLuca caught him in the back room. She was all long legs and smiles, and he admired how carefree she was, and how she followed the beat of her own drum.
He didn't see her often in school; she hung out with those Ortecho girls, and he always wondered how someone so filled with light could be friends with someone like Rosa who carried so much darkness, but Max and Isobel were his friends, so who was he to judge?
She didn't judge him. The surprise on her face when she caught him in that backroom sleeping on a dusty floor vanished quicker than it came, but unlike everyone else in his life, it wasn't replaced with pity.
Instead, she said, "If you're going to sleep on our floor, Guer, the least you can do is sweep it." She tossed him a broom he caught reflexively, and she barked out an order about grabbing the box of new product and skipped right back out the door no questions asked.
"When you're done, I need help with calculus, too." Of course, she knew he was a closet nerd, and she would be the type to use it to her advantage.
Maria DeLuca wasn't judgmental.
ii.
He shouldn't have been there.
Max said they should've stayed away, but Rosa was a scrub like him, and he felt a kinship with her.
He knew what it was like to be misunderstood. He didn't sleep much anymore. The images of the car burning danced across his eyelids every time he closed his eyes, and he knew the others struggled with what they did too, but his siblings refused to talk about it.
Isobel killed a girl. She killed multiple girls, and Rosa took the blame. It isn't right, and he knows that, but he didn't anticipate this.
Rosa's funeral was the day he saw a spark go out in DeLuca. She stood there, holding up a sobbing Arturo because no one was left to do it anymore.
Rosa was dead, and thanks to him and Isobel, Liz was gone. She took off, and Arturo couldn't make sense of losing two daughters at the same time, but Maria was still there.
Maria was always there. The angry shouts from the crowd Valenti held back grew louder while the priest said his prayer.
He couldn't believe the racist slurs being spewed by the people in their small town at a grieving father. Arturo crumbled under the weight of each indictment, but small but strong Maria held him up.
He watched as the tears spilled down her face, and her mother rubbed her back, and the guilt was too much. He never thought he'd see the day Maria lost some of her spark, and he played a role in that.
iii.
It was the least he could do.
Humans were pretty shitty, at least most of the ones he encountered. He flexed his hand at the thought, but the DeLucas were always kind to him.
When he saw Mimi wandering the streets not far from the junkyard, he thought she was just taking a walk, but something about her gait was off.
He smiled at her as she rambled about Will Smith and, was that Independence Day she was talking about?
At some point, within a few years since high school, Maria took over the bar, but he never knew why. It never made sense.
He knew he had a reputation for being an asshole, but he always paid attention. Maria DeLuca had plans. She dreamed of traveling the world and going on adventures. She wanted to hit the open road and book gigs and sing to her heart's content.
"It's a big ole world out there, and I want a piece of it," she said once at The Crashdown while giggling over a milkshake. She had an infectious laugh, the type that reeled you in and made you shut out any and every noise but the one she was making.
The world stopped when Maria laughed. She didn't laugh much anymore.
She did cry out when he and Mimi finally strolled back to the Wild Pony. Maria jogged up to them her forehead knit in concern, and he could hear the tears in the rasp of her voice.
"Mimi," she choked out before getting ahold of herself. "Mama, you scared me. "
"I just went for a walk, honey," Mimi cupped the side of Maria's face as the glow of the neon Wild Pony sign caught her eye, and she wandered into the bar.
Maria exhaled in disbelief. It took her a moment to bring her eyes to meet his, and she looked ... tired. Her eyes were red from the tears she was sniffing away and trying to suppress, and she hugged herself as if to keep herself together.
She opened her mouth to say something, but it was like a rush of emotion had overtaken her and rendered her speechless.
He gave her an out. "Sorry, we're late. We got a little carried away, I'm a hit with the Cougars, you know?"
She released a relieved chuckle, and for a moment, that missing spark was back and alive. "If you ever lump my mother with those floozies you take home again I'll have your balls."
"Is that a promise?" He teased. Her frown lines disappeared, and for a moment, she was the girl with the infectious laugh without a care in the world.
"Cute. I can assure you, Guerin, when I have 'em it's because they will no longer be attached to the likes of you.
She pats her back pocket where she sometimes kept her pocket knife, and he threw his hands up in surrender. He walked backward, their teasing drawing a half smirk and escapism he hadn't felt all day.
"You just called me cute though, DeLuca. I'm holding you to that." He turns to head home, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets as a chill settles in.
It's not chilly out, but suddenly the thought of going home alone makes him feel cold.
"Hey Guerin," her voice is quieter and more serious than he's used to. He turns to study her face. She looks haunted again, resigned, and so tired.
He doesn't know the particulars of what is going on with Mimi DeLuca, but he knows she's been declining for a while. Whatever it is, it has led to Maria taking over.
He can smell the wanderlust on her and see the longing for greater things that aren't this in her eyes. In many ways, she is stuck like he is. This town is too small for larger than life DeLuca, but her heart is too big for her to leave.
Rosa is gone, Liz left, and he's long since drowned his sorrows over Alex Manes heading to war. They left her alone, and now it seems Mimi is leaving her too.
"Thank you," she said quietly -- sincerely.
He nodded, tipping his hat and turned away.
