#cyclone saw his life flash before his eyes as the coffee cup missed him by an inch and hit the wall behind him

[looney-just-like-her-tunes]

Ice, to Rooster: I don't think it was a such a good idea to teach Mav new internet slang.

Rooster: Why not?

Maverick: *hurling an empty coffee cup at Cyclone* This bitch empty YEET-

[fringchound-a]

It was a rough life if you were a stalker. 

That was what she assumed, watching the television that morning while Mama and Papa went about their routines. She had been hoping for a bout of cartoons until at least midday, like any child worth their existence at the ripe age of eight. But that plan had been dashed when the program cut out midway with the daily reminder from their government-controlled news station that stalking was bad. Here was a list of names of people in custody for poking around the biggest elephant in the room, their Zone, and that if you saw one you were supposed to call your local police to report it. 

She didn’t see how any of this was more important than her morning television programs, but she waited it out as patiently as any bored child would. Which is to say, not very well. It caused her to fidget, playing with bare toes and fingers still a little sticky from her cereal, braiding what she could of her ridiculous mane and failing at that, started reading the names of the movies on the shelves nearby and making up words with the letters. She could have left the room, but she knew if she did, the cartoons would return and she would miss them. 

Instead, she was reminded that the awful profession the government hated so much were simply frazzled-looking people flashing across the screen. Some of them didn’t even look that ragged, they looked like Papa and Mama did. But they had to be bad, she reasoned, since they wouldn’t be arrested by the police otherwise. She barely knew what a stalker even was, or what they did that was so horrible to even need to be arrested in the first place. To her, they were just normal people. 

Maybe I’ll know better when I’m older...

Maybe she would, maybe she could ask her parents. Maybes swirled around in her head as a new set of faces flashed across the screen, the little numbers on the little plates impressing on her with their stark monochrome so she watched them as they passed instead, mesmerized by the contrasts and the way the curves and lines made up characters on the placards...

The trance was broken by Mama starting up the vacuum cleaner, the motor drowning out the representative’s monotone reading of names and where they came from. Papa was noisily folding up a newspaper and sipping at the last of his morning coffee before getting up to go get more from the kitchen. She moved when Mama came into the room, jumping off the carpet and onto the couch and pretending the floor was a great chasm and the vacuum, a dragon at the bottom guarding its sacred treasure. Finally, a reprieve from the depressing turn of the morning television. They were already on Arrest Number 83 in their district and showed no signs of stopping.

Mama picked up on the game fairly quickly, chasing her young daughter about in slow and lazy circles with the vacuum cleaner, making sure she didn’t miss any spots even though the dragon was clearly demanding revenge for some heinous crime that had yet to be discovered. Only once the living room had been cleaned did the game end, the final arrest on the list going by and with a reminder to be a good civic servant and report on criminal stalking activity, the announcement ended and the screen changed back to animated wonderment.

The vacuum on its way down the hall, the floor was safe again to sit on, and she did, watching with childish glee as the highly-stylized wolf on-screen went through his usual shenanigans to unsuccessfully catch his rival, a seemingly-naive purple sheep. Mindless entertainment, Papa called it, but he never saw fit to actually change the channels or tell his little girl to stop watching it, so maybe he secretly liked it, too. That was her logic and it made plenty of sense to her.

Right on cue, Papa came back into the living room with his second cup of steaming coffee and flopped back onto the couch. He shook his head as he watched the show a few seconds. “Mindless entertainment...” Just like routine dictated. But it was a comfortable routine and she liked it well enough.

Mama was finished with the vacuuming and was winding up the cord, Papa was halfway through his cup of coffee, when the doorbell rang. This wasn’t very unusual, it might be the weird neighbor lady who always seemed to have an issue with them and who regularly came to complain about the noise during the day. It might be one of Papa’s friends from work, or Mama’s friends from around the block. Nothing told her at first that this was a strange event in her daily life, until the person on the other side of the door started banging on it instead. It caught her attention and she curled up into herself in the middle of the floor as Papa stood up to go answer the door, Mama following at a short distance with a confused and worried expression on her face.

She didn’t know what she was expecting. All she knew was that one second, Papa was at the door and the next second was chaos. He yelled something back toward Mama, drowned out by harder bangs and splintering wood. She couldn’t understand it, but she knew it sounded panicked and the realization that Papa was scared in turn scared her. Mama, however, understood it well enough and ran out of the room like a shot, grabbing her daughter’s arms to haul her to her feet and pull her toward the back of the house.

