#chi pd fic

[eveningspirit]

My boy Adam got shot in the chest, center-mass.

It’s exactly like in my fic (the one I haven’t written, lol) from 2016. I started it, posted the first chapter actually, and then abandoned it, because I dunno?... I didn’t feel it would be received well?

Truth be told, I couldn’t quite imagine a scenario where he wouldn’t be wearing a vest (had some convoluted idea, that I wasn’t happy with, nevermind). I didn’t think about undercover work then, but this is so good – what happened on the show now. I mean. The fic wasn’t about the injury itself and direct aftermath – but rather about long-term repercussions. And now I can just write it. As a continuation of canon. Wow.

I think I will, because, let’s face it, the show will have him fixed and healthy two episodes into S11 (or dead, but nothing seems to be pointing in that direction).

Now it’s all even better than seven years ago, because Kim is right there, to support him, there’s potential for family drama with Mack. It would be better if Jay and *sigh* Alvin were there as well, but at least Kevin is still close and Hailey’s there too (although she has a plethora of her own problems at the moment, I guess).

Well. Anyway. Am I back bitches??? (what about my original writing, though???)

[tngrace]

I haven't read or reblogged 1 Chicago fics in a long long long time. But jay will always be my 1st true love and Moustead will always be my brotp! And this series already has me hooked so I can't wait to dig in 😍

Thanks // Jay Halstead x Reader // Pt 1

Description: Y/N volunteers and meets an unlikely friend. 

Warnings: None

Pairing: Jay x Reader (eventual), Reader x Mouse!Platonic, Jay x Mouse!Platonic

Words: 1094

A/N: Here’s the first part of the next long fic. There won’t be too much angst here, but enough. 

Keep reading

[pkg4mumtown]

Welcome to Hawkins PD (Ch. 2)

Chapter Title: Welcome to Hawkins PD

Chapter 2 of 9?

Read Chapter 1 HERE

AN: Don’t ask me why I’m torturing myself by doing 1st person cover art, now. I have roughly 9 chapters outlined so far and it probably won’t go more than that. Hope you enjoy.

Warnings: Smoking, cursing, Hopper trying to be funny

Summary: You get to know your Chief a bit more as you make your way into Hawkins.

Taglist: @kingphillipblake​

If you'd like to be in my taglist (for this fic or everything) or removed, lmk. I'm not tagging anyone I had on my "all writing" list last year because I don't know if they still feel the same!

The start of the drive was uncomfortably tense. My nervousness was more obvious as I took my sunglasses off, allowing the Chief to see my eyes darting around the cab. I eventually let my gaze focus on the passing trees and forestry, getting lost in the green blur.

“Not too chatty, huh? We’ll get along just fine,” Hopper smirked as he basically asked and answered himself. He glanced at me for any kind of reaction, instead seeing me zoned out, “You okay, kid?”

I hadn’t been intentionally ignoring him but was snapped out of my stupor by the word “kid” hanging in the air.

“Kid?” he asked again.

“I’m not a kid,” I snapped and crossed my arms. I mumbled under my breath, hoping he wouldn’t yell at me as the words left my mouth, “I’m twenty-seven years old for Christ’s sake.”

Hopper simply raised his eyebrows and scoffed, “Sure got the hearing of one.” He tapped his steering wheel rhythmically and pursed his lips, “Twenty-seven, huh?”

“Mhmm, why?”

“Just older than what usually passes through the academy is all,” he shrugged.

“Yea, well, I tried to be a good little secretary and then a telephone operator just like mom and dad said but…” I trailed off.

“But what?”

“I fucking hated it, sir,” I sighed, suddenly remembering my manners. “When I told them I wanted to join a police department, they figured I meant as a secretary or a dispatcher. Imagine their horror when I packed up and told them their little girl was off to be a cop.”

“Old fashioned folks,” Hopper nodded.

“Still not an excuse, sir,” I grumbled.