Maria Deluca was alone, and so was he.
iv.
"Dammit!" She screamed, hitting the steering wheel repeatedly. She turned the key, and her car made ungodly noises.
"Whoa, whoa, you're going to flood it." He was groggy from passing out in the back of his truck behind the Wild Pony, but Maria destroying her car was enough to snap him out of his buzzed sleep.
"What's a pretty girl like you doing at a place like this," he drawled. He was met with a classic Maria glare that could disintegrate his boxers if he were wearing any. "I was talking about the car."
"I thought I kicked you out hours ago when you refused to pay your tab?"
"Most people call the law when that happens."
"Your best friend is the law."
"I don't have a best friend," he bristled at the mention of Max. They hadn't been friends for years.
"Gee, this is my surprised face," she deadpanned. She went to turn the key again, and he placed his hand over hers to stop her. She sighed, frustrated but relented.
"Looks like all your other faces, DeLuca." He signaled for her to pop the hood, and he took a gander. He could haul the thing to work in the morning, but there was nothing he could do tonight.
"It's going to need some work, DeLuca."
"Shit," her head fell back onto the headrest, and she closed her eyes. It was only then he noticed how worn down she was.
When he thought about it, Maria had been putting in double shifts all week while looking for a couple of new staff members. She had been at the Pony since it open to close, and it had to be at least 2 A.M.
"I don't have the money," she said begrudgingly. He figured it was pure exhaustion that led her to that admission.
"Oh, but when I say that, I get kicked out of the bar," he teased. His voice went up a few notches as he mimicked her. "Cough it up or get the hell out, Guerin. Stopping bar fights isn't compensation, Guerin. I will send people after you next time, Guerin. Don't come back until your tab is paid off, Guerin."
He was pretty sure his life should've flashed before his eyes based on the killer look she gave him. "I'll fix your car if you clear my tab."
"I'm not one to turn away a sucker, but I'm pretty sure car repairs exceed your bar tab, if only by a few pennies."
He made a face like a child and earned a bemused snort.
"You say that like I won't be back to drink up my share tomorrow." He patted the car and tilted his head towards his own beater. "Let me take you home."
Shockingly, she didn't put up a fight, and she staggered towards his old piece of junk and slid into the passenger seat. "You're gonna fix my baby when yours looks like crap. Rich."
He was about to respond, but her soft snores stopped him dead in his tracks. Seconds felt like hours as he watched her sleep. It was the most relaxed she looked in some time.
He hopped in and cruised towards her part of town listening to her soft exhalations. He shoved her gently, or so he thought when they pulled up to her house. Her head tapped lightly against the window.
"Asshole," she grumbled as she hopped out the truck, slammed the door, and stalked towards her door.
"Fine. Fix my shit, and I'll clear your tab. And obviously, you're picking me up at 10 A.M. Bring coffee."
"Yes ma'am," he snarked, beaming when she flipped him the bird without bothering to look back at him.
He went to bed smelling like Maria's sweet scent, which faded away by the next morning. There was a sense of relief when he slid into his truck hours later and her sweet musk still clung to the seats.
There was something comforting about it. It reminded him of Maria, and Mimi and home cooked meals in the back of the Pony when he didn't want schoolmates to catch him breaking bread with the homeless.
It reminded him of what home should feel like.
v.
"It took you long enough," he huffed. He looked up from the magazine he was reading as Maria flounced towards him with the familiar clack of her red cowgirl boots as she headed towards his truck.
"Move over, loser." She raised a brow at him as she held the door open to his truck.
"I know they tend to look identical, but it's my car, DeLuca," even he couldn't sell that lie. For one, he managed to keep hers in better condition than his own, and the difference is noticeable, which is how he ended up carting her around town when her baby got a tune-up.
Maria DeLuca owned his ass. He didn't know how to describe the hold she had on him, but there definitely was one. It's been there since they were teens. She had a spirit he recognized whenever he looked in the mirror, and unlike most people in town, she saw him, like really saw him.
Maria DeLuca was a survivor through and through, and he respected that.
"My. Truck." He enunciated as if she didn't hear him. She glared at him, and he relented. He always did.
"Your hair looks nice," he said sincerely while flashing her his shit eating grin.
"It looks the same," she shot back as she slid into the driver seat.
"Yeah, nice." He said it for the sole purpose of watching the soft flush in her cheeks, and he was rewarded with it.
"I can give you some pointers then, Guer," she countered staring pointedly at his mop of curls he admittedly never bothered doing shit with, and she knew it. She teased him about it all the time.
He shook his head. "Still can't accept a compliment graciously, huh?"
"Nope," she said popping the 'p' as she started the engine.
The town whirled past them as they drove in silence. He reached for the radio knob, and she smacked his hand away.
"It's MY truck DeLuca," he whined not the least bit as put out as he sounded.
She slid her shades on and smirked. She fiddled with the knob before music blared. Without seconds to waste, she sang along.
Maria could sing along to any song on the radio. She was some freak of nature who knew them all, genre be damned, and she sang every last one. He secretly loved it.
She crooned some ballad, and his hands twitched. Some days his longing to strum strings between his fingers was too much to bear. He wished he could still play. They could make beautiful music together.
