#favourable to boston? they lose
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ESPN boston bruins @ florida panthers game 2 bumper | 5.8.24
#florida panthers#2324#playoffs 24#bumper#espn cursing the team that gets protrayed well in the bumper#favourable to boston? they lose#new drinking game discovered: how many times can the broadcasting channel fuck over our teams#im not superstitious#but i am a little stitious
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Upon request, today we have a rec list of bottom Louis fics where Louis is an independent omega. If you enjoy our fic rec lists and want them to continue, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!
1) Something To Prove | Explicit | 9425 words
Louis is the first and only omega to work at Red Valley Medical Center. Despite being more than qualified, he still faces prejudice for his career choice everyday. From patients refusing his treatment to condescending alpha doctors intervening with his work, practicing medicine in Boston is more challenging than Louis had ever thought it would be.
2) Night Out | Mature | 9741 words | Sequel
Note: This fic has been locked and can only be read by AO3 users.
Symphony hall was the first place Louis had felt at home in this city, and he always had the box to himself. Until tonight.
3) Where Do We Go Now | Explicit | 10617 words
Louis goes off to college ready to start a fresh life away from the oppressive alphas of his pack. The odds aren't in his favour when his new dorm mate turns out to be an alpha.
Louis hates alphas.
4) Overwhelming | Explicit | 13261 words
Louis is an omega attending university to get his degree and most definitely not waste his time with unimportant things such as finding a mate. Harry is the alpha who manages to unwittingly mess up that plan.
5) Just Let Me | Mature | 14714 words
Note: This fic has been locked and can only be read by AO3 users.
The party was going well. So well, Niall had already sworn undying love to one multi-tiered chocolate cake, two friendly corgi-poodle mixes, Zayn’s hair, and the entire population of Los Angeles. So well, Zayn had only laughed and ruffled Niall’s hair and not even twitched towards a cigarette. So well, nearly everyone had spilled far past the boundaries of the night’s original plans, extracting bottles of vodka from the cabinets and losing a lot of clothes. Harry had proclaimed that he was finally going to throw a small and very grownup dinner party and of course here they were three hours later, fifty people half-naked in the pool. Soon to be full-naked, if Louis had to guess. Everybody in LA loved a heated pool. Everybody loved Harry.
6) I Still Crave It | Explicit | 16143 words
Louis is an independent omega, who doesn't need or want an alpha. When he becomes ill and meets alpha Harry, he agrees to let him take care of him and quickly gets addicted to his scent. Once he feels better though, he keeps making up lies so that the alpha continues scenting him.
7) With Love Comes Strange Currencies | Explicit | 16508 words
One day One Direction will be over and Louis won't be around Harry every waking moment. He'll be able to finally get some space, let their bond dissipate as it's bound to do, if they don't mess up again. He can move to Costa Rica and forget that Harry Styles popped his first knot inside him. Until then, he's going to have to deal with this.
8) Don’t Call Me Angel | Mature | 16648 words
Manhattan is a dangerous playground for the rich and entitled Alphas of New York. Those same wealthy Alphas are robbed after spending one night in the presence of a blue-eyed Omega and Officer Styles is assigned to the case.
9) I Didn’t Fall For You (You Fucking Tripped Me) | Explicit | 20681 words
These days Louis tends to steer clear of dating alphas. He’s dated too many knotheads in his time, and he’s ready to just focus on school and his friends and his pet monitor lizard, of course.
Too bad the alpha next door won’t take a hint and stop using the worst pick up lines of all time on him. He’s really got to stop laughing with him--and talking to him and walking to class with him and letting him bring him coffee and tea and gifts for his lizard and watching Netflix together and...
10) The Voice Of Range And Ruin | Explicit | 25470 words
It seemed as if the freshly formed Omega Uprising had always been a step or two ahead of the Commandant and the rest of the reigning Alphanian officials. The idea had been floated that there must be someone working with them from the inside, reporting back to them on the government’s plans so that they could be prepared. That person had yet to be discovered, and the Commandant and his surrounding forces had finally had enough of this game of cat and mouse. Harry understood. He agreed. It needed to come to an end, one way or another.
“Your job is to navigate their landscape and gain entry into their forces. You will pretend to be one of them and gain reliable intel for us. It’s clear that no one else has been capable of doing it, and you at least have some semblance of experience in this field. This has gone on for too long, Harry. Enough is enough.” He made direct eye contact with his son, holding it. “I’m counting on you.”
11) Yours To Lose | Mature | 25742 words
“I think I know the person that matches your descriptions of your dream alpha.”
“Who? And oh not my dream alpha, god you’re making me sound like a teenage school girl. I’m a mum, H.” They laugh as they watch kids gather in front of the verandah, getting ready to go back to the orphanage.
“Well, you’re gonna have to find out.” Harry winks before standing up to start cleaning their spot.
12) Where The Lights Are Beautiful | Mature | 31170 words | Sequel
Harry wasn’t wrong about that, not in a general sense. Lots of omegas did seek out rich alphas and betas, hoping or planning to go into heat at the right time. Plenty of omegas saw this as their duty, especially if their families weren’t well off.
Worse, Louis couldn’t honestly say he’d never thought about it.
If that had been his life, his goal, Louis would feel pretty good about himself now.
As it is…Louis feels like shit.
13) These Hallowed Woods | Not Rated | 35535 words
Louis becomes Luna of the Tomlinson Pack after the untimely death of his father, the Pack Alpha. Saddled with his newfound responsibility and an unpleasantly demanding pack council, he finds secret respite in the arms of a rogue wolf that camps out just outside his territory. The only problem? The rogue has no idea who Louis actually is, and as Louis falls harder and harder for the man he escapes to every night, the weight of his lies steers him along a path of certain misery.
14) Wild Hearts Run Free | Explicit | 42979 words
Harry is an alpha who is harbouring a dark secret, one that has forced him into self-imposed isolation, far from civilization and far from temptation.
Louis is an omega who has fought the predispositions of his secondary gender his whole life and suddenly finds himself cast aside by his beta partner, leaving him to question his place in the world.
When fate and Mother Nature conspire to trap the two strangers together, will Harry’s worst fears be proven, or will Louis find a way to break down his walls and lead him into the light?
15) Worth Dying For | Explicit | 44906 words
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.
“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.
Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”
16) Tastes Like Summer, Smiles Like May | Explicit | 47519 words
A cold prince, an alpha with nothing left to lose and a kingdom with a secret.
17) Hold On To Your Heart | Explicit | 54183 words
The Proposal AU, where Louis is the no-nonsense editor in chief of one of the largest publishing houses in the country, and Harry is the unlucky assistant that gets roped into a fake engagement to prevent his boss from being deported. Things don't go as planned.
18) Let Your Damage, Damage Me | Explicit | 57077 words
A low and dangerous growl was ripped from the future King’s chest.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the alpha snarled, eyes dark and nostrils flared.
Even as anger rushed through him at the alpha’s brutish display, Louis felt breathless at the intense gaze of the man that was going to be his future mate.
‘Tomorrow I’m going to be under all that. He will be inside me, all muscles and rage.’ Louis felt his cheeks heat again, but refused to be cowed. So he put his best smirk on display, the one alphas despised to see, the one that assured them all he had the upper hand.
“Thought you were expecting me, dear husband. I’m your future mate.”
19) I’ve Got You | Explicit | 62988 words
As a reward for saving the king's life, Harry is offered omega Prince Louis' hand in marriage. Neither of them has any interest in the union going forward, and so they concoct a plan to prove to the king that they are far from a perfect match.
20) Mead Of Poetry | Explicit | 65053 words
Under the pressure of continuing the Styles viscountcy line now that he is getting older, Harry sets himself three rules to finally settle down and marry: firstly, the omega needs to be reasonably attractive, secondly, they must be of great mind, thirdly, they cannot be anyone he would ever fall in love with.
Enters Charlotte Tomlinson, the diamond of the first water of the upcoming season and seemingly the perfect candidate to the viscount’s plan, but her omega brother, Louis, is in Harry’s way. Louis only seeks to protect his sister and he sure is not going to let a rake play with her heart.
21) I Want You So Much (But I Hate Your Guts) | Mature | 83648 words
AU in which Louis gets accepted to play for the Manchester University Alpha-Beta Football Team. The only problem: Louis is actually an Omega. He is determined to make it big in the football world, though, and he can't do that bound to an Omega team. With the help of a faked doctor's certificate and some pretty strong suppressants he is ready to fight for his dream.
That Harry Styles (Alpha, second year and youngest football captain of the A-B team in ages) doesn't seem to like him complicates matters, though.
22) Swim in the Smoke | Explicit | 101778 words
“What about this, Captain?” Liam asks, nudging the boy kneeling between their feet with the toe of his boot. The boy hisses and swipes at him, slurring out something unintelligible around the makeshift gag Niall had to stuff in his mouth. He misses by a mile and tries again, just as ineffectively.
Harry looks down at him, at the way the sun streams over his face and shoulders, at the way the gag stretches his mouth, lips pink and chapped. He’s lithe and pretty, smudged all over with dirt. They had found him tied up below deck, mostly unconscious, next to a barrel full of gold. He’s clearly a prisoner, but there’s something familiar about him, something that niggles at Harry’s brain. Something he can’t quite put his finger on.
“Put him in my cabin,” Harry decides, turning back to deal with the rest of the loot. The boys screams out jumbled curse words at Harry’s back, muffled by the gag, and Harry can’t understand any of it.
23) Billow and Breeze (Islands and Seas) | Explicit | 102506 words
It was bright; that was the first thing Louis could recall. With a groan, he winced at the throbbing behind the sockets of his eyes and rubbed his temples in an effort to soothe the pain. Maybe he really did hit his head when he took his tumble. The omega squinted as he looked at the surrounding rolling hills and fog hanging over the countryside. As strange as it was, the world felt different, though it looked practically the same.
Disoriented and confused, Louis padded through the moss and listened for his husband. “Liam?” he croaked shakily.