“You can drop the ‘sir’ act, Y/L/N. You’re not a recruit anymore. ‘Chief’ or ‘Hopper’ work just fine at our station.”

“Sorry, s—Chief,” I murmured.

“It’s fine,” he brushed it off with a wave of his hand. “So, they didn’t come to your graduation?”

“Nope,” I punctuated by popping the “p”.

“Christ, I’m sorry…”

“My best friend came, at least. She got me these,” I smiled, pointing to the glasses that hung from my uniform.

Hopper chuckled at the sight of the glasses mimicking his own, “Yea, that’s a necessary part of the uniform. Next is the hat,” he tilted the brim down and winked.

I let out a not-so-feminine snort as both of our laughter filled the truck. I was worried I’d been too rude before, so I was grateful for the break in tension. I covered my mouth as I laughed, feeling Hopper’s stare as his chest vibrated.

“What?” I asked as I caught him staring instead of paying attention to the empty road.

“Nothin', just the first time I’ve seen you laugh. You’ve been so serious up until now,” he looked away quickly. “It looks good on you, y’know?” he added, his voice barely a murmur.

I felt my face heat up at his words and if his ears were any indication, he was embarrassed as well. I didn’t have to be a detective to see that. I cleared my throat and murmured my thanks before growing silent again.

“So, um, they help you get set up with a place in town already?” Hopper changed the subject.

“Uh, no, I’m gonna stay at a motel for a couple days while I get that and transportation sorted.”

“What!? No, no, no, no,” he replied quickly. “Trust me, you don’t want any part of those motels,” Hopper gave me a terrified glance, like he’d definitely seen some shit there. “I’ve got a trailer I moved out of that you can rent from me.”

“Chief, really, it’s okay. I can—”

“Y/L/N,” he cut me off with a pointed glare. “You can stay there as long as you want or until you find somewhere better. I’m not gonna charge you an arm and a leg for rent,” he reassured me.

“Thanks, I really appreciate that,” I gave him a small smile.

“Hey, I’m not as big a jerk as everyone says I am, alright?” Hopper grumbled.

“Who says that?”

“You’ll see,” he shook his head and sighed. “We can swing by the utilities office when we get there and get everything turned on for ya.”

The rest of the drive managed to fly by as we chatted, nothing too personal and mostly more about me than him. He drove me to the trailer after getting everything sorted out with the utilities and setting me up to make payments. The long driveway to the trailer crunched under his tires but the bumpy ride was worth the view in the secluded area.

“This is it,” he grunted as he put the Blazer in park.

“This view is great, why’d you move?” I asked as I took in the surroundings and spotted the lake behind the trailer.

“Eh, it’s just too small,” he motioned towards his torso with his hand.

I rose an eyebrow at him, letting my gaze land on his torso, flick over to the trailer, and back over to his face, “You’re not that big.”

“You know,” he started with a mischievous grin as he opened the driver’s side door, “a less secure man would have taken offense to that.”

“Chief!” was all I could manage to berate him with as he turned away from me and broke out in to laughter.

We jumped out of the truck at the same time and this time I didn’t protest when he offered to help me with my bags. His keys jingled softly as he stomped up the stairs and unlocked the door to the trailer. Hopper and his obscenely thick fingers fought with the keyring for a moment before finally freeing the key and handing it over to me.

“Here,” he murmured and held the metal between two fingers, effectively dwarfing the key, “and there’s a spare key under the first step,” he nodded outside.

Hopper took a couple spins around the living room and sniffled loudly, “Little musty, sorry. Um, I left quite a few things here, so it might just need some picking up and dusting. I kinda moved in a hurry.”

“It’s not a problem, it’ll give me something to do, Chief,” I reassured him.

We fell into an awkward silence, causing Hopper to step semi-discreetly to the door. He fished his pockets for his business card as he spoke, “Well, uh, if you need anything…”

I graciously accepted the card from him, “Actually, Chief, d'ya happen to have a map on you? So, I can figure my way around this place by Monday?”