She shot him a sly look and threw her head back laughing that laugh that was its own harmony, and he smirked. Yeah, they would make beautiful music together.
vi.
He wiped his brow as he hauled the last of the boxes into the shed and glared at a relaxed, fresh and clean Maria as she bound down the stairs of her porch.
"You bailed halfway through for a shower and left me with the heavy stuff?" He collapsed on her porch and glared up at her.
"No, 'thanks, Guerin. You didn't have to stop what you were doing and help me with spring cleaning bullshit, Guerin. You're the best, Guerin." He bobbed his head along while he mimicked her.
"Well, I grabbed you these, but if you would prefer a verbal thanks, I can just keep 'em to myself." She knew she had him as she dangled a six pack of the coldest beer he had ever seen, or at least the coldest beer he had craved in the past four hours of hard labor.
He snagged two beers out before she could yank them away and popped the lid to one guzzling it to completion by the time she plopped down next to him.
She scoffed as locks of unruly curls fell into his eyes and obscured his vision.
"You know it only costs maybe 20 bucks tops for a haircut, right?"
He shrugged noncommittally not paying her mind when she disappeared into the house again. He stared into the desert finding comfort in the feel of the condensation from the beer cool against his fingers.
The door swung shut, and he smelled her and felt her before he could see her. He inhaled deep and long, and exhaled again, not saying anything when she came up close behind him.
"Move down," she ordered.
Maria liked to think she was unpredictable, but he knew her better than she thought. He caught the glint of the scissors as she set them next to her, and he scooted down a step until he was between her legs.
"Ah, my favorite position. I can show you why if you want." He flinched even though he knew the punch was coming and choked back a laugh.
His laughter stopped when she ran her hands through his curls carding her fingers through as a way of detangling it.
It was her time to laugh softly. She knew she shut him up for a good minute and relished it, but he was too relaxed to care. He was bone weary tired to the point of his limbs feeling like jello so he couldn't help himself from sinking into her. If she minded, she didn't say anything.
He wanted to make a wisecrack about her being anywhere near his head with scissors, but he was too comfortable with their silence.
He rested his head lightly on her lap, and she absentmindedly scratched his scalp as she snipped.
The sun was setting, and the desert sky was a sunburst of oranges and pinks, and he wondered if there were sunsets so beautiful at home.
Maria hummed quietly as snippets of hair fell around him, and the way she dragged her nails softly along his scalp made his eyes flutter closed, and he thought, he never had this before.
vii.
He paces next to her unconscious form, and part of him wants to join the fight and track who's responsible, but part of him can't bring himself to leave her side even if he wanted.
He leans in close to her face and notes her chest rises and falls, and it's the only thing putting him at ease.
Her stillness is unsettling. She's so full of life -- a force of nature that can't be tamed and one that gets under your skin and electrifies your cells. She's -- she's magic, and he's all nerves and boundless energy that can't be soothed.
Except ... he lifts her gently and hops on the table resting her head in his lap, and even unconscious Maria puts him at ease. She always does.
It took him years to realize that part of the gravitational pull he has towards her is due to her being a constant in his life. She's consistent and normal, and she makes him feel normal, and she helps him escape out of his head if only for their moments.
It's why he wouldn't allow Max to disparage her in such a way. His forearm still aches from shoving his brother against a wall, and he reflexively clenches his fists.
It had nothing to do with his night spent with Maria and more to do with his years spent with her. She was his constant, his sanctuary, his normalcy, his friend, and not even Max could take that away from him.
He knows her intimately and biblically, and they could take everything away from him, his home, his identity, his opportunity for family, but not the small, most consistent form of solace he has.
He brushes water against her lips and tries to keep her hydrated. He strokes her hair the way she does when she cuts his hair and breathes in that soft scent that's all Maria.
The silence between them isn't their comfortable kind. Sure, he hears the buzz from the gala, but he wants to fill the room with something suitable for them.
They banter. They barter. It's their thing, and sometimes, so is music. So he finds himself humming a little diddly she sang once while he strokes her hair.
When she stirs, he exhales a sigh of relief and a weight is lifted from him. He tries to comfort her and tells her to take it easy, and he doesn't miss the softness in his voice.
The truth is, he's scared of losing her. He didn't realize how much he relied on the Wild Pony or her to fill some void he has until she spent days avoiding him.
When he bumped into her at the Crashdown, he saw that familiar haunted look in her eyes, and it hurt him that he once again contributed to her carrying an unbearable load.
He likes to think over the years he did his part to relieve her of burdens, not contribute to them, so when he told her he was to blame and she was not, he meant every word.
Her eyes flutter open slowly, and he strokes her hair and asks her if she wants more water.
"You have to stop showing up like this for me, Guerin."
He knows she's still groggy from the drugs, and his jaw clenches thinking about how she was used.
He's absentmindedly scratching her scalp as he tries to say the right thing. He hesitates before he offers to get Liz and leave, but he doesn't really want to. He'll leave if it's what she wants though because Maria always gets her way with him.
"That's the problem," she says her voice but a whisper. "I never do."
And he feels like he was punched in the gut. Everything is messy now, and he's partly to blame for that.
He understands the sentiment well, though. And he knows what that admission cost her, and it's possible she won't remember she said it at all, and it's what he hopes if only to spare her any more pain.