Nothing but a symphony of woodland creatures met his ears. His footsteps were muted by mossy green grass beneath his feet and soil fragrant as he neared the crest of the hill. At the top, he froze, lips parted in horror and eyes widening at the expanse of empty farmland—not a soul in sight. It had only been less than ten minutes prior that he could see Inverness from the crest, but now there was nothing.
“Impossible,” he whispered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief—his mind not quite able to make sense of it.
24) A Taste Of Desire | Explicit | 104414 words
A Victorian ABO where Harry is the owner of the most successful cotton mill in Manchester, and Louis is an opinionated social activist about to disrupt Harry’s world.
25) You’ve Got A Higher Power, You’re Once In Any Lifetime | Explicit | 113444 words
Giving up and letting them think they're right were never valid options in Louis Tomlinson's mind.
In a society full of prejudices, finding a family and being accepted, also seemed like an unrealistic utopia.
Louis sets out to do what no other of his kind ever has before and in doing so, he finds love, friendship and more about himself than he thought he would.
Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.
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Iggy the Stray Dog - ch2 (2/2)
Author: Otsuichi
Original concept: Araki Hirohiko
Originally published: JOJO Magazine 2022 Spring
*** This is a fan translation made purely for entertainment. Please do not repost/reuse/etc without my permission and credit! ***
Note: Whew guess who's finally done with their thesis! I can't say how much faster I'll be able to post updates but as always, thank you for your patience and support! Chapter 3 will also be divided into two parts, the next two chapters are Long.
We narrow down our search net to the direction Iggy made his escape in, coordinating with the team via the transceivers. Their plan is to corner him, attacking from both sides from some alleyways. I think as I run.
A dog with car wheels. The Stand itself isn’t visible to regular people but the sand it is manipulating is without a doubt real. Apparently this Stand is able to collect and freely move around sand that has mass. The taxi driver said that for the past half year, sand has been passing around Manhattan island – so much sand it even covers the skyscrapers in a haze. The source of it might have been Iggy’s Stand. The collected sand likely wanders off into the sky on the wind after it is abandoned.
Beyond the rusty, crooked fences the „project’s” mansions stand, that is where our team meets up.
From the street running along the riverside, we hear the sound of a hard brake and the echo of a honk. A Boston Terrier crosses the road, ignoring the car.
„There he is! Get him!”, the Spaniard’s voice rings as he runs. He rushes across the road, showering in curses coming from the cars he has to stop. Before us, the Harlem river lies roughly 300 meters wide. The coast across from us is Wards Island. It once served as a place to collect and dispose of the waste of Manhattan, but now it gives place to football fields, tennis courts and a caretaking institution for psychiatric patients.
Iggy is atop of a concrete pier installed on the coast. He is restlessly searching for a place to hide, watching us almost terrified. It seems as if he has run out of places to go when he escaped onto the pier reaching out to the river.
The men following the Spaniard’s lead gather near the pier. Things are in the favour of the stray dog hunting team. It looks like Iggy is cornered in a dead-end.
I watch the team from the pier. The Spaniard holds up his tranquilizer gun to aim. All he needs to do was to fire it. If it hits, the Boston Terrier will fall asleep immediately.
At the very end of the pier, Iggy stops moving around. Did he give up? No, he didn’t. He stretches out, yawning. He seems bored of playing around with humans. He lifts a hind leg, scratching his ear loudly, and he shakes the flabs of his muzzle. It is a humorous look, not betraying any intelligence.
The Spaniard clicks his tongue. „It’s taking us for fools!”
I get a bad feeling. Just until a little ago, he seemed to be scared of the stray dog hunters, but now he acts like he has all the time in the world. Something is off.
The Spaniard aims and pulls the trigger. In that moment, something strange occurrs beneath his feet. The concrete pier slowly starts to sink into Harlem river, and it isn’t just the pier either. The foothold resting on the riverside is losing its shape, crumbling as the water swallows it.
„What’s going on?!” the team cries out in unison. I only realize when I get to them that what we are standing on isn’t a pier made of concrete. It is hardened sand imitating a pier. It only held onto its form and stayed atop the water with great power without sinking because of the control Iggy has over it.
„We’re sinking! Run!”
The team falls into a state of fear, trying to get back onto shore, but we find ourselves unable to move just before we could. Our feet sink into the mix of sand and water and the more we struggle the deeper we get stuck.
Only the tip of the pier where Iggy stands kept its shape. He secured himself a place to watch the chaos among the men and now stretches out. I had no idea where he kept it, but he takes out some coffee flavoured chewing gum and bites down on it loudly – munch munch munch. It looks like he’s having fun watching humans in trouble.
The pier is crumbling, and we are left behind on top of the soft water-sand mixture. We couldn’t move in any direction. If I try to pull out one leg, the other starts sinking again as it holds my body weight. I recognize this phenomenon. It was quicksand.
„Everyone, calm down! If you struggle you’ll only sink deeper!” I yell. Quicksand is particles of sand, mud and clay mixed into water and saturating it. They also call it „bottomless swamp”. Due to its pseudoplastic fluid traits, it picks up vibrations and increases liquidity. The more one tries to escape it, the deeper they sink. „Keep your postures upright and stay still! If you don’t move you won’t sink! You mustn’t lean any direction! If you don’t stand up straight it will close up your respiratory tracks!”
The Spaniard, the rugby player and everyone else on the team stop squirming around in response to my voice. That’s it, this is all. Quicksand has a high density, it is possible to basically float in it. If we only manage to calm down, we should be able to swim freely soon as Harlem river diffuses the sand. Iggy provided it with his Stand power and it is possible that he can maintain its quicksand state, but I know that wouldn’t happen –
For I summon my Stand.
„Magician’s Red!” I call out. That is the name of my Stand.
White vapour erupts from under my feet. The water mixed into the sand begins to evaporate with a noise from the heat. A shining red blinds my sight. It appears as if it was born from flames. The shape of my soul, the guardian spirit accompanying me. Iggy’s Stand takes the form of a dog with wheels, but mine’s is that of a human with the head of a bird of prey. His upper body is naked and toned, just like a man fighting in an arena. His skin is tan as copper. Down from his waist, he is burning bright with flames reminiscent of ruffled fur.
Iggy forgets about his chewing gum and stands up on all fours – he looks surprised.
„You can see it, right, Iggy? The form of Magician’s Red, appearing from flames and vapour. You’re not the only one here possessing special abilities.”
We Stand users move our Stands as if they were our own limbs. I have Magician’s Red take a single step forward. As his flame-covered feet touch the quicksand, the water evaporates from it, blowing off hot steam. The pest control team behind me probably has no idea what is going on.
Iggy lowers his body to guard himself. He shifts his posture forward, threateningly lifting up his behind. As if it was oozing from thin air, his Stand manifests, a giant dog equipped with wheels. This is the guardian by Iggy’s side.
I don’t suppose he understands any human language, but I call out to him anyway.
„Wouldn’t you be nice and let us capture you? If I have to pin you down by force, we would just end up injuring each other. I don’t want to hurt you. Iggy, it would be dangerous to leave you alone in Manhattan. A scary man might come and try take you away.”
The man I met in Cairo...
He is searching the world for those with power, taking the freedom of their souls and making them his followers.
„I can grant you anything you wish. Coffee flavoured chewing gum, or a warm bed. So why don’t you surrender? We can guarantee your safety. A place with no illness or injury, the Speedwagon Foundation’s research facilities. Even if you get badly hurt, they can treat you with the most advanced medical technology.”
Even then, Iggy’s stance does not loosen. Of course it doesn’t. As far as he’s concerned, I am no different from the stray dog hunting team. I have to capture him first.
„We’ll negotiate later. Go, Magician’s Red!” I yell. Magician’s Red’s wrists are constantly wrapped in flames. These now swell up with a red radiance. This ferocious, savage fire expands the air with its extreme heat and extends into the entire area with a shock wave. Vapour blows up from the quicksand.
Magician’s Red’s fiery fists strike down, and swing out into Iggy’s direction in a gouging motion. The flames race like a runaway locomotive, boiling the sand-water mixture into magmalike red-hot substance as they pass by.
„...?!” Iggy watches Magician’s Red in shock.
The sand grains melt where his attack struck. The melted sand becomes glasslike, the grains surrounding it stick to it and as the water cools it down, it forms fragile, porous clumps. I wish it had more time to cool, but I have no choice at the moment. The water surrounding the magmalike straight path cools and solidifies it with a cracking noise.
Holding onto Magician’s Red, I pull my feet out of the quicksand. I try to stand on the solid, glasslike path and find it is more or less able to withhold my weight. I run in Iggy’s direction. In some spots it cracks under my feet, but it doesn’t pose a problem.
First, I have to get closer to Iggy. Magician’s Red is only able to move as far as a couple meters away from me. It changes from Stand to Stand how far they’re able to move away from their users. The stronger the Stand the smaller their range, the weaker it is the farther it can go. In the case of Magician’s Red, he can attack faraway objectives by releasing his flames, but to strike or make someone surrender by force he has to get closer.
I dash across the foothold of melted quicksand, getting him just a little outside Magician’s Red’s range. Behind Iggy is Harlem river, he has nowhere to run to. He will probably face me with his own Stand, I speculate.
However, all of a sudden he relaxes his threatening posture. He throws a glance at me as if he just came to his senses, and exhales sharply.
He lightly sweeps around with his front paw, to which countless grains of sand obscure my surroundings.
„Magician’s Red!” I yell. He is within my range. My Stand’s bird head opens his beak wide, letting out a shriek worthy of a wicked beast as he swings his fist. The swirling sand vanishes in his heat. My sight is clear again – but Iggy is no longer at the end of the pier. He disappeared. The tip of the pier crumbles, sinking into the river. It is proof that whoever has been controlling the sand is no longer here.
So he chose to escape, possibly jumped into Harlem river itself.
I look over my surroundings, trying to find the Boston Terrier but see nothing. He must have dived into the water. I wait to see if he is going to come to the surface for air, but he doesn’t show up anywhere. There is a chance he figured out a way to stay underwater for a long time by manipulating sand, but this is nothing but speculation.