“Shit, what am I thinking?” Hopper murmured to himself, realizing he’d just dropped me off seemingly in the middle of nowhere without a sense of direction. His brows knitted together in thought, making his thinking face look angry, “I can show you around right now if you want? Maybe grab lunch while we’re at it as a…congrats?” His lips pushed up and his eyes squinted as he waited for my answer.

“You don’t have to do that, really. I’m sure you have better things to do on a Saturday,” I tried to refuse. “I can manage with just a map.”

“My daughter is at her friend’s house, so I would either sit at the station bored off my ass or drink myself to sleep at home,” Hopper pursed his lips and feigned thinking with his hands on his hips, “Or I can give you a welcome tour.”

I laughed at this ridiculous man and his antics and finally relented, “Fine, but let me change at least.”

Hopper agreed and showed me the rest of the trailer. It was hard not to imagine this hulking man living in this tight trailer as he effortlessly stalked through the rooms. I could almost see his body engulfing the small couch or his broad shoulders bumping walls when he’d get drunk. The tour ended in the bedroom with a bare mattress and the floor littered with the odd empty pack of cigarettes. I tossed my duffel on the bed and started sifting through the civilian clothes I had packed. I heard Hopper open the closet and make a low noise of surprise.

“Hey, I left clothes here,” he held up a red flannel shirt from the closet, which contained a couple pairs of pants and a few random shirts. “A change wouldn’t hurt, nothing happens on the weekends,” Hopper brought the shirt to his nose and grimaced, but shrugged and piled it in one arm anyway. “If this shit gets in your way, feel free to throw it in a bag and chuck it in my office.”

I had pulled out jeans, a shirt, and a sweater and laid them on the bed. By the time Hopper turned back around with his findings, I had halfway unbuttoned my uniform shirt without thinking twice.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Hopper held up his free hand to his eyes right away. “At least let me leave first, Y/L/N! For Pete's sake…” Hopper felt his way out of the room, nearly tripping when his foot caught on the threshold.

As we got back in the Blazer, Hopper chucked his uniform in the back seat. He fetched a pack of Camels from his pocket and held them up in question.

“Mind?”

“Not if I can bum one off you, Chief,” I smirked, grabbing my bun and releasing my hair from its confines. I slipped my hair tie around my wrist and shook my hair out, not really caring how it looked, only that my scalp could breathe.

The corner of Hopper’s mouth turned up before he was shaking the box and pulling out a cigarette. He let it rest between his lips, then turned the box toward me so I could grab one for myself.

“First things first,” he mumbled around the cigarette while lighting it. I leaned my head forward as he brought the lighter towards me. After, I leaned back in my seat, hearing the snap of the lighter closing before I saw his hand extending towards me. “Jim,” his lips closed loosely to avoid dropping the cigarette as he waited with an open palm.

I shook his offered hand, fighting the urge explore the ridges of his palm, “Y/N.”

We took off in the direction of town, silently filling the Blazer with smoke. I tried my best to memorize my surroundings as Hopper pointed out different stores and buildings. He rambled about the owners of certain places, far more than just a Chief might know.

“You grow up here?” I wondered aloud.

“Yea,” he let out a silent laugh, releasing smoke from his lungs as he did. “Moved back about six years ago or so. Good catch.”

We pulled into the diner parking lot, just as my cigarette reached its end, “Damn, I’m sad that’s gone,” I spoke mainly to myself.

“Yea, Bridge got mad at me for trying to bring one when I visited ILEA a month back. How long were you deprived?” Hopper joked while getting out of the car.

“Mm, four months and change,” I answered slowly as if I was unsure.

“Ouch,” he grimaced and stepped ahead of me to open the diner door like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I pushed down my tendency to blush but failed, instead using my hair to block my cheeks from Hopper's eyes. What can I say? I had a thing for old fashioned manners.

He nodded a silent greeting to a waitress and made a beeline for an empty booth, because I guess when you’re the Chief you can just do that. After receiving an odd look from the waitress as we ordered drinks and more stares from women in the diner, I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. The waitress came back around to take our food orders and drop off our drinks, my drink earning me a mocking eyebrow from Hopper.