There's something about Maria DeLuca that brings him back time and again. She never wants him to leave, and he always wants to stay.
He made peace with the fact that he stopped coming to the Wild Pony for the booze years ago. He came for the company.
Their relationship was easy and comforting, and he could disappear into Maria DeLuca the way he used to disappear into music because Maria was like a song that never ended.
A tear slips down her cheek at her admission, and it takes everything in him not to wipe it away, cup her face, press his lips in her hair and absorb her pain and hurt.
He's had decades of practice shouldering hurt and pain. He can handle it.
Somewhere along the way, he made it his personal mission to keep Maria's spark alive. He likes to think it was for her, but he knows it's purely selfish.
One day, he decided maybe without even thinking about it, that he was going to look out for Maria DeLuca, and he never stopped.
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darveyfics · 7 years ago
Note
Can you write anything where Harvey is jealous ... I have read so many fanfiction about darvey but rarely about Harvey being jealous .... Thanks!
“Seeing Green”
His fist clenches as he watches her talking to him from the corner of his eye. No, not talking, flirting.
He takes another swing of his scotch, settling it down hard enough to shake the tall rounded table in front of him.
“You alright, man?” His current companion asks him, John something-or-other. He had been invited to some Harvard Law Alumni party and wasn’t even planning on attending until Donna suggested he should go.
“Who knows, you may actually have a decent time.” She had told him.
“Come with me.” Harvey had asked without thinking, and she had agreed just as quickly, just as surprisingly. It wasn’t an odd thing for him to do, invite Donna places, them doing things together. They are friends. But it was different this time, things have been different this time. They had been different.
Ever since their kiss, ever since he broke up with Paula because he couldn’t continue lying to her or himself.
But they hadn’t talked about it anymore.
He had confronted her about the kiss, they had argued, he broke up with Paula, he told Donna… and that was that. They kept skirting around the subject for a few weeks now, the air around them constantly thick with tension.
This is my own damn fault, he thought to himself as he saw Donna talking to that jerk. I should’ve gone after her, talked to her. She knows how I feel about her, right? Knows I still need time to wrap my mind around this before we jump into anything?
“Harvey, you ok?” The tall blonde man in front of him asked again.
Harvey’s head swiveled to face him, sharing a tight smile. “Yeah, yeah, I’m just going to-“ He picked up his empty glass and headed in the direction of the bar. John nodded and turned to talk to someone else Harvey didn’t recognize.
He waved the bartender over, asking for another drink. As he waited, his eyes landed on the back of fiery red hair again. He let out a frustrated sigh. What the hell was she doing talking to him? In truth, he would’ve been annoyed seeing her talking to any of these men, but Damien? Back in college, Damien had been in a couple of Harvey’s classes and he would run into him from time to time at events and parties. He seemed decent enough, smart, kind, but Harvey soon realized what a waste of a human being he was whenever he talked to women, constantly trying to add another notch to his bed post.
The bartender brought Harvey his drink and he quickly took another swing at it, wincing as it burned down his throat.
Eyes still on Donna and Damien, he watched as the scumbag in question touched her arm and laughed at something she said.
That’s it, Harvey thought, his blood boiling as he watched Damien flirting with Donna, with his- friend? Colleague? Soon-to-be more than friend? He knew she wasn’t his to claim- wasn’t anyone’s- but it still didn’t stop him from wanting to take this guy out.
He finished his scotch, taking one last courage gulp before marching over to them.
“…and then I told him, do you even know who you’re talking to? I mean, how could he not know that I- oh, hey Harvey.” Damien cut his anecdote short upon seeing Harvey approach. He flashed him a smile, green eyes bright and suit too tight against his skin. Harvey clenched his fists at the mere sight of him.
Donna turned around. “Harvey what-“ she stopped short when she felt Harvey’s lips on her cheek, lingering just a little too long.
“There you are, honey, I’ve been looking for you.” Harvey smiled, placing one arm around her waist, thumb gently massaging her over the black dress she wore that night.
Donna’s face held a surprise expression as Harvey held her close, giving her the most physical contact they’ve shared since their kiss weeks ago.
“Oh.” Damien’s voice held shock and disdain with just one word. “I didn’t know you two were-“ He motioned between them.
Harvey nodded, looking as proud as whenever he won a case. “Yeah, going on for twelve years now, actually.” He smirked at Damien. It wasn’t a lie, exactly either. They had been in each other’s lives for twelve years now….
“Thanks for keeping her company while I talked to some of my old buddies, Daniel.”
“It’s Damien.” Damien responded with offense at not being remembered properly.
“Right.” Harvey replied. “Anyway, we should actually start heading out now. Take care, Daniel.” Harvey took a still speechless Donna’s hand in his, leading her away from an annoyed Damien.
They gravitated through the large ballroom of alumni before finding a secluded area to the far right side of the room.
“What the hell was that?” Donna whispered angrily, hazel eyes alarmed and wide.
Harvey scoffed. “You’re welcome.”
Donna narrowed her eyes. “For what?!”
“For saving you….” Harvey said as if it was the obvious answer.
“From what, Harvey? A really nice guy who enjoyed talking to me?”
Harvey frowned. “You can’t be serious? That guys’s a total dick!”
Donna rolled her eyes. “How the hell would you know?”