The river swipes away all the sand, and the stray dog hunters have already swum back to shore. The excursion boats circling around Manhattan pass by at leasure a little farther away. The tourists on board stare at me standing on top of the water with wonder.
***
We all get back in our cars completely drenched and return to the office. Neither the Spaniard nor the rugby player hide their resentment towards the Boston Terrier. As I am listening to their angry voices, I summon Magician’s Red’s power just a little to dry my dripping clothes. Since they don’t see my Stand, they must be certain that I escaped the Boston Terrier by skillfully running atop the quicksand.
„I thought it was the second coming Moses, I was sure you parted the water and ran on top of it,” the Spaniard says as he pats my shoulder.
I inform them I would come again tomorrow, and leave the office.
In the afternoon, I take the subway and go on a walk in Central Park. The giant park in the heart of Manhattan has a long, narrow shape that measures 4 kilometers from north to south and 0.8 kilometers from east to west. In the center of its eastern side stands the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and pinched between its western side and the road resides the American Museum of Natural History.
As I walk, breathing in the scent of the trees, a group of small dogs is lurking in the bushes. None of them wear collars. They probably live in the park, snatching whatever the people eating sandwiches on the benches drop.
Stray dogs, or wild dogs as some call them, can be seen a lot less frequently in the urban districts. If the city is further developped, there will probably be even less of them. Unvaccinated, they pose a threat to humans – people infected with rabies can rarely be saved. Not to mention that even now, stray dogs are attacking and mauling people to death all over the world. If one were to think about human lives, their numbers have to be decreased.
If Iggy were to prioritize the happiness of these stray dogs above all else, he could become their king and take them to a resting place free of human involvement. Just like the prophet Moses from the Bible.
But in reality, Iggy is likely not doing that. He prioritizes nothing but his own survival and living in freedom. He avoided the battle with Magician’s Red and fled the scene because he was not willing to fight.
I sit down on a bench next to a pond. The bench is lightly covered in sand. I wipe it down, pale yellow grains sticking to my hand. It reminds me of the deserts of my homeland Egypt. The red-hot sun, the endless hills of sand, the rising heat haze...
I pull out my tarot pack. I use it for fortune telling. I shuffle the cards, calling Iggy’s Stand to mind. A Stand needs a name. In my case, I used the tarot to name mine. „Magician’s Red” comes from „The Magician”, the first card of the Major Arcana. What tarot card will symbolize Iggy’s Stand?
A dog with wheels. Feathers resembling the Native American’s. Controlling sand, toying with humans, protecting Iggy.
I pull a single card while keeping all that in mind. The number on the card was 0. The number zero card of the Major Arcana, „The Fool”. Its meanings in upright position are freedom, not fitting the mould, simple-mindedness, genuineness, naïveté, probability, imagination, a genius.
The Fool’s card has the image of a man on it walking with a wooden stick. He wears tattered clothing and a small package hangs at the end of his stick. Depending on the tarot deck, there are cases where the figure of a jester is drawn on this card, they even say it originated from the joker of playing cards. The Fool card is also famous for usually having a dog drawn in its corner.
„The Fool”. That shall be the name of his Stand.
#野良犬イギー#iggy the stray dog#jojo's bizarre adventure#jojo no kimyou na bouken#jjba#stardust crusaders#my translation
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tropesssss:
sex pollen, hurt/comfort, unrequited love, mutual pining, mpreg, fake dating
Thank you!!
sex pollen
No | rather not | I dunno | I guess | Sure | Yes | FUCK yes | Oh god you don’t even know |
I'm in favour of it, though it depends on the circumstances. Porn with the focus on desperate horniness? Good. A focus on the dubcon? Good. Quick and easy get together scenario? Good. But if it's a way to get two people to fuck followed by several scenes/chapters of awkwardness and regret before they actually clear the air and get together that's more of a pass for me.
hurt/comfort
No | rather not | I dunno | I guess | Sure | Yes | FUCK yes | Oh god you don’t even know |
I like the hurt part, I tend to lose interest when it comes to the comfort part. I find that the main appeal there is usually the fantasy of a perfect partner who will do everything right and drop everything to care for the person who suffered's every need, and it's a vibe that wigs me out a little. On the other hand it's one of my favourite things if the comforter like, kinda sucks lol, and does the wrong thing sometimes, or makes things worse, or it's just awkward and difficult for everyone involved.
unrequited love
No | rather not | I dunno | I guess | Sure | Yes | FUCK yes | Oh god you don’t even know |
I usually love it. If it's a ship I prefer one-sidedly it kicks ass and I rub my hands together gleefully while reading it, and if it's a ship I prefer as a happily ever after ship, then it's ideal angst for when I'm in a certain kind of mood, and one of the few tropes nearly guaranteed to make me cry lol. As long as it's not just shoved in as a prelude to a ship I don't like, ofc.
mutual pining
No | rather not | I dunno | I guess | Sure | Yes | FUCK yes | Oh god you don’t even know |
Solid fundamental trope right here. It can be written annoyingly, eg contrived misunderstandings, badly paced slowburn, but when it's good it's top tier.
mpreg
No | rather not | I dunno | I guess | Sure | Yes | FUCK yes | Oh god you don’t even know |
I've never been able to get into it, whether it's a magic/sci-fi scenario, mundane but shh don't ask how, or omegaverse. I mean pregnancy isn't my thing in general, I don't enjoy it in f/f or het either, so it just follows that mpreg wouldn't do it for me. Get that man an IUD.
fake dating
No | rather not | I dunno | I guess | Sure | Yes | FUCK yes | Oh god you don’t even know |
Can definitely be a lot of fun, but not something I'll go out of my way for, and often depends on the author. imo it's best if it's a ship with tension, like enemies, rivals, or ascerbic friends. Ooh you know what the best mash ship for this would be? Hawnk. Or Charhawk. Charles decides to come out to his family even if it means being disinherited bc he's finally decided to live his truth, but he doesn't actually have a partner and he needs to bring one home to drive the point home. Or Frank shows up in Boston and crashes on Hawkeye's couch after his divorce because he's so much of a sadsack that Hawkeye's his best remaining friend and Hawkeye can't throw him out, and Hawkeye's gay friends assume they're fucking so Hawkeye plays it up to mess with Frank, but then they invited to a couples-only thing or something that he wants to go to for... some reason idk I'm spitballing here. The point is this would be comedy gold.
Send me a Trope and I’ll rate it!
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FALLOUT 4 OC GAME: Nora
Original Post
[IDENTITY]
Full name: Nora Diane Sosu (Maiden Name: Peel)
Gender: AFAB She/Her
Ethnicity: Caucasian American
Pre-war job: US Army JAG Corps (Military Lawyer)
Date of birth: 2049 (haven’t got the exact date nailed down yet but I know roughly the timeframe)
Place of birth: Boston MA (pre-war)
Current age: Turns 28 shortly after coming out of Vault 111
Biology: Human
Current living place: The Commonwealth, Boston MA
[ALIGNEMENT]
Chosen factions: Minutemen / Railroad
Role: General / Agent Whisper
Allied factions: BoS / Railroad / Institute
Enemy factions: BoS / Institute
(it’s complicated)
[PERSONALITY]
Alignement: Lawful Neutral-Good
Main qualities: Desire to take charge and help others. Intelligent.
Main flaws: Has a hard time asking for help if she thinks it will put others in harms way. Will give people chances they don’t deserve.
Fears: Losing friends and family again. Radiation.
[RELATIONSHIPS]
Status: Widowed, openly polyamarous
Sexual orientation: Pansexual
People closest to them: All of the companions, and the people living in Sanctuary.
People they hate: It’s hard for her to hate someone outright, even when they’ve done her wrong. In general though, people who have had every opportunity to do good and still choose to harm others either through action or inaction.
Family: Shaun is the only living member of her pre-war family since Nate died in the Vault, but she had a mother and an aunt that died in the bombs, and her father died when she was 13. She didn’t have any siblings or cousins.
[PHYSICAL]
Height: 5′8″
Weight: I dunno
Build: Hourglass-ish?
Hair color: Cool dark brown
Hair style: Lightly curled
Eyes color: Hazel
Tattoos/scars/markings: Starts with just a long pale line on her right arm from a car accident when she was younger - gains many more throughout the story, including a large facial scar very reminiscent of Kelloggs.
Body/facial hair: Minimal.
[ABILITIES]
Spoken language: Just English, but she can understand some Latin and to a much lesser extent some other languages common around Boston pre-war, such as Irish Gaelic and French.
Strengths: She’s very intelligent and driven, and learns new things easily.
Weakness: She’s generally fit but physical strength isn’t something she’s good at. She can’t use power armour, or fight in melee against a stronger person.
Favoured weapons: A custom hunting rifle. Also pistols and other smaller guns, and explosives.
[RANDOM]
Favorite piece of clothes: The Silver Shroud garb. It reminds her of pre-war clothing while still being useful as protection.
Lucky charm: Her and Nate’s wedding rings. She wears hers normally, and his on her left thumb.
Favourite food: Beans.
Favourite beverage: Coffee. She enjoys drinking alcohol too, preferably higher shelf stuff - no beer. She wasn’t partial to any flavour of Nuka Cola before the bombs, but Nate’s favourite was Cherry and that’s since become her answer when asked.
Favourite season: Spring.
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Y'all have made me think...
I feel like the main three of the gang are too concerned with controlling one another to truly trust one another, or rather, are losing sight of trust in favour of control.
Mew doesn't trust Top - he thinks he can't trust Top, that his only way to be with him and get the status etc. from being with him is to control him, to set parameters of behaviour and keep him on a tight leash. Like you say, @lurkingshan, consequently Mew is stopping himself from ever being able to trust Top (or be fully part of a relationship) because he is too focused on trying to control him/demonstrate his control over him ("look how long I can keep Top around without ever giving in and having sex").