“Milkshake? Really?” he choked out a laugh around his cup of coffee.

“Excuse me, I’m still allowed the rest of the day to celebrate, Chief,” I replied with an air of pride and a smidgen of sass as I wrapped my lips around the straw.

“You’re right, you’re right,” he chuckled and shook his head, staring down at his coffee and then glancing out the window in a quick canvas.

“Thank you, though,” I started, causing him to meet my eyes. “Thank you for celebrating with me when my own family wouldn’t.”

Hopper swirled his coffee before speaking, “Guess you could say…we’re your family, now.” He raised the mug up and toward me, so I did the same with my glass. He tapped our glasses together in a toast and let a satisfied smile spread over his lips, “Welcome to Hawkins PD.”

I nodded enthusiastically and brought the straw back to my mouth, “Yea, I'll drink to that.”

I sipped on the shake, casually glancing around the dining area and seeing quickly averted eyes. I chewed my straw and furrowed my brows in thought. I’d been silently pondering for so long that I hadn’t realized Hopper was watching the wheels turn in my head.

“What’s up?”

“Mm,” I made a noise indicating I’d heard him as I swallowed. “Why am I being stared at by every woman here?”

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “Small town, new face…women gossip, is the first reason.”

“And the second?”

Hopper took a deep breath through his nose, “Remember when I said that everyone thinks I’m a jerk?”

I simply nodded in understanding.

“Well, ‘everyone’ meant…women.”

We sat in silence for a few seconds while his words washed over me. My eyebrows flew up as I realized what he meant while my hand moved to hide my laughter.

“No!” I gasped in amused shock behind my hand as I deciphered his words.

“Yeah,” he rubbed his brow and grimaced at my shocked face.

I leaned forward on my elbows, smiling widely. His playfully forlorn face told me he knew I’d figured it out and was waiting for the impending grief I was going to lay on him. “Chief…you’re a slut?” I couldn’t hold back the giggle that escaped my lips.

“Correction, I used to be a slut, alright?” he rolled his eyes. “I stopped when I adopted my daughter.”

“Mhmm,” I raised an eyebrow at him as if I didn’t believe him.

“I’m serious!”

After eating, fighting over paying for lunch (a fight he won), and taking me to the grocery store (yet another fight he won), we pulled up to the trailer. Hopper helped me take the bags inside and lingered in the living room.

“If I have any questions,” I showed him the map I stole from his Blazer, “I’ll call you.”

“I’ll keep an ear out,” he smirked and opened the trailer door.

I held the door open as he walked out, stopping when I spoke up, “Wish me luck buying my own car tomorrow.”

Hopper stopped in his tracks and turned around, “What were you gonna do? Walk to the dealership?”

“Uh, bus?”

“No,” he shook his head, turned, and kept walking, “I’ll pick you up at ten tomorrow.”

“Chief!” I protested, but he kept walking to his Blazer.

“They’re less likely to haggle you if the Chief of Police is there, alright!?” he shouted back, not giving me another chance to speak as he got in the truck.

Chapter 3

Hopper stuck his arm out of the window, offering a passive wave of his hand and a smile as he turned the truck around. I leaned against the doorframe and waved back, wondering how in the hell I was supposed to survive a career next to Jim Hopper.

[janiedean]

fic: il golpe gentiloni (rpf)

sto ancora elaborando il lutto. SI GENTE HO SCRITTO LA FANFIC SU STA COSA PERDONO A TUTTI COMPRESO GENTILONI MA DOVEVO FARLO. PLS NON DENUNCIATEMI NON HO SOLDI PER PAGARMI L’AVVOCATO.

Di Maio, la lettera a Repubblica: “Voltiamo pagina e cambiamo l’Italia insieme.”

Berlusconi: “Resto io il regista della coalizione.”

90% PD dice no a intesa con M5S, non c’è dibattito.