“I know him, Donna. We went to school together. The guy is a complete ass.”
“Well he seemed nice.” Donna countered with a smile and Harvey saw her eyes twinkling with delight.
“You don’t- you don’t like him, do you?”
“What’s it matter to you?” She asked angrily.
“What- you’re kidding right?” Was she being serious right now?
“No, Harvey.” She crossed her arms, annoyance settling in her features.
“Donna you can’t- he’s not- I thought we-“ Harvey thought his head was going to explode, a million thoughts running through his mind all at once.
“You thought we what, Harvey?” Donna asked, softer now, but still frustrated.
“We kissed, Donna.” Harvey whispered. He subconsciously looked around the ballroom they were in, trying to make sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation, though he doubted anyone there would care.
Donna felt like someone threw ice water at her, but recovered just as quickly. “We did.” She stated plainly.
Harvey’s impatience was growing thin. “You kissed me.” He reiterated, emphasizing the point he was trying to make.
Donna sighed. “I remember, Harvey.”
“So, was that nothing, then? Did me breaking up with Paula not make things clear?”
Donna shook her head. “You never said anything else, Harvey. I kissed you, we argued, you broke up with Paula and then you just- you did nothing.”
“I thought that was the something.” Harvey said, exasperated.
“And what was I supposed to do then? You told me you broke up with her and walked away. Was I supposed to go running after you? Kiss you again? For what? For you to keep ignoring this?” She waved a hand between them.
“Donna….”
“No, Harvey, I’ve followed you for over a decade now, and I’m tired. I’m tired of me always being the one who does a damn thing about anything. I kissed you, I gave you the signal, Harvey. Again. And you missed it, again.” Her voice was on the verge of breaking, but she was trying her best to keep it together in public.
“But I asked you here, tonight, with me.” He told her, emphasizing each word.
Donna furrowed her eyebrows. “What are you talking ab- was this a date, Harvey?”
Harvey shook his head. “I- I don’t-“ He covered his face in his hands before taking a deep breath, collecting himself. Donna looked on, concern now on her features.
“I’m not good at this, Donna.” Harvey spoke softly.
“Not good at what?” Donna wondered, though Harvey had inkling she knew exactly what he meant.
“I’m not good at-“ He waved his hands between them. “Doing this- being- romantic-“ He practically spat out as if the word was taboo.
Donna almost laughed, but kept it together. “This was your way of being romantic? Inviting me to your Harvard Law alumni party? Which is, by the way, boring as hell.” She looked around the room unimpressed by the pool of middle-aged men drinking and making lame law jokes, bragging about their high class life.
“You didn’t look bored talking to Damien.” Harvey mumbled.
Donna looked back him. “Are you actually jealous?” She let a smile cross her features now, amusement fully settling in.
“I-“ Harvey couldn’t seem to find the words at the moment, looking at the ground, wishing it could just swallow him whole.
Donna decided to take pity on him. “I wasn’t flirting.” She finally spoke.
Harvey’s head shot up.
“I was acting interested, for his poor pathetic sake.” Donna moved her hair back, glancing in the direction of where she had been talking to Damien, now seeing him talking to some other woman.
“Acting?” Harvey prodded. He just had to make sure.
“Well yeah, you know I couldn’t pass a chance to put my best acting skills to the test.”
“So you weren’t actually… into him?” Donna rolled her eyes.
“No, Harvey, the guy’s a total dud. And quite frankly, no one should be wearing a suit that tight. Ever.” She shook her head, remembering her conversation with Damien.
Harvey smirked, relief washing over him. Donna smiled back at him and for once it felt like the old days, them hanging out, going to these rich parties that weren’t even all that enjoyable, but they always made the best of the night by sneaking out early to catch dinner, making fun of everyone they talked to that night.
The silence stretched out too long, their smiles fading, and suddenly they were just staring at each other. Harvey looked away.
He cleared his throat. “I- uh- I’m sorry.”
Donna furrowed her brow. “For what?”
“For not making it clear sooner.” Harvey stated, voice heavy with disappointment at himself.
“Making what clear?” Donna stood taller now, awaiting his response.
Harvey looked around the room. Upon finding a pair of French doors that let out to the garden terrace, he grabbed Donna’s hand and led her outside.
Donna shivered as the cool night breeze hit her suddenly. “Harvey what-” His lips were on hers no sooner than when he shut the door behind them.
Donna stood frozen for only a split second until she felt herself slipping, only to grab a hold of Harvey’s biceps to settle her. His lips were soft against her own, and she could taste the expensive scotch on his tongue as it protruded hers for more access. Her arms made their way around his neck, running a manicured hand through his hair, like she had done over two weeks ago. Only this time, she could feel his arms wrapped around her, holding her body so close to his she swore she could feel his heart beating alongside her own. Her mind was getting foggy, by his touch, his taste… She knew her lungs were screaming for oxygen, but she couldn’t seem to care, only pulled him even closer against her, kissing him harder still.
A moment later she felt Harvey’s lips part her own. She struggles to remember how to breathe again, as her lips remain parted, eyes still closed until she felt more than heard him speak.
“I’m sorry I didn’t do this sooner.” He murmurs, his breath tickling her skin. Her eyes flutter up to him.