Ray doesn't trust Sand will stick around without making it worth his while in some way, without wheedling him, without exerting some form of control over him. They've moved beyond monetary transactions (Ray is no longer paying Sand to hang out with him) but Ray is still approaching his interactions with Sand as something he needs to convince/charm him into (I am thinking of @ginnymoonbeam's post on Ray and Sand).
Boston is trying to control Ray and Mew's love lives - he doesn't trust them to do what they want (or rather, he doesn't want them to do what they want; he wants them to do what HE wants). He presents Mew with Top and tells Mew not to trust him or his interest in Mew, and he talks to Ray about pursuing Mew but again, in a way that makes it clear what Boston wants to gain from a shift in dynamics - he tells Ray that Top will probably "get" Mew that night and encourages him to come clean about his feelings. He's trying to control the situation by seeding a lack of trust in Top in Mew and seeding trust in Ray that he should make his feelings for Mew clear (and that this will go well).
Finally, Boston does trust himself. He trusts his read on Top (that he will dump Mew soon). He trusts his read on Ray (that he has a crush on Mew). He thinks he has manipulated Mew into not trusting Top (though, I mean, he has done this successfully), Top into not trusting Mew (I mean, this also worked as far as we've seen), Ray into confessing to Mew (yet to be seen), Nick into sticking by his side unquestioningly (ok now this one he has not succeeded at). Boston trusts himself because he thinks he has everyone and everything under control.
Trust is fleeting, control is fleeting...
Let's Talk About Trust, Baby
I've seen a lot of posts where people are really confused about Mew and where his head might be at with regard to his relationship with Top. Why he hasn't given Top the boyfriend title back, why they haven't had sex yet, etc. That led me down a rabbit hole of thinking about the relationships between the characters and the one thing all relationships need to function - TRUST. If you don't trust your significant other or your friends/family, etc, what kind of relationship can you even have? I tried to break this down in groups/pairs and some of it might not be as thought out, so there may be more on this as the show goes on but here we go.
The Fab Four
So there's a lot of context we're missing about the relationships between our core four dysfunctional besties (Note: So far, Cheum doesn't seem that dysfunctional, you're doing amazing sweetie!) such as how they met, how long have they been friends (what the hell Ray and Mew got up to that one night... *ahem* I digress). Now, we don't have any real answers to these questions (yet) so I'm taking some educated guesses based on my own college experiences and what I've generally picked up from other university BLs typical story telling.
I feel like the four of them met during orientation (except maybe Ray and Mew, I'm waffling on thoughts that they've known each other since high school). Most university BLs set it up that the mains meet during orientation, bond during whatever torture the seniors are putting the freshman through and kind of build their friend groups based on that.
I also feel like they may have gravitated toward each other or remained a group because they're all queer. BLs can go either way on whether or not homophobia exists in their narrative and I think that Only Friends is going the more realistic route (and it's Jojo) so I think that I can definitely see them bonding over being queer. They find an LGBTQ bar and it becomes their thing to do together. Most friendship groups form because people just sort of fall in together due to circumstance and they seem no different.
But do they trust each other? Signs point to yes. (I was shocked too, lol)
Mew and Cheum: We haven't had much focus on her, but he seems to value her opinion and listen to her advice. (We also know that April likes him from the time they've spent together and he likes April, so I would say he and Cheum probably have pretty good trust built up.)
Mew and Boston: He believed without a single doubt when Boston said that Top had never had a lover longer than 3 months and that Top would probably, as Ray put it "nail and bail" once Mew and Top have sex. Cheum also believed Boston. Do I think Boston was lying here? No. But neither do they and that's important. Does Boston trust Mew? I think he does. His issues with Mew are not about trust.
Mew and Ray: These two vibe a little different than the rest of the group. They seem closer; they seem like they've talked about "the deep stuff" (vs maybe superficial topics with their other friends). Their first one on one scene has them talking about Ray's alcoholism seriously (even though Mew doesn't push about it as much as I would have liked) and you can tell there's an intimacy there that the other group members don't share. Whether that stems from whatever it is that happened that night in the video (I am salivating about this, it's delicious, I need more info) or because they've been friends for longer, I don't know.
Let's move on to the pairs:
Cheum and April: Do they trust each other? I assume so? Cheum goes out drinking with the boys at least once a week and April seems okay with that (we haven't heard otherwise), so I'll say yes? (Jojo, I NEED MORE OF THEM. I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH TO EVEN ANALYZE. GIVE US MORE.)
Sand and Ray: I'm gonna call this one as Sand does not trust Ray, but Ray trusts Sand. Sand knows that Ray is a walking red flag and he's trying to resist but Ray is making it really hard. *ahem* Ray bailing mid-make out is not helping Sand's trust issue. If you look at how Sand has cared for Ray since episode one, however, Ray most likely trusts Sand. I mean, Ray talked about his mom to Sand. I think that's a biiiig deal.
Mew and Top: Thanks to Boston, neither of them trusts the other. And this, right here, is why Mew has not moved the relationship forward. HE DOESN'T TRUST TOP. He's still worried that Top will "nail and bail". Remember Mew's checklist from episode two? He only checks off "gets along with my friends" (HAH!) and "respects me" but not "doesn't lie to me". We can infer this means it hasn't been marked off since he doesn't mention it to anyone in this episode. Given that a lot of us clocked Mew potentially spotting Boston's trunks on the floor in the shower, along with him questioning if Top was telling the truth about the fire, it's clear this is the one thing holding him back.
If Mew agrees to be Top's boyfriend, then the expectation of sex becomes a lot higher (it shouldn't but that's a different discussion to be had). It's also implied in the narrative (and from Jojo) that Mew is a very structured person and he doesn't like to lose control (re-watch the counter scene from episode one. You know you want to. I'll wait). The moment that Mew realizes that he is way too into what they're doing, he panics because he doesn't have control over the situation.
Up until episode three, Top did trust Mew. He trusted him enough to get vulnerable and then Boston blew it up by fabricating a narrative backed with evidence of...something between Ray and Mew (I'm seriously dying for this scene, I need it).
Another thing I am having thoughts about is that in this episode, Top referred to himself as Mew's boyfriend and so did Cheum and Mew didn't deny it like he did in episode two. When Top's *ahem* "buddy" approached them at the silent disco, it was very clear that Mew expected Top to introduce Mew as his boyfriend and was visibly (if momentarily) upset that he didn't.
Boston and Nick: Yes and no, but also no and no, respectively. So Boston trusts Nick with some things but not everything which leads to him lying, gaslighting and manipulating (he's a triple threat). In turn, Nick lies right back, because what else can he do? (a lot of things actually, oh Nick, you are starting to spiral hard.) This leads Nick to rigging the CCTV video to show on his phone and to wiretap Boston's car, which just shows you his trust in Boston is non-existent.
In conclusion: Trust is another theme the show seems to be exploring: earning it, keeping it, and what you do after trust is broken. I think it can tie back into the ongoing ephemerality discussion as well: trust isn't permanent. You have to earn it, maintain it, and once broken, it's gone (and seldom can be repaired).
Also, everyone needs therapy.
Tagging the Ephemerality Squad: @waitmyturtles, @chickenstrangers, @lurkingshan, @twig-tea, @ranchthoughts, @clara-maybe-ontheroad
Hope I didn't forget anyone!
#interesting framework to consider...#i agree - i feel like i don't know enough about the friend group to even begin to speculate#interesting also to think about trust as in... trust superficially and trust when things all go to hell.#who is going to stand by who when this all hits the fan. whose side will who take?#ofts#ofts meta
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Always and Forever - 5
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem Reader
Warnings: Angst, Fluff, sexual content, 18+, minors do not interact
~*~
The moment Steve got into his hotel room his phone went off. He groaned seeing the caller ID.
“What is it Tony?” Steve wasn’t in a mood for Tony’s late night chitter chatter. Few rounds of beer with Bucky got him slightly drunk and he knew Tony would drain his remaining little energy with gossips.
“Who bit you Rogers? Why the sour mood?” Tony teased, earning another groan from Steve.
“What made you call me at...” Steve checked the time on his wrist watch, “11:15 pm? Did Pepper ignore you again?”
“Nope!!” Tony said popping the ‘p' and continued. “Actually, she called me this morning. She sounded so pissed because she was expecting me there, not you.”
“Fucking finally!!” Steve muttered.
“Language, Rogers!”
“Really Tony! You missed the event when you could have come, you had a free weekend”
“Calm down Rogers! You did a favour and I’d be grateful like all the other times you’d been there for me and this company.” Tony said in one breath and continued, “Its not about me attending the event, I called you for something else.”
“Judging by your tone, it’s another favour, isn’t it?” Steve laid down on bed, adjusting his head on the pillows.
“I swear I would have kissed you, Rogers, ofcourse if you were here but since you’re not I can send you some...” Tony turned the camera on on his phone, bring it near his lips and with horrible sound of muahh, he kissed the camera.
“... virtual kiss, if that works for you, bro.” Steve rolled his eyes at Tony’s cheekiness.
“What’s the favour, Tony?” he came straight to the point.
“So, I’ve heard the show was a great success. Y/n Carter was the highlight of the show not in only in terms of managing and arranging the whole event but as a show stopper for the designer.” Steve’s heart skipped a beat on Y/n’s mention. He sat up, “...her work was outstanding and different fashion outlets are approaching her.... but Pepper doesn’t wana lose her...” Steve took a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “.... She’s one of the Pepper's most trusted employees and also her friend. The only problem is, some rivals are peeking their heads up after the success and the fact that Pepper has already lost her employees on big positions for obvious reasons and now she needs someone to make the company stable.” Tony was now contemplating his next words.
“What do you want me to do Tony?” Steve was curious to know where this conversation was heading.
“She asked for my help and I couldn’t have said no, Steve. I assured her that you’ll help her out with the company. You have experience, you’re smart and knows exactly what it takes to keep it firm on its feet....”
Whatever Tony had said wasn’t hard to comprehend but Steve was stunned. If what Tony had just told him meant he could stay here and it would give him opportunity to be in Malcolm’s life. He wanted to thank the universe to give him this chance to be with his son.