Se non altro, pensò il Presidente del Consiglio scrollando sulla homepage di Repubblica, la situazione era piuttosto chiara e lampante. Tre giorni, e nessun miglioramento della situazione - anzi, peggioramento. Sospirò una, due volte, poi chiuse la finestra - inutile rimandare l’inevitabile - e anche il computer portatile, mentre lo sguardo gli cadde sulla copia della Costituzione riposta vicino al pc.

Si alzò dalla sedia per poi avvicinarsi alla finestra, osservando l’ammasso di manifestanti su Via del Corso, tenuti fuori da Piazza Colonna grazie ad una transenna.

Scosse la testa sospirando, chiedendosi se fosse davvero il caso di procedere con il piano di riserva, l’ultima cartuccia a sua disposizione, ma d’altra parte tutti devono fare dei sacrifici ad un certo punto della loro vita, e se il suo implicava la salvezza del Paese, beh, c’era di peggio che passare il resto della vita a Palazzo Chigi. Insomma, alla fine poteva essere peggio, e rimanendo all’interno di Palazzo Chigi almeno si sarebbe risparmiato l’amministrazione del resto della città.

Prese il telefono in mano e mandò un messaggio alla moglie - Emanuela, da oggi entra dal retro, dobbiamo mettere in atto il piano B.

Poi procedette a congedare tutti gli impiegati con il suo solito, affabile sorriso - non era certo un maleducato lui e in ogni caso nessuno doveva sospettare cosa stava per fare. Aspettò che il palazzo fosse finalmente vuoto e che la porta fosse ben chiusa dall’interno.

E poi, con un triste sorriso rassegnato sulle labbra, Paolo Gentiloni tornò al piano superiore, riprendendo il computer e ordinando una cassetta per gli attrezzi dal più vicino fabbro che potesse consegnarla a domicilio entro la giornata. Poi, con pacata tranquillità, entrò nel sito di Sky, cambiando il suo abbonamento per avere modo di poter vedere le partite della Juventus anche a Palazzo Chigi - sacrificarsi per la patria è sempre cosa buona e giusta, pensò, ma rinunciare anche alle partite della Juve era un attimo eccessivo.

Risolta la questione, prese il cellulare di servizio - insomma, almeno lui il suo lo utilizzava, mica come Trump che ancora aveva quello hackerabile per twittare, che desolazione - e cominciò a fare il giro di chiamate necessarie per preparare il terreno. Considerò se avvertire la May, ma d’altra parte alla fine poteva anche risparmiarselo - alla fin fine la Brexit se l’erano scelta loro e lui poteva anche risparmiarsi la telefonata.

Macron rispose immediatamente, dicendo di aspettarsi la telefonata. Toute la France sera avec toi, gli disse appena comunicato il piano, assicurandolo che avrebbe assolutamente potuto partecipare a qualsiasi seduta tra primi ministri via Skype. Gentiloni lo salutò con un sentito merci beaucoup, Emanuel, per poi telefonare ad Angela Merkel, che ci mise un poco di più a rispondere, ma d’altra parte la poverina era impicciata con la sua grande coalizione, era anche comprensibile.

Wir respektieren Ihre Entscheidung voll, lo assicurò immediatamente la cancelliera, con tono sollevato, aggiungendo che le stava venendo da piangere per la gioia - una cosa era dover avere a che fare con Trump per necessità, ma un Salvini o un Di Maio oltre a Trump sarebbe stato troppo anche per lei.

E chi può darle torto, Gentiloni pensò ringraziandola, giusto appena si sentì suonare il campanello dell’ingresso sul retro. Il presidente del Consiglio andò a ritirare la cassetta per gli attrezzi per poi chiudere a chiave anche l’altro ingresso - fortuna che sua moglie aveva le chiavi.

Poi si procurò un martello dalla cassetta e, con un triste e rassegnato sospiro, fece a pezzi il citofono vicino all’ingresso.