Her questions were drowned out by a loud bang from the front of the house and a cacophony of voices shouting and yelling and sounding very threatening, even if she couldn’t understand them through the panic-induced ringing in her ears. There was more banging from the front and glass shattering somewhere in the house, stomping heavy footsteps coming further in, and the thought that they would get to her and Mama finally scared her into tears.

The sounds of struggle and pursuit were muffled as soon as Mama made it into the back bedroom, shoving her child around the door in order to shut it and lock it. It wasn’t a very good lock, just enough to deter an ambitious and mischievous eight-year-old from coming in and little else.

She stumbled to the floor when pushed, unable to make her legs do what she wanted them to do. The sounds of men in the hallway coming closer and in more and more numbers made her start to sniffle, Mama grabbing her a bit roughly by her upper arms.

“Quick! Get under the bed and try not to make a sound.” Mama told her, as calmly as her own quivering voice would allow. Her eyes were foggy and wet, also welling with tears. She was trying to hide it though. “No matter what you hear or see, you will not make a noise and you will not come out until I tell you to.”

She wanted to protest, like any slighted child, but the troubling bang against the bedroom door caused her instead to scurry for cover, as Mama had said. Her tiny frame fit neatly under the bedframe, and she scooted as far back as she could go, curling around herself more for comfort than any active attempt at hiding better.

Mama was already around the other side of the bed and clicking the locks on the window open, putting her weight against the frame to make the old swollen wood give way. It scooted loudly, loud enough she could hear it under the bed, above the second blow to the door that tore it off-kilter on its hinges so it banged against the wall and landed partially on the floor within sight. Lines of boots, she lost count of how many, stormed into the room. Mama let off a sort of shrieking roar that she had never heard the woman make, and it startled her so bad that she had to cover her mouth and lay perfectly still so as not to make a sound, like Mama had told her to.

There was a loud short struggle that moved the bedframe enough she was afraid of being uncovered before Mama was dragged to the floor, wild-eyed and raging as a feral animal. For a brief moment, their eyes met and it seemed to calm her for a second’s time before she was restrained and dragged shrieking curses and still struggling with an anger her daughter had never seen before in either of her parents down the hall and out the front door. There were noises for some time, shouting and yelling and horns and rumbling engines that faded away.

The house was silent in only the ways a house ravished by a cyclone is silent. There was an ambient creak as the wooden floors and old walls settled after their sound beatings, almost deafening. The sounds, noises she had lived with all her life, spooked her now. She jumped at them and remained where she had been left, watching down the hall for anything that might have been left behind. She hoped and prayed for at least her Papa, wishing to see him come running to her and pull her out and hug her and tell her they would get Mama back, like heroes in a television show. But part of her also knew that if anyone was left in the house, she didn’t want to meet them.

It was hours before she felt safe enough to exit, following the call of her stomach and bladder. Slowly, she emerged and padded quietly down the hall to the bathroom, stopping every so often to listen, a set of instincts kicking in she never knew she had. With her first stop taken care of, she moved through the rest of the house, ignoring the devastation as best she could. Ignoring the front door blown against the kitchen table, trying to ignore Papa’s broken glasses on the kitchen floor, trampled beneath so many boots next to the shards and dark stain that had been his coffee cup and what was in it.

The fridge was smudged and scarred, but intact, and though she tried to ignore it, she couldn’t help but wonder why. Why had it happened. Was it because of the daily announcements that interrupted cartoons on a weekend morning? The more she thought on it, the more upset she became and the less and less hungry she was feeling. She had to find them, so said her child’s resolve. Mama and Papa weren’t bad people, she could explain that. They took good care of her and they went to work and they paid their bills on time when they were due and they followed the rules. They weren’t bad, they were good people.

They would look for her if something happened to her. She had to look for them. The logic made sense to her.

She was careful to avoid the broken slivers of television screen scattered across the freshly-vacuumed living room floor, running to her room to prepare. Getting dressed, finding her school backpack, and filling it with things of comfort and food, she deemed herself ready to begin her journey.

There was no crowd outside the house, like one would have expected for such a disruption. That was not how things worked here; if your house was raided, it was avoided by the neighborhood like the plague. She met no resistance as she left, wasn’t offered any help as she ran down the street with fire in her stride to save her parents. No one approached her or saw her. She was alone in the world, entertaining thoughts of what a reunion would be like, wild imaginings to help her cope with the daunting task in front of her and the traumas she left behind.

It would be almost three days before she realized she didn’t know where to actually start.