He had planned to call Tony in the morning to ask for some days off of work but this new opportunity of working in the same place as Y/n would may be fix something between them. He was hopeful. He was happy.
“STEEEEVE?? Are you even listening?”
“I’d stay.” Steve said.
“Pardon.”
“I said I’m going to stay and help Pepper and the company.” Steve said.
“Are you sure? I mean you’re not angry or something? I could’ve asked....”
“Its fine Tony! Just send me all the details and I’d fix a meeting with Pepper first thing.” All of a sudden Steve found a new purpose.
“Sure man! Thanks again. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Tony said gratefully.
“Don’t repeat yourself Tony, I was ignoring you the first time.” Steve smirked, disconnecting the line.
Steve was contented that his stay in Boston had been sorted out, only thing bothering him was his insignificant relationship with Peggy. He wanted to end things on phone, sure it’d be an asshole thing to do but did he care less.
No matter how much he thought would it be justified, he couldn’t do it. Sarah had raised him better. He smiled thinking about telling his Ma about little Malcolm. He’d call her first thing in the morning, he made a mental note. It had been just a day he had known about Malcolm’s existence and it brought him so much happiness. His little boy was hard copy of him but he got all his traits from his mama.
Steve chuckled looking at the photos he had taken of his son during the day. A photo of him and Malcolm in the backyard taken by Bucky. Malcolm was clung onto his shoulders and laughing adorably. A video of them playing with a ball and Malcolm’s yelling I wuv you daddy loud and clear in it. He was already missing his little bean, his purpose of living now.
Steve wanted to thank Y/n. He wanted to tell her how grateful he was of her. She had let Malcolm known about him even when he wasn’t in their life. Steve would forever be in debt of her and she had raised their kid as a working single mother. He had never thought that there come a time when Y/n and him would act as strangers especially Y/n. He was unable to find any sort of emotion in her eyes. She was distant like she didn’t know him. Like they didn’t have anything she could remember. He remembered her throwing the coffee he brought for her in the bin. He knew he had hurt her in worst possible way but he didn’t know how to tell her that he was sorry. He was sorry because he didn’t make an effort to find her, to go after her. He was so embarrassed. He was so disgusted by himself that he thought not showing his face again would be the best thing he could do for her. He thought he was punishing himself, he deserved this punishment but what he didn’t know was things would be so much different for Y/n and for him if he showed up. If he went after her.
He had fucked up!
~*~
Incessant buzzing of Steve’s phone on the night stand stirred him in deep sleep. He pressed the slide to answer the call and immediately a wide grin adorned his godly features.
“Daddy? Where you? Call many times, no pick.” Malcolm chirped in his sweet voice.
“Good Morning, buddy! Sorry I was asleep. I have just woken up.” Steve said through smile. He heard Mal talking to Y/n, he was asking her to open the video. Steve sat up a little in bed, leaned against the headrest. He finger combed his hair and turned the video on. Malcolm was sitting in Y/n’s lap in the kitchen. Steve felt his swollen with happiness at the sight of mama and baby. Y/n’s hand was wrapped Mal for support. The little boy was obviously excited and energetic.
“Aww daddy in bed.” Malcolm giggled. Steve couldn’t help but stare at Y/n. Her hair were in pony tail. She was wearing a white t-shirt and her face had no sign of makeup. Steve forgot to take a breath.
“When see you daddy? I go pawk with mama. Pwease come.”
“I’d love that, buddy. But we need to ask mama if I can come along.” Steve could see how Y/n was looking anywhere but at the camera. She was clearly uncomfortable.
“Mama, can daddy come, pwease?”
“Yes, he can come.” Y/n said lightly. She kissed the side of Malcolm’s head.
“We go to the park every Sunday. You must have passed it yesterday while coming over, its right across the street.” She told Steve still avoiding the eye contact.
“Yeah! I’d be there in thirty minutes? Is that okay?”
“How thiwty minutes mama?” Malcolm asked now bouncing on his mama’s lap with excitement.
“Thirty minutes means half an hour. Daddy will be here in half an hour.” Y/n explained.
“Too much time, daddy. Come soon.” Malcolm whined.
“Okay I’d try my best to come before thirty minutes Mal.”
“Mal-pal, daddy needs to get ready and drive to the park. It will take at least thirty minute, sweetheart. How about we go to park and play on slides and daddy will join us.” Y/n reasoned with him.
“Okay mama.” Malcolm pouted and Y/n kissed him on the head again.
“Daddy, you pway on monkey baw with me. You howd me up up and more up and I jump. Okay daddy?” Malcolm asked Steve excitedly.
“Sure buddy. We’ll play whatever you pick.”
“Yaayyyyy daaaddyyy wuv you.” Malcolm screamed in pure joy and kissed his mama’s face.
“I love you too Mal.” Steve whispered. He didn’t know if Malcolm had heard him but Y/n looked at him first time in this video call. Steve couldn’t read her expression because she was quick to look away.
“Daddy wuv me, mama.” Malcolm confirmed.
“Yes.” She whispered.
“Hey buddy, you want me to bring anything for you?” Steve asked not wanting to break the lovely moment between Y/n and Malcolm.
“What anything daddy?” He asked innocently.
“Like something to eat. Doughnuts, pie, cookies, anything you say....”
Malcolm turned to see Y/n, his way of asking permission. Y/n smiled at him lovingly and reminded him that he had already taken breakfast.
“I eaten bweakfast al’eady, daddy. I no want anything.”
“Ohh no! Then daddy will come with coffee for him and mama. Is that okay?.”
“Is okay mama? Daddy bwing coffee fow you.”
“I have already had my coffee. No need to bring anything. C'mon Mal-pal, we gotta go to park or we’ll be late.”
“Okay mama. Daddy come soon pwease.” Malcolm said and send a flying kiss to Steve with a bye bye and disconnected the call once Steve assured him that he’d be there in thirty minutes.
~*~
“I’ve been meaning to speak with you.” Y/n initiated when Steve came to sit beside her on the bench, dusting off the mud from his shirt.
Malcolm was playing with other kids in the park. As promised, Steve had arrived at the park when Malcolm was on the slides. Once he saw his daddy, he ran to him and into his arms. Steve helped him climbing up the monkey bars. He told him a story of his childhood days when his parents use to take him to parks and different other places. They both almost had rolled on the mud and grass laughing and enjoying.
Y/n watched Malcolm having fun with Steve, something shift in her heart. She always wanted Malcolm to know his father and just be able to be with him. No matter how angry she was at Steve, she realised she’d do anything and everything to see her baby laugh and smile, just the way they were right now. It was her and Malcolm’s Sunday routine. They’d walk down the park after breakfast and spend an hour together, it was also unwinding for her.
“Go ahead, what is it you want to talk about?” Steve said softly, his tone still the same with her as it was four years ago. His eyes still held the same love and adoration for her.
“I need to make sure if you’re going to be in Malcolm’s life or it is just as coincidental as it seems.” Y/n’s eyes were on Malcolm, she could see him sliding down the slide with other kids.
“I want to stay. In fact, I’m staying and I’d make sure that I’d be in his life permanently.” He gently told her while trying to read her blank face.
“.... if I had known about him, I would be here from the beginning. Y/n/n, I know I’ve fucked up.....”
“That’s Y/n for you.” She harshly cut him off. “You’d be on Malcolm’s schedule if you are to stay here. I’ll send you his routine and then you can have your time with him.” Steve gulped hard, he didn’t want to show her how much he was hurting.
“Mal hasn’t started school, he goes to Alice’s day care. I don’t know if you remember, Alice runs a day care and I put Mal in there because I’m working full time, besides he’d be with Alice. I pick him up at around three in the afternoon and bring him to my work place. My boss's daughter and him are good friends and we have a small setup for both of them to play within the premises.” She gave him a heads up of Malcolm’s routine.
“If he’s spending rest of his time at your work then I get to meet him as well, daily.” A smile appeared on Steve’s face.
Y/n gave him a confused look.
“Tony asked me to help Pepper with the company.” He further explained, “I work at Stark Industries. I’m leading marketing department as their executive....” Y/n looked at him with wide eyes. She didn’t know what had possessed her heart was filled with so much happiness for him. Steve always wanted to be a part of Stark industries. It was his dream job and she felt so proud of him regardless of how things are between them right now.
“Congratulations!” She said in a small voice. “.... I mean... it’s where you always wanted to be.” She cleared her throat at sudden awkwardness.
“Thank you Y/n. I wish things....”
“So you’re taking over our marketing and advertising, I didn’t know Pepper’s gonna take a decision.” She said the latter in a whisper but Steve heard it.
“Pepper called Tony to discuss this and Tony put me in, since I was already here for the event.” Steve explained.
“Mhmm...”
“By the way, it was a great event. You did an outstanding job Y/n/n... I mean Y/n... it was splendid. I’m so proud of you.”
They both looked at each other at the same time, holding each other’s gaze, like in a trance. While Steve’s gaze held pure love and affection, her’s had melancholy and heartache but one thing that was common between them was longing, longing for each other, for the life they’d dreamed of together.
Neither of them noticed when Malcolm tripped over and fell. Time they had spent together was reeling in front of their eyes. Y/n wanted nothing but to be in his arms again. Her safe place. Her home.
Steve was no different, he desperately needed her in his arms. He wanted to spend rest of his life holding her tightly and cherish her with every breath he had.
Malcolm came to Y/n with a face as long as a fiddle, bringing his parents back to reality.
“Mama, I got a boo boo. You no see, why?” tears were about to spill from his eyes.
Y/n came to her senses and put him in her lap.
“I’m sorry Mal-pal. How’d you get this?” She inspected the tiny scraps on both his knees and smiled. Steve looked at Malcolm’s knees and heaved a sigh.
Malcolm didn’t answer her question, instead hid his face in her chest.
“Hey Buddy...” Steve started, he looked at Y/n for a go ahead signal and when she nodded at him, he continued. “.... Mama and I are sorry that we didn’t come to you. Because we know you’re a big boy now, and big boys don’t get upset with boo boo. Right Mama?”