“I’m just scared as hell to lose you.” He continues, hand reaching up to tuck a strand of red hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek in the process.
“Harvey….”
“And then I saw you talking to Damien and-“ Donna nodded in understanding. Because she knows that feeling too well. It’s what caused her to kiss him in the first place. She hates that they’ve both been too scared for too long.
Reaching up to caress his cheek, she spoke. “You’re not going to lose me, Harvey.” Her voice was soft and reassuring. He smiled.
He leaned again, meeting her lips for the second time in under five minutes and he felt like he was home. She was his home.
They kept their second kiss brief, lips merely brushing each other before they parted again, foreheads resting together.
“I want this to work.” He spoke against her.
“I know. So do I.” She whispered back.
“I just need you to be patient with me, I need you to call me out if I’m being an ass-“
“I already have a full-time job, Harvey.”
Harvey gave her a sarcastic smile. “Haha.” She laughed, turning his smile genuine.
“I just- I love you too much to screw this up.” Harvey told her, a sigh leaving him.
Donna looked at him sadly, wanting so badly to ease his worries, but she didn’t know how.
“Just do what you’ve always done, Harvey.” Her hands caressed his cheek, touching the corner of his lips where they were stained with her red lipstick. “Just be there for me.”
Harvey smiled. “I can do that.” Her grin matched his own, leaning up to kiss him one last time before she grabbed his hand, starting to lead him inside again.
“Good, now, what do you say we ditch this lame party and head back to my apartment?” She glanced back at him, eyes twinkling and smile teasing.
Harvey didn’t have to be told twice. “I think that’s a solid plan.” He caught up to whisper in her ear, making the hairs on her arm stand on end.
As they made their way outside, another thought occurred to Harvey.
“Hey, Donna?” She turned to look at him, seeing his puzzled expression.
“Yes, Harvey?” They made their way out of the lobby now.
“You said you were only acting with Damien, right? You weren’t really flirting?”
Donna rolled her eyes. “Yes, Harvey.”
“So… you were fake flirting, then?”
Donna tilted her head, looking at him with amusement. “I guess you could call it that, yes.”
They were now outside, waiting to call a cab. Harvey stood there for a moment, hand still holding onto Donna’s.
“Did you ever fake flirt with me?” He spoke at last.
Donna let out a loud laugh, head thrown back at his words. She heard a cab honking at them, signaling their impatience despite their quick arrival.
She grabbed his hand and lead him to the waiting cab, laughter still playing on her lips, and opened the door as Harvey stood there still with a quizzical expression.
“Well, did you?” Harvey asked again.
Donna only sent him a look as they made their way inside the cab. She gave the cab driver her address, ignoring Harvey’s wide innocent look of wonderment.
“No.” She finally told him, some minutes later. She felt him sigh in relief and she rolled her eyes in amusement. Seemed to be the theme of the night, she told herself.
Harvey smiled. “Good.” He nodded, sharing a smile with her.
The cab dropped them off five minutes later. Harvey paid the driver before stepping out to lend Donna a hand.
As they made their way to her door, Donna stopped walking, swiveling around to face Harvey. “Except one time.” She told him.
Harvey frowned. “Wait, what?” Donna gave him a teasing smile, continuing to walk to the inside of her building.
“Wait Donna, which time?” He jogged after her, stopping when they reached her apartment door.
As Donna began unlocking her door, he continued to prod. “Was it… the other time?” He whispered the last part, making her laugh again.
She unlocked the door, and turned around to face him. “No, Harvey.” She glanced down at his lips before meeting his eyes again, grabbing his hand to lead him inside. “Nothing about that night was faked.”
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fandomtrash4 · 5 years ago
Text
Spiderman’s Secret {14}
Word count: 2,192
Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Part 15
Peter's late. I can see him doing his before-bitten run. Now, it's basically a power walk, but appearances are important.
"You're late," I admonish.
"Sorry," he replies.
"Peter?" Liz questions.
"Yeah, I was hoping maybe I could rejoin the team." Flash makes his way to us from the back of the group.
"No. No way," he says. "You can't just quit on us, stroll up, and be welcomed back by everyone." Mr. Harrington walks off the bus.
"Hey, welcome back, Peter!" Mr. Harrington says. "Flash, you're back to first alternate."
"What?" Flash questions.
"He's taking your place. Maybe you should've tried a little harder," I say sweetly.
"Excuse me," MJ says from behind us. "Can we go already? 'Cause I was hoping to get in some light protesting in front of one of the embassies before dinner, so."
"Protesting is patriotic. Let's get on the bus," Mr. Harrington replies. Flash takes of the jacket and throws it at Peter. We all walk up the stairs, taking our seats. Once the bus starts moving, Liz stands up in the aisle, holding cards with questions for us to answer.
"Focus up, everyone. Our next topic is the moons of Saturn," Liz informs.
Cindy rings her bell. "The second law of thermodynamics."
Then Charles. "Frank Sinatra."
Flash. "Fort Sumter."
Abe, for comic relief, rings his bell. "Flash is wrong."
"Okay, guys, let's focus. Next one," Liz orders.
"Liz, don't overwork them," Mr. Harrington warns.
Pete rings his bell. "Uh, strontium, barium, vibranium."