Poi fece lo stesso con quello del portone principale, e poi con tutti gli altri, e poi staccò tutti i telefoni personalmente - avrebbe anche potuto spaccare la centralina, ma internet gli serviva per fare il suo mestiere quindi non poteva permetterselo.

Vedi te, pensò, le cose che faccio per amore del mio paese.

Poi andò a sedersi di nuovo vicino al computer.

Era ora di mandare una mail a Mattarella e informarlo che almeno per il momento, non c’era bisogno si scervellasse per trovare un nuovo presidente del Consiglio, e soprattutto che se per caso volesse ogni tanto entrare o dal retro o dall’ingresso segreto che collega Palazzo Chigi a Palazzo Madama, sarebbe stato benvenuto, e se avesse portato le necessarie bevande alcoliche, sarebbe stato tutto ben accetto.

Il tuo sacrificio non verrà dimenticato almeno per tutta questa legislatura, arrivò come risposta pochi minuti dopo.

Gentiloni sorrise mestamente. Almeno qualcuno lo riconosce, pensò, e poi prese di nuovo il cellulare.

Era ora di telefonare a Repubblica e mettere fine a questo dannato teatrino post-elezioni - lui da Palazzo Chigi non si sarebbe mosso, e auguri a chi provasse ad entrare.

“Ma Presidente,” gli chiese Mauro Calabresi appena Gentiloni gli comunicò il suo progetto, “ma quindi da adesso come intende lavorare? Solo via internet? E che dirà ai partiti, ai deputati, agli elettori, a -”

“Ho una sola dichiarazione in merito,” Gentiloni rispose, sorridendo mestamente.

“Ovvero?”

“Per i prossimi cinque anni, se si tratta di qualsiasi cosa non abbia a che fare con l’andamento del Paese… non vedo, non sento e non parlo. Chiaro?”

“Chiaro, ma -”

“Buon lavoro, Direttore,” Gentiloni rispose amabilmente, e chiuse la telefonata.

Benissimo, pensò, e adesso che questa è fatta vediamo di ristabilire la credibilità internazionale via Skype.

——

Cinque giorni dopo, guardò fuori dalla finestra.

Piazza Colonna era piena di manifestanti, non più transennati, ma con cartelli di supporto - Presidente siamo con te, Paolo resta, Gentiloni unico premier - e un intero banchetto pieno di torte fatte a mano e bottiglie di vino.

Se ce fai entrà te le regaliamo tutte!, una delle ragazze urlò in maniera entusiasta.

Gentiloni decise che forse farli entrare dal retro e vedere se potessero essere buone aggiunte per il nuovo staff non poteva essere una cattiva idea.

——

“Presidente,” chiese la sua nuova responsabile delle comunicazioni due mesi dopo, “Salvini e Di Maio volgono ancora parlare con lei. Che devo rispondere?”

Gentiloni, che si stava preparando per partecipare via Skype al prossimo summit con Merkel e Macron e Draghi, scosse la testa.

“Lo stesso che rispondiamo ogni giorno.”

“Non vedo, non sento, non parlo?”

“Continua così e un giorno lo farai tu il capogruppo alla Camera,” le rispose in tono di approvazione, e si sedette di nuovo al suo computer.

Lui, d’altra parte, almeno si guadagnava il suo stipendio, altro che Salvini al Parlamento Europeo.

Le cose che faccio per amore del mio Paese, davvero, pensò, ma almeno il suo sacrificio stava contando qualcosa, e alla fine lui era una persona perbene e aveva il dovere morale di farlo.

Mise la mano sulla Costituzione e aprì il collegamento con Bruxelles. Anche oggi era un altro giorno, e anche oggi avrebbe mandato avanti il Paese con competenza e serietà.

Sperando che Trump non decidesse di fare qualche cazzata proprio quella sera, visto che giocava la Juve.

Alla fin fine, c’è un limite ai sacrifici che un semplice premier può fare per essere il nocchiere della nave in gran tempesta del suo Paese servo e di dolore ostello.