@seercull | @adriftinthezone

[anne-wentworth]

The prompt I’m talking about is that I can’t stop wondering how would the dynamic of the six of them be if Darvey had started a relationship after the other time. It’s up to you if she went back to work for him anyway but what if they hadn’t “lost” that decade denying their feelings? Can be angst but happy ending please! :)

Begin Again

A/N Okay so um…this is different than what you asked for and I’m so sorry especially because I did not fulfill the “what if they hadn’t lost that decade denying their feelings part” but I hope you still like it?? 

For the Japanese, who know so much and intuit more, human relations are predestined by a red string that the gods tie to the pinky fingers of those who find each other in life. Legend has it that the two people connected by this thread will have an important story, regardless of the time, place or circumstances. The red string might get tangled, contracted or stretched, as surely often happens, but it can never break.

Donna and Harvey met on a Wednesday night in a bar when the redhead cornered the young lawyer with a proposition. 

Fate had sat up, taking note because this was the moment she spent years waiting for. 

The new acquaintances took up residence in a little booth, secluded from the rest of the world with quick remarks and quiet laughter bouncing between them. In mere seconds, Harvey became smitten and Donna wasn’t very far behind. 

Unknown to both, the string that connected them appeared to glow a bit.

And even as Harvey claimed that he wouldn’t be staying at the DA’s office, to which Donna disagreed, a part of him had known that she was right. 

He would soon come to learn that she was always right about him.

On that night, a story began. 

It was the start of something new. 

Something beautiful.

Nothing would be the same after that. Because I’m Donna were the words that changed Harvey Specter’s life forever.

So Donna and Harvey began their dance that included her fixing his tie and having drinks together and of course, flirting whenever it was possible. Which was always.

And falling. 

Harvey knew he was in deep but from from the way he caught Donna looking at him he knew that she was right there with him. 

However, she had her rule. 

But then Harvey wasn’t working at the DA’s office anymore and it wasn’t a surprise that Donna was ready and waiting for him when he showed up at her door. 

Within minutes they collided, galaxies exploding in the night, a burst of stars and light and bliss. 

Harvey’s hands were in her hair and her nails scraped his back and before he knew it they were collapsing on her bed in a messy heap of giggles. Clothes were coming off and he was burning and she was perfect and his heart hammered in his chest because he never knew anything like this before.

This was it.

As Harvey memorized every inch of Donna’s body with his mouth he discovered that she tasted even sweeter than whipped cream. He didn’t think there was anything on this earth that could compare to her. 

And as his name fell from her lips like a prayer and a promise all in one he unraveled along with her, electricity sparking between them as they lit up the entire universe. 

Sunlight streamed in through the windows, matching the warmth that filled Harvey’s veins. He pulled Donna closer to him, burying his face in her shoulder. 

Suddenly she began to stir and rolled over to face him with eyes barely opened. 

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hi,” she mumbled, voice filled with sleep. 

The corners of Harvey’s mouth automatically quirked up at her knotty hair and overall drowsy state.

She was not a morning person.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here,” she added.

Harvey’s stomach instantly plummeted.

“Did you…not want me to be here..?”

“No!” Donna’s eyes flew open. “I just thought you would leave. But I’m glad you didn’t.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured, gently planting a kiss against her lips. 

A smile graced her features as she curled up against him, her head resting on his chest. His hand found its place at the small of her back, idly tracing patterns on her skin as a contented sigh escaped from her throat. 

This was everything.

“I’m going to work for Pearson Hardman,” he said, abruptly piercing the comfortable silence. 

Donna stared at him questioningly. 

“I want you to come with me.”

“Harvey-” she began, already sitting up and putting distance between them.

“I know. You don’t get involved with men that you work with,” he said quickly. “But I don’t want to know what kind of lawyer I’d be without you. And I don’t want to know what kind of man I’d be without you either.”

Her expression softened at his statement and he watched as she bit her lip in contemplation. He hoped with everything in him that she would say yes.

“Please.”

And it was that, one simple syllable that swayed her in the end.

“Okay,” she answered.

“Really?”

“Yes Harvey,” she said with a playful roll of her eyes. “I’ll come with you. Besides you need me.”

“I certainly do,” he grinned, pulling her to him as his mouth met hers. 

Donna laughed through the kiss and Harvey echoed the sound because this was what happiness felt like.

Somewhere along the way he had forgotten.

But Donna helped him to remember.

So they spent the morning with limbs tangled in the sheets, their string tangling as well, while they lost themselves in each other. 