“Yup! If we don’t get a boo boo, we won’t grow up Mal-pal. That’s how mama and daddy has become grown ups.”
Malcolm looked up at his mama first and then his daddy.
“I a big boy?” he asked curiously.
“Yes.” Steve and Y/n both said at the same time.
“.... and big boy gets to eat his favourite lunch.” Y/n suggested, “Dino nuggets and fries or veggie sandwich?”
Malcolm shook his head vigorously. “What daddy eat fow wunch, I eat same as daddy.”
“Daddy will have burger and fries. You want to have same lunch as daddy?” Steve said and earned a glare from Y/n.
“Yes! Mama buwge’ and fries, pwease.” Malcolm was excited.
“Mal-pal...”
“Pwease mama, pwease.”
“On one condition, you’re gonna have to eat your veggies in dinner. Promise?” Y/n hold out her hand.
“Pwomise mama.”
He jumped off her lap and onto Steve’s lap. “ ‘ets go, daddy.”
Steve roared with a laughter followed by Malcolm’s giggles. He stood up, Malcolm still clinging to him, “C'mon mama, we go with daddy.” Y/n shook her head disapprovingly.
She followed them towards Steve’s car. It wasn’t how she had thought it would go. She couldn’t break her little boy's heart but she needed to make him understand that he’d spend his time with his daddy separately. It was going to stir many questions in Malcolm’s mind and she was willing to answer all his questions.
She had a slip up just minutes ago, she couldn’t let Steve hold this much power over her again. She didn’t want to end up hurting again. She knew Steve had said that he would stay here but how could she trust him when he promised her that he would always come to find her and he didn’t. She desperately wanted to protect her child from the same heartache and feeling of abandonment she had went through.
Should she limit Steve’s time with Malcolm?
How about only on weekends?
Or may be at her house, in her supervision....??
She couldn’t decide. She couldn’t think of anything. She needed to ask her dad or may be Alice would help her. Oh, they definitely will. But she knew what’s best for her child, she didn’t need anyone’s help.
In her conflicting thoughts she didn't realise Steve had hold her hands while crossing the road.
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Edward " Ned" Low - the sadistic Pirate
Like the Pirate Charles Vane, Edward Low was an extremely unpleasant companion and is said to have been even more brutal (Even if much lies in the dark, since there is a lack of documentation on his person). It is not certain exactly known when Low was born, but it is assumed to be 1690. He is said to have been very difficult even as a child and tried his hand at being a sailor as a teenager. Fed up with England, he moved to Boston in 1714 and after the loss of his wife, he was drawn to a ship in 1722 whose task was to transport wood that was cut in the Bay of Honduras. It is said that he got into an argument with the captain, who then abandoned Low and some of his comrades in a longboat. But they captured a small ship and eventually raised the Black Flag.
Allen & Ginter cigarette card insert, circa 1888, showing Edward Low and a scene of him “torturing a Yankee.” (x)
In the same year, he and his crew are said to have captured a number of merchant ships and then placed themselves under the command of the pirate Captain George Lowther. Their collaboration lasted only until May, when they parted company again and Low began to build up a fleet by carpering ships and manning them with deserted sailors and forced men. For two years he operated off the coasts of New England and the Azores, and in the Caribbean.
Notorious pirate Ned Low. Taken from : The Pirates Own Book,circa 1750
He made a name for himself as a sadist who loved to cut off his victims' lips, noses and ears and then watch as selected crew members had to eat them. In another case, he forced a mate to eat his captain's roasted heart. The violence was so cruel that many of his own crew members left him or begged him to stop. But this usually led to their own cruel deaths.
Low’s Flag was a red skeleton on black ground (above the Black Sails version -among it, the probably historically correct version) (x) (x)
Because of his actions, a bounty was placed. In June 1723, after a successful raiding expedition, he came across HMS Greyhound. The battle did not end in Low's favour. Not only did he lose his ship, but he also lost his escort ship. He escaped, but most of his crew were tried in Newport, Rhode Island. Twenty-five men were found guilty and hanged, two others were found not guilty and jailed, and eight others were found not guilty of piracy because they had been coerced.
Historians are not entirely sure what happened to Low. According to the National Maritime Museum in London, the pirate was never captured and spent the rest of his life in Brazil. Another story suggests that his crew tired of his cruelty (he is said to have shot a sleeping man he had been fighting with, causing the crew to despise him as a coward). Adrift in a small ship, he was found by the French and taken to Martinique for trial who hanged him there 1724. This seems the most likely account, although there is little documentation to support it. In any case, Low had not been active in piracy since 1725.
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Satisfied | Andy Barber x reader (chapter 4)
(chapter 1) (chapter 2) (chapter 3)
series summary: you’re the only lawyer in Boston who can get under Andy Barber’s skin, but you didn’t realise that he was trying to get under your clothes. as is the nature of law, it’s only a matter of time before the truth is discovered.
word count: 3.7k
warnings: angst, implied smut, non-linear storytelling
a/n: I wrote this series originally with my friend joyce, and after she deactivated some of the chapters were lost. this series is long-since completed, but I’m reposting now so people can still read!
You hated being back at your temporary ‘home’. The small apartment your company had rented was… suboptimal at best. It was a cramped little place that reminded you of your dorm at college. Only it had one difference: you were alone. But it was a place for you to reflect. And that was enough.
After the nightmare of a deposition, you had a lot of work to complete. Not only that, you had another two cases that you had to work on. Usually you would have been done and there would have not been so much stress involved but life happened.
Maybe if you were not so preoccupied by thoughts of Andy you would have been on top of your workload. But Andy posed more than one issue. He was on your mind a lot. He lived in your brain the way he did back in college. He was buried into your brain. And as much as you dedicated your existence to the law, he had more of you than any other person ever did. And that was why you had spent the last three days ignoring him.
Your entire existence burned to speak to him but you held out. You stayed strong and buried yourself in work. Your table was cluttered with pens and numerous reports and documents in a way that reminded you of being a student again. Andy always made fun of how messy you were when you studied. In every other aspect of your life you were so organized and neat yet the second you had any paper near you, it looked like a tip.
The little memory brought a smile to your face. It was dangerous to reminisce in the better days but you did miss him. Many a flurry of different failed relationships helped you realize that it was because you still loved Andy Barber. And your need to make him hate you stemmed from your inability to let him feel indifference towards you.
Ever since you returned to Boston, you spent more time than you were willing to admit dwelling over the past. How different would your life have been if you had gotten valedictorian? Would you have been happy?
You’re startled out of your thoughts when the buzzer rings and when you went to check the camera, Andy was at the front with his hands in his pockets. “Andy?”
“Let me in. You can’t keep avoiding me.” his voice is slightly distorted by the buzzer. Something, however, compelled you to let him in; you pressed the button and watched it flash green. It took a minute or so before Andy was at your door.
“Andy,” you breathed, “what are you doing here?” When you saw him, you realized that it was both a good and bad idea to have avoided him for a few days. You missed him. Just a little more than you wished to admit. But you needed to be away from him.
“Making up for lost time,” he replied before crashing his lips down on yours. It was practically a scene out of a stupid rom-com but it didn’t matter at that moment. He chased you the way you wished he had before. At least a part of you wished for that to happen.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you sighed as you tore away from Andy’s touch the way you’d drop hot coals.
“Don’t,” he pleaded, “you said that back in college--”
“And look where that got us,” you interrupted. The last thing you wanted was for that conversation to come up once again. It hurt too much to think about, let alone to talk about.
“No, we’re not doing this. Can you just let me in?” you had always been unable to resist him when he pleaded with his eyes; you let him enter and he made himself comfortable.
“It’s not as nice a place as yours,” you felt a little uncomfortable having him examine the bits of your life you tried to hide. “The firm I work for rented it for me.” You wished that the place was just a little cleaner before Andy came over unexpectedly. It was by no means a mess but it was nowhere close to the standard you were accustomed to. Or the one that he knew you had.
“Can you stop worrying about how you come across or how you’re perceived by people for just a second?” Andy raised his voice. You did not expect the outburst. Nothing gave you any indication for it.
“Did you forget that you came here, Andy?” he had a way of winding you up and you had never been above it. Your voice was blatantly irritated but Andy paid no mind to your frustrations.
“I...I just wanted to talk,” he sighed, calming down almost instantly. That made you understand that he really did come over for a conversation. It was never your strong suit but you needed something from him.
“About what, Andy?” your voice weak. “Us? There is no ‘us.’”
“About the case,” he looked at you pointedly avoiding the loaded statement you had just made. But you know that it hurt him. It was evident in his eyes. Even when he tried to hide the pain from you, it was impossible. You knew him too well.
“So what was all of that about making up for lost time, Andy?” you were on the verge of screaming not knowing how else to react.
“I-I came over about the case,” he licked his lips as he watched you, “but then I saw you. I saw your fucking face and I--”
“Andy…” you sighed, “we can’t keep doing this.”
“No, you don’t want to keep doing this,” he corrected, “but we still have a case to deal with.”
“We don’t have a case to deal with. I feel as if you have forgotten that we are representing opposing parties, Mr. Barber.”
“Trust me. I haven’t,” he deadpanned, “but seeing as your dearest client is shelling out a lot of money for this to be sorted, I thought that it would be helpful if we helped each other out.”
You raised an eyebrow out of interest, ashamedly intrigued. “And how would we ‘help each other out’?”
“Get your client to accept a plea deal. Considering how much money you’re being paid, he definitely has the means to fight it. But he doesn’t have the brains to. The evidence against him is mounting.” You hated Andy’s judgement. He always disagreed with your path, insisting that becoming a DA was the only moral way to practice law.
“Is that your professional opinion, Mr. Barber?” you cocked your head, “is this direct from your boss or is it stemming from your moral high-ground?”
“Consider it a favour from a friend. Or is it that you want that extra money so you continue to represent an arsonist?” Andy’s tone is biting, his disapproval of your career evident.