"Very good, Peter. Glad to have you back," Liz says, looking up from her cards.
"Glad to be back," Peter barely finishes when both our phones start ringing. Happy.
"What is the current standard unit of radioactive-" Liz starts.
"Can I take this real quick? I'll only be a sec," Peter asks.
"Yeah, fine," Liz answers. Peter and I make our way towards the back, answering our phones at the same time.
"Hello?"
"Got blips on my screen here. You guys left New York?" Peter looks at me, wondering how he knows.
"Tracker," I mumble.
"Uh, yeah. No, it's just a school trip. It's, uh, it's nothing," Peter replies.
"Look, Happy, I gotta say, you tracking us without our permission is a complete violation of our privacy." At this point, Peter and I have reached Ned, who, upon hearing what I just said, points at the holographic model.
"That's different," Peter whispers. Not quiet enough, it seems, because Happy hears.
"What's different?"
"Nothing. Look, it's just the Academic Decathlon. It's no big deal," I respond.
"Hey, hey. I'll decide if it's no big deal." Happy pauses for a bit before continuing. "Sounds like it's no big deal, but remember, I'm watching you."
"Everyone stick together," Liz says when we reach the hotel.
"Yeah," Mr. Harrington agrees.
"You kidding me? This place is huge," Charles exclaims.
"I've seen bigger," Flash comments.
"There's a bird in here," Abe notes.
"Hey, you brought your laptop, right?" Pete asks Ned.
"Why?" Ned wonders.
Liz knocks on the door of the room I'm sharing with MJ. She doesn't stop knocking until I open the door. She's standing there in her bathing suit with a towel on one shoulder and a bag of items from the minibar in that hand.
"Let's go swimming. Come on, I raided the minibar. Let's go have fun," she pleads. I glance back at MJ, who in turn shrugs.
"Alright, let's go." It doesn't take long before Liz convinces the others to join us. The only room we haven’t yet been to is the room Peter and Ned are sharing. Right when we are about to turn the corner, Peter leaves his room dressed in pants and a sweatshirt.
“Perfect timing,” Liz greets. “We’re going swimming. Come on, come on, come on.” She waves the others forward.
“What?” Peter whispers.
“Hey, Peter,” Sally says as she passes.
“Hi,” Cindy breathes. Flash doesn’t say anything as he passes, he just slaps my brother’s butt.
“Hey!” Peter and I exclaim. When Flash is about to pass me, I stick my foot out, effectively tripping him.
“Hands off my brother,” I order as he scampers away.
“I was, uh… I was gonna go study, um, in the business center,” Peter finally responds to Liz.
“Peter, you don’t need to study. You’re, like, the smartest guy I’ve ever met.” Peter looks like Liz just told him she loved him. “And besides… Um, a rebellious group activity the day before competition is good for morale.”
“Hmm?”
“Um, well, I read that in a TED Talk, so, I-I heard it in a TED Talk. And I read a coaching book.” I’ve never heard Liz stutter like this. Is it possible she likes Peter?
“Wow, you really…. This is really important to you,” Peter notices.
“Yeah. It’s our future. I’m not screw it up. Besides, we raided the minibar, and these candy bars were, like, eleven dollars. So get your trunks on and come on.” Liz throws a candy bar at Peter.
“Come on,” Charles and Sally whisper, waving Liz and I over.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Liz replies.
“I’ll be right there,” I say. I wait until they’re gone until I turn back to Peter, but he’s already gone. I open Peter and Ned’s door, no warning knock.
“Piper?” Ned questions.
“Where is Peter, and what is he trying to do?” I demand.
“He’s going to study in the business center.”
“That’s bull, and you know it, Ned. Where is he going? What is he planning on doing?”
“Piper, please. He’s going to study in the business center.”
“If that’s how you want to play it, fine, but if something happens to my brother, that’s on you. Trust me when I say that you don’t want that because I will make your life a living hell.” Ned has the wits to look terrified, and with that, I turn on my heel, heading to my room. Once there, I put on the mask. “Kyle, where’s Peter?”
“The tracker puts him fifty feet from you. Should I call him?”
“No. Thank you, Kyle.” I can breathe easier knowing that Peter doesn’t have his suit wherever he’s going. I make my way to the pool to join the others.
Morning comes, and MJ and I are getting ready for the Decathlon. It feels weird not being around Peter in the morning. I knock on Ned and Peter’s door.
“Hey, Pete. I gotta talk to you.”
“Now’s not a good time, Piper,” Ned says.
“What do you mean ‘it’s not a good time’? What’s going on?”
“Peter’s not really feeling well. He’s probably gonna sit this out.” I try to open the door, but without the key, it’s almost impossible.
“Ned, let me in.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Ned, let me in or I swear I’ll-”
“You’ll what? You’re not Peter. What can you do?” I almost retort that I can do exactly what Peter can, but Ned already knows one secret and that didn’t go well. 
“Fine. If you need anything, Pete, call me, okay?”
“He will,” Ned replies for my brother.
We’re entering the building where the Decathlon is being held, and I still haven’t heard from Peter. Ned avoids me the entire time, and it’s starting to make me suspicious.
“Please be sure all cell phones are off,” the moderator says, gesturing towards the security personnel holding bags for the phones. My classmates hand them over immediately, but I hesitate.