No one else existed but them. 

The whole world was theirs.

But rules weren’t meant to be broken.

Harvey stepped into the cafe, desperately in need of caffeine. 

It was only midday but exhaustion was quickly overtaking him. His two meetings for the morning had completely drained him. Dickenson always drove him up a wall but he had to try to not be as much of an asshole considering he was Managing Partner now.

He had no idea how Jessica did it.

All of a sudden, he spotted a flash of red hair and all of the air was sucked from his lungs.

Donna.

She was sitting at a table in the corner of the room, staring into her cup of coffee and Harvey’s heart was in his goddamn hand.

It had been years since he last saw her.

They had tried to keep in touch after their breakup but eventually they fell apart. 

They always did.

Briefly, Harvey was transported back to a time where they ruled the goddamn city. 

They were the best closer and legal secretary in New York. 

Harvey and Donna.

The dynamic duo.

Kicking ass and taking names.

They were a force to be reckoned with, a hurricane and a cyclone leaving a wake of destruction in their paths.

They built a castle and sat atop the throne together.

He still wasn’t sure where they went wrong. He couldn’t remember the moment that it all started to collapse. 

One second they had everything and the next they had nothing. 

It was all a damn blur.

Just then, the woman in question looked up, meeting his eyes and breaking him out of his thoughts.

A look of surprise crossed her features as she stared at him. 

Harvey’s legs seemed to be on autopilot as he made his way towards her because he knew his brain wasn’t functioning well enough to instruct his body on what to do.

“Harvey,” she uttered quietly as he stopped in front of her table.

One word and he was breaking again.

“Donna,” he said, allowing himself the rare luxury of speaking her name. 

She gestured to the empty seat across from her and Harvey sat down.

Flashbacks of all the other times they sat just like this hit him like a tidal wave.

This used to be their place.

For him, it still was.

“Can’t believe you still come here,” she teased. 

“What can I say? I’m a creature of habit.”

He couldn’t tell her that she was the reason he still frequented this joint.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, brimming with curiosity.

“I’m back in the city,” she answered, fiddling with her hands on her lap. “For good.”

“How come?”

She took a deep breath, staring at a spot on the floor before finally meeting his gaze.

“I’m getting divorced.”

“Donna I’m so sorry.”

Harvey thought that he could handle anything. He thought he could stomach it all after watching the love of his life marry someone else and build a life without him all because he didn’t fight hard enough for her when he should have. 

But watching as Donna tried her hardest to keep it together damn near destroyed him. 

“It’s fine,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “I mean its not. He was cheating on me…”

“Shit.”

Harvey wanted to fly out to Jersey and beat the shit out of Mark himself. 

“Yeah,” she sighed before taking a sip of her drink. 

“How’s Ava doing?”

“She’s trying to be strong. For me,” Donna scoffed. “But she’s hurting and god…I don’t know what to do Harvey.”

Her voice broke as she buried her face in her hands and Harvey shattered. 

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching out. 

He tenderly wrapped his fingers around her arm, the touch sending electricity running through his veins even after all this time. She looked up, her eyes filled with tears and there wasn’t anything in the world that Harvey wanted more than to make them go away. 

“You will get through this. You’re Donna.”

“I’m Donna,” she repeated with a sniffle. 

Two words that once changed everything.

“You are the strongest person that I know. And I don’t know if you’ve realised but your daughter is a lot like her mother.”

“Oh I’ve realised. Pain in my ass is what she is,” Donna mock grumbled.

“Now you know what it’s like,” Harvey quipped, earning himself a swat on the arm.

“You’re not easy to live with either Specter,” she shot back.

“I am an absolute delight.”

A burst of laughter bubbled from Donna’s throat and starlight erupted in his chest. 

He had missed that.

A grin automatically spread on his face as a response to the sound and Donna soon mirrored his expression.

“Thank you Harvey,” she said with a smile.

“You don’t ever need to thank me,” he replied. “And Donna if you ever need anything or anyone I’m here for you. And Ava. Always.”

His hand found hers again from across the table, letting her know that he meant it. That he wasn’t going anywhere.

Silently, Donna intertwined their fingers, gently squeezing and letting him know how much it meant to her.

And in a cafe on Wednesday afternoon, the string that had been tattered and torn began to slowly repair itself. 

Unknown to both, it appeared to glow a little.

After years, fate sat up again, once more taking notice as these two people started to find their way back to each other. 

The moment she had been waiting for.

On that day, she watched them begin again.