“Will you stop saying that? I’m doing it for free!” you blurted out.
Silence elapsed over the two of you. Andy looked at you with an admiration you had not seen in a long time. It was almost unsettling how warm it made you feel. “Why?” His voice was so soft that you almost missed it.
“Just because I didn’t become a DA doesn’t mean that I don’t give a shit, Andy,” you were unsure of why you so desperately craved his approval. Or why you needed him to know that you were not just another money-hungry, morally bankrupt attorney. “But that’s what you thought, wasn’t it? That I only care about money?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he breathed out but the guilt was evident. It was written all across his face. The cruealen eyes you looked into many times were laced with genuine sadness. He was wrong. “I’m sorry. Your client… he’s not paying, but the firm is still paying you, right?”
“No…” you let out a visible breath, “I have two other cases up here and so my company rented this place out and I am taking this one pro bono. If anything, I’m losing money by taking this on.”
“I’m sorry I judged you,” Andy pulled you into a hug you did not resist. He mumbled ‘baby’ into your hair at the end but you managed to catch it. It was soft but it was there. And it made your heart skip just a little. It had been so long since he had called you that.
You missed having his arms around you. It reminded you of safety and cramming for an exam. Land law was never your specialty but Andy got you through it.
Being pressed against his chest made you realize that he hadn’t changed his cologne. It was the same one you got him on your one-year anniversary. How you did not realize sooner was beyond you but there is something touching about it.
“You still wear it,” you’re surprised that you said it aloud. Andy looks at you in confusion. “The cologne I got you.”
He doesn’t look you in the eye but nods. “Yeah… it sorta became part of my everyday life. It reminds me of you.”
You nodded slowly and looked away, glancing out the window. The tone of the room shifted in exactly the wrong direction.
“Listen, I know we were sort of awful for each other,” Andy chuckled dryly, “I know we still are awful to each other. But it’s always been you. It’s always been us. And I don’t see why we can’t give it another—”
“I got an offer... I’m gonna be a partner,” you blurted out, cutting him off before he could say anything else that would make leaving harder.
“Oh my god!” he replied excitedly, after a pause to process your interruption. “Baby, that’s… that’s great.” You knew that he was worried, he had every right to be. All of the offers you once got had caused the same doubts.
“It’s in California.”
His face dropped and he swallowed nothing. The silence was heavy, and cold. Or maybe that was just the Boston air. It had always felt like this… dark and damp and carried on a wind that made you shiver to your bone each time it blew. It was exactly this feeling that should have made you long for sunny California, with its orange trees and beaches and manifest-destiny attitude. It didn’t, but it should have.
It reminded you of college. Of talking to Andy about vacancies available across the country. You had always liked the idea of moving for money but he didn’t. And that was how he stayed in Boston after you graduated whilst you sold your soul to a corporation.
He stood up and walked to the other side of the room, looking out the window. He ran his hands through his hair in that way he did when he was anxious. “You didn’t say you could be a partner,” he recalled. “You said you were going to be a partner.”
“Yep,” you agreed.
“So, you’ve already accepted it? That’s it?”
“I feel like I have to. I mean, you would never ask me to stay, would you?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Because you respect me too much? Or because you know I’d never choose you over my career?”
“Both,” he said, anger tinting his voice. “I would never want you to resent me. If you gave it up for me, you’d resent me. But just know…”
“What?”
“Just know I would’ve given up valedictorian for you,” he said it with such earnestness you did not know what to say or do. It was a declaration; one that you were not able to refute or confirm. Because you did not know.
“Are you fucking serious?” you were not sure how to feel; anger and doubt swelled in the pit of your stomach. He could have said that all those years ago. Tears pricked your eyes as you tried to keep your composure.
“Yes.”
“You think I still care about that?”
“It doesn’t matter if you care now. You cared then. And I would’ve given it up, to save us,” Andy raised his voice.
“But you didn’t, Andy! You fucking didn’t!” tears fell freely down your face as you realized that his words and his actions would forever contradict the other.
“Because I thought you’d never be with a guy who would do something like that! Do you realize that? You hated me because I got it when I didn’t want it, but I wanted to impress you! I wanted to deserve you!”
You were petrified, practically glued to the couch in fear and confusion and devastation. It was almost impossible for you to fathom Andy’s thoughts about you. Maybe he was right. Maybe you would not have wanted him if he gave it up. Because if he did, you would not have earnt it.
“Everything I did then, I was just trying to be the guy you wanted. I became everything you feared you would become if you had a relationship in law school. I completely lost sight of my studies, I would’ve flunked out, I was so obsessed with you-- thank God you were such a know-it-all or I surely wouldn’t have studied again after I met you.”
“Andy, this isn’t true. You were always a great lawyer. You always wanted it,” you tried to reason with him. He was a good lawyer.
“I’m only as much a lawyer as you made me. Everything I did was about building what I thought you wanted, so I could get you…” he paused with a slow breath, “and I’d throw it all away, to make you stay.”
“You won’t leave Boston...” it came to you slowly. You almost wished that it would not be the case. You wanted him. Maybe a little more than you wanted him back in college. It may have been the time and the distance that made you crave his heart.
“I won’t leave Boston,” he confirmed. “It’s the one thing that reminds me of who I was before you. Who I’m trying to be.”
“And you got an offer,” you realized suddenly.
“Old habits die hard, I guess,” he shrugged.
“Are you seriously suggesting you’d give it up for me?” you were petrified by the concept. You would have never let him do it, anyway. He had worked too hard and for too long for you to be the reason he gave it all up.
“If you gave up your partnership in Cali, wouldn’t it be fair for me to give up on being Suffolk County DA?”
“Oh shit, Andy, no, that wouldn’t be fair. You need to take it,” you begged him.
“I knew you would say that. You’ve barely changed at all.”
You stood up and approached him, placing a hand on his cheek. “Give me a year,” you pleaded. “Maybe that’s what we need. A year apart to remember who we’re supposed to be. Maybe I’ll love California and partnership and we’ll be able to say ‘hey, we’ll always have O’Leary’s’.”
He smiled a little, in a sad way. You hadn’t quite convinced him yet. He was unsure if you were really going to come back; he had trusted you with a lot before and each time he did, you broke it. Maybe giving you a year was too much of a risk for his sanity.
“Or maybe…” you breathed, half pleading, “maybe I can come back and you’ll be here. And we can try to get along better than we used to.”
“I won’t wait forever,” he nodded slowly, “but I can do a year.”
“Okay,” you smiled, reaching for his hand and weaving your fingers into his. He squeezed your hand but looked away. “Andy…”
He turned to you and you wondered if you looked like you were about to cry, because you certainly felt like you were. The situation was overwhelming, yes, but Andy, in himself, was the most overwhelming thing in your life. He consumed the only available parts of your existence. Everything you had not lost to the law belonged to him.
Maybe in another universe you got to keep him. That you got married and had little Barber children. But right then, none of that mattered. You just needed him to know the truth. Three tiny words on the tip of your tongue to let him know the one thing that had stayed buried in your heart for a decade.
“Don’t say anything,” he requested weakly. “Don’t say something that’s going to make this any harder.”
“But what if it’s the truth?”
“It doesn’t matter now,” he denied.
“Look at me,” you demanded, running your hand over his face, stepping closer and pressing your body against his. You looked into his eyes and looked for hate, wishing that he still hated you at all. “I love you.”
“Please don’t say that.” Andy’s voice was strained. You saw the internal battle he was having and it pained you. You knew that he wanted to say it. He loved telling you that when you were young. He’d remind you of his love so much you had it ingrained in your mind.
“But what if I never get another chance to say it?” a small broken sob escaped the confines of your lips. Every fibre of your being wanted to repeat those sacred three words just once more to ensure that he heard you. That he really heard you. You needed him to understand the weight behind your words.
You had never meant them more than you had in that moment. You loved him. It was a confession you had not been able to deal with for years. You loved Andy Barber. And you had done so since the first time he said it to you in your dorm.
“You will,” he nodded, voice full of conviction, and soft eyes. “Come back in a year.”
“And when I do?” your voice was weak. Scared. It was unlike you. You had always gone after what you wanted but this time you had no choice. You had to wait a year. 365 days.
“We’ll have this conversation again. And it won’t be like last time. It won’t be like this time. It’ll be the truth.” Andy grabbed your trembling hands and kissed them.
“Before I go,” you whimpered, feeling a tear start to fall, “lie to me just one last time.”
That was how you ended up in his bed again, his lips all over you, whispering everything you wanted to believe could be true. I love you. We’re gonna make it. This isn’t goodbye. He kissed you like it was the end of something. He fucked you like it was just the beginning.
---
Another day, another argument. As he paced around the dorm, you were trying to remember a time when this wasn’t just a part of the cycle. There was no way it had always been like this, right? If it had, you wouldn’t have made it this long… just a few months and you were already at the end of your rope.
“I can’t keep diminishing myself because you’re afraid of being overshadowed,” he shook his head.
“I’m not afraid of you,” you scowled.
“You’re afraid you won’t be valedictorian,” Andy was tense and he stood away from you, “you’re afraid that it will be me that takes it.”
“Yeah! Of course I am! Because it’s what I’ve been working towards basically my whole life and now you’re trying to take it from me when you don’t even care about it!”
“Of course I care about it!” Andy ran his hand through his hair in frustration. The argument was going around in circles. It always did and you always ended up in the same place.
“Not half as much as I do.” Tears welled in your eyes. It was your dream. Your goal. And it was right in your sight. You were at the finish line and all you had to do was cross it.
“I don’t know why you’re so insecure, honestly. You are so… threatened, by everything, by everybody. Nobody’s nearly as good as you. You run circles around all of us. And you still can’t let go and let your accomplishments speak for themselves. You’re at Harvard! You’re already with the best!”
“Best isn’t good enough. I need to be the best of the best.”
He sighed and leaned back against the wall. “You are never going to be satisfied. I can’t satisfy you, and you can’t satisfy yourself.”