“Piper, you have to hand over your phone,” MJ tells me.
“I’m just worried about Peter. What if he needs me?”
“He’ll be fine. You can call him after the Decathlon.”
“You’re right.” I hand my phone to the nearest security personnel.
“We have now entered sudden death,” the moderator announces. “The next correct answer wins the championship.” MJ is the first to hit her bell. “Midtown Tech?”
“Zero,” MJ answers, looking bored. Both teams are holding their breath, waiting for the moderator.
“That is correct. Midtown takes the championship!” We all rush to MJ, and because I was next to her, the two of us are engulfed in a group hug.
“That was amazing,” I whisper to her.
“Thanks,” she whispers back. We leave, grabbing our phones on the way out, and head towards the Washington Monument.
“We won!” Someone yells.
“You guys, I am so proud of you,” Liz says.
“Told you we didn’t need Peter,” Flash comments.
“Flash, you didn’t answer a single question,” Ned retorts. MJ stops walking when we get closer, holding her book and trying to find a place to sit.
“Taking it all in, Michelle?” Mr. Harrington asks.
“Oh, yeah. I just… um, I don’t really want to celebrate something that was built by slaves,” she replies.
“Oh, I’m sure the Washington Monument wasn’t built by-” Mr. Harrington cuts himself off when the park ranger confirms that MJ’s right. “Okay. Enjoy your book.”
“Thanks.” With that, Mr. Harrington walks away, leaving just me and MJ.
“Want me to stay?” I wonder.
“It’s fine. Go, have fun.”
“Ok. I’ll see you later, then.” I start running to catch up with the group. 
We’re at the security checkpoint when Ned’s phone rings. He takes a few steps away and whispers into the phone, but I can still hear him.
“Peter, are you okay?” Ned pauses while Peter answers. “Don’t worry, it’s in my backpack.” Ned pauses again, putting his backpack on the conveyor belt. “You missed the Decathlon. I covered for you.” Peter says something else. “We’re at the Washington Monument now. You gotta-” Ned gets cut off as Liz takes the phone.
“Peter, is that you?” She pauses as Peter says something. “Are you feeling any better? Ned told Piper you were sick.” She pauses as Peter says something else.
Miss, all items on the belt, please,” a security guard orders. Liz puts Ned’s phone near his backpack, not hanging up.
We enter the elevator when Flash turns to Mr. Harrington.
“Can I be the one to tell Peter he’s expelled?”
“He’s not expelled, Flash. He stayed in the hotel because he’s sick, and we don’t want him getting worse,” Mr. Harrington answers.
“The Washington Monument is 555 feet, 5 and ⅛ inches tall. Notice how the marble and granite are cut around the stone,” the tour guide says monotonously. A bright purplish light erupts from Ned’s backpack, breaking glass and cracking parts of the monument. Ned drops his backpack onto the elevator floor.
“Please don’t tell that is what I think it is,” I whisper to him.
“Okay,” he responds.
“What was that?”
“You told me not to tell you.”
“Ned! That was stupid, bringing it here. They tracked its energy once, they could’ve done it again!”
“Oh, my god. Look at the ceiling,” Charles exclaims. The ceiling is divided by a glowing red crack.
“Just stay calm, everyone,” Liz advises.
“Oh, we are all going to die,” Abe whines.
“We’re freakin’ screwed,” Charles says.
“Okay guys, I know that was scary, but our safety systems are working,” the tour guide assures. “We’re very safe in here.” The tour guide opens the hatch, and we see that park rangers have opened the doors to the elevator shaft. They pull Cindy out first.
“Let’s go. Give me your hand,” one of the rangers says.
“Okay, who’s next?” Mr. Harrington asks. Liz grabs his shoulder, preparing to climb up and out when Flash shoves her away.
“Me. It’s my turn!” Flash shouts.
“Flash, seriously? What are you doing?” Ned demands.
“Don’t worry about the trophy,” Cindy says, as Flash climbs through, never letting go of said trophy. The elevator starts shaking, and every person still inside screams. Flash barely makes it to the shaft doors when two things happen at once: the elevator drops, and Spider-Man shoots in from the window.
He shoots a web, trying to stop the fall, but the web attaches to the part of the roof that broke off. The next web covers the top of the elevator, slowing us until we hit something beneath us. We start slowing moving up until we’re falling again and Spider-Man lands in the middle of the elevator floor. He shoots one last web, which attaches to the ceiling up above, and now stands on the partial ceiling of the elevator.
“Ahem. Hey, how you doing? Don’t worry about it. I got you,” Peter says, changing his voice so he doesn’t sound like him. Ned starts reacting immediately, swinging his fist and shouting.
“Yes! Yes!”
“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, big guy, quit moving around!” Pete orders.
“Sorry, sir. So sorry,” Ned replies. Peter’s able to pull the elevator up to where the others are, enough so that they can open the elevator doors. Ned and Mr. Harrington are able to get out fast enough. Liz and I are the only ones left. I know there’s only time for one person to get out before we fall, so I shove Liz towards the doors.
“Liz, go. I’ll be right behind you.” Luckily, she doesn’t question me and does as I said. As soon as she is out, the elevator falls, separating me from my brother.
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