“What do you mean you can’t satisfy me?”
“You’re going to dump me if you get valedictorian.”
“What makes you so sure of that?”
“Because I’m giving up on us, if I get it.”
You looked away. After everything you still didn’t want him to see you cry. “Think you can do better than a salutatorian?”
He laughed a little; a sad, broken noise. “Yeah, something like that.”
He started to walk away and you were going to let him. Some weaker part of you took over for a moment though, and grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t go,” you requested. He seemed like he was considering it. “We can still be together, if I get it.”
He shook his head and looked at you with watery eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“Please, Andy,” you have never pleaded for anything, let alone anyone, but Andy made you want to fight. Whether it was for him or for valedictorian, you were not sure. But it wasn’t enough for him. You needed to actually give something up; before he made that decision for you.
And, so, you watched him leave. One footstep after the other taking a piece of your heart the further he gets. It crushed you. Since you had lost Andy, you had to get valedictorian. There was no fathomable way you were going to be able to deal with the loss of both. “I love you,” you whispered to his fleeting back.
And then it became your turn to grieve. The loss of Andy took a bigger toll on you than you were even able to imagine. That was in spite of the fact that you had spent less time with him over the past few months as he was working a lot more than usual.
You knew that he was saving up for a big purchase. He always did a lot more overtime when he was doing that. Only you had no idea what it would be. All you knew is that it would be a surprise, or so he told you.
next chapter: finale
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In a Week
Part 1/4 - A storm blows into town
(Frankie “catfish” Morales x f!reader)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Summary: a drive down to a friends wedding gets complicated when you fail to head a warning.
Authors notes: Hello! Another fic cause it keeps snowing here and I’m SICK OF IT but wouldn’t mind it if I was stuck with Frankie💕. Anyways hope you enjoy as always comments are welcome but be nice!
TW: mentions of dead sibling (war related), swearing, mentions of a toxic relationship (based off of personal experience)
Tagged list: @agingerindenial
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~There was nothing worse than a February wedding, well at least one that took place in the frigid northern temperatures you were currently residing in. So you were eternally grateful that your best friend Stella had chosen to have hers down in sunny south Carolina where she had just accepted her first permanent hospital position. She was marrying her first love, a fact you’d usually cringe at but, they were extremely cute together. Stella had met Genevieve through her brothers Will and Benny, well more specifically Will, who had drunkenly run his head through a window one night. This incident resulted in two things, first a nickname that would stick with Will for the rest of his life and a late night call to Stella asking her to come down to the hospital to pick him up. The boys had put Stella down as their emergency contact in an effort to keep their antics hidden from their parents who they knew would only worry. The nurse patching up her idiot brother was none other than Genevieve who was working through her university's clinical course, and the rest? Well, the rest was history
You’d met Genevieve, as well as Will and Benny, sporadically throughout the 8 years you had roomed with Stella, first during your undergraduate degree at Boston University and then again at Stanford while attending medical school. You’d choses Stella as a roommate without much thought, but after just a few weeks together you were inseparable up until the day that you were assigned to your residency. You were slightly jealous when you found out that she would be spending the next four years in the warm embrace of Carolina (and Gen) while you would be living alone throughout the freezing Chicago winters. The pagne of jealousy didn’t last long though, Chicago med was your first choice after all. So here you were, in the last year of residency and in the middle of a brutal -20 degree winter, preparing to drive the 13 hours down to watch Stella get married. You’d considered flying but you knew how fickle airplanes could be in the winter and the last thing you wanted was a delayed flight because a door had frozen shut. Your friends had tried to convince you that driving down alone was far too dangerous a venture and none were more concerned than Santiago Garcia.
You’d known Santiago your whole life. Him being your brother's best friend resulted in him spending a lot of, some may argue too much, time at your house throughout both your childhoods. Your brother, Parker, was 8 years your senior, an age gap that often resulted in an argument over which one of you was the accident. An argument which usually ended with an agreement that in all likelihood you both were. Every summer from before you were born to the time they left for the military the two boys were a constant presence in your life. Hell, even after he left you’d watched him grow as he passed through your household over Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks. One thing was for sure, if Parker was there Satiago Garcia wasn't far behind. He was also there the day you received the news that your brother had gone MIA and he was by your side at the funeral, as you watched the commanding officer hand your mother the flag your brother had died for. After the funeral, life continued to move on around you as did everyone else. You always found it funny how quickly you were supposed to recover from loss, apparently a week was long enough to get over it. At least according to the university and your employers who had started calling with empty condolences that quickly led to the real reason they were calling. Always wanting to know when you’d be coming back. After your brother's passing, Santiago took over his role of big brother to you. He read over your med school applications, scared off potential boyfriends and got all the embarrassing video footage of you at your graduations. He was a permanent fixture in your life, one you hoped you’d never lose. Even now as he continued to blow up your phone in an attempt to sway you from driving up alone, you were thankful for him. Over the past 5 days he sent you lengthy lectures in the form of voice messages and a slew of articles detailing the statistics of winter related accidents. His name pops up on your screen as does a picture you’d taken one night after he'd passed out drunk and you’d stuffed cheetos up his nostrils, an act he has yet to forgive you for. You contemplate ignoring the call, but knowing you were about to go radio silent for the next 8 hours you decide to pick it up.
"Hey Santi what’s up?" you ask, as you half heartedly spread cream cheese onto a poorly toasted bagel.
"Have I ever told you how much I value your friendship?” Even over the phone you could hear the layers of charm he was currently plastering on.
"What do you want?" you say, tossing the knife into the sink.
"Hey! Who says..." he starts, but you don't let him finish.
"Santi I've known you long enough to know your ‘please I need something’ tone by heart" you laugh.
"Okay well I still value you, but ya I absolutely need a favour" Santiago admits.
"Shoot." you say taking a bite of the bagel.
"I need you to pick up a friend of mine, his flight got cancelled. He's in Chicago at the moment, can you drive him down to the wedding?"
"Ughhh are you kidding me Santi? I’m just about to leave" you say through a half chewed mouthful.
"Please! He’s a great guy, Gen wants him at the wedding, he was in basic with us, so a frequent visitor to the hospital. He's usually pretty quiet so you won’t have to spend that much time making small talk, which I know you hate." He pleaded. For anyone else a last minute change like this would have gotten a laugh, and nothing more, but this was Garcia, and you knew he’d do anything for you, so you’d do this for him.
“Fine” you begrudgingly agree “text me his number, I'm heading out in 40 minutes so he'll have to wait at the airport for a bit" you say, finishing your breakfast.
"You’re a godsend! Seriously, what would I do without you?" He chuckles.
"Nothing good i'm sure, besides I figure I probably owe you like, 1000 favours after you
know....'' the phone goes quiet. Five years later and it still stung like it was yesterday, for you both. He was your family, but he was Santiago’s best friend, you knew the loss was equally as devastating for him. You also knew he'd been having a particularly hard time recently, after what he termed a mission gone wrong a few years back. Every time you'd ask about it he’d shut you down harshly refusing to share any details with you.
"You don’t owe me anything. We're family. Thank you for driving him. I owe you a drink at the wedding!" He responds, back to his chipper self. If it wasn’t for the silence he may just have convinced you that he really was doing fine. You toss the phone on the counter and rub your temples mentally rearranging your entire itinerary for the day. You'd already rifled through the gym bag that was constraining way more clothes than you’d need for the week. Everything you needed was there from bathing suits to your wedding outfit to the special lingerie you’d packed in case you ran into an old flame. If by in case you meant, for when you ran into him. You don’t know how but he’d gotten invited to the wedding reception. Stella hated the guy, so it must have been through Genevieve who likely would have felt bad excluding him, even if he was only a friend of a friend.
You’d met Jonathan in your undergrad and you had been together throughout various points in your life, though never in any official sense. He’d made that evidently clear to you at any opportunity he got. He kept you on a short leash, a retainer if you will. Only coming to you between relationships with women that he deemed worthy enough to be his girlfriends. You knew it was toxic, and your friends constant reminders of how unhealthy it was didn’t fall on deaf ears. The way he would use you and lose you always ended with you being an unstable and emotional wreck, only solidifying his claims of you being crazy. You hated it, the way he made you feel so small, but he held this strange power over you. A power not even you could explain. His redeeming qualities could only be found in the bedroom, he was the best you’d ever had, so you forgave his shitty personality. Always gravitating back towards him, restarting the cycle. You knew what it meant to do the same activity over and over expecting different results, but this was different. At least that's what you told yourself, as you’d traced your hands over the lingeries lace that morning, knowing it was bought for a man who would never appreciate it.
Brushing all thought of him aside for the time being you grab the duffle off the floor and sling it over your shoulder. Walking out into the cold February air you watch as your breath transforms into a small cloud in front. Your chest hurts and nose hairs freeze as you inhale, tossing your bag into the back seat before leaning into the car and starting it up. The engine sputters for a moment before breaking out into a loud rumble, maybe it was a good thing someone else would be in the car with you after all. You jog back inside to your townhouse and grab the cooler where you’d stored the snacks and sandwiches you’d prepared for the road, now realizing it likely wouldn’t be enough to feed two people. Tossing on your winter jacket you lock the door behind you and slide your sunglasses down over your eyes shielding them from the afternoon sun as you make your way into your car.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You pull up to the departure gate still cursing at the idiot who had almost smashed into you while they were going the wrong way down a one way street. You hated driving in the city and you couldn’t wait to get out on the open road, even if it was going to be with a total stranger. You find yourself second guessing your decision to drive down state with someone you’d never met. In all reality, even if Santi was vouching for him, he could be a serial killer, plenty of people had nice things to say about Ted Bundy before he got caught.
You shake off the nervous feeling taking over your body, deciding to put your faith in your friends judgment, at least for now. Worse comes to worse you had a pocket knife stowed within reach. As long as he didn’t complain about any playlists or podcasts and understood your need for complete silence from time to time, you’d get on just fine. Besides it was only a 13 hour drive, and you could put up with anything for 13 hours.
You open up your phone and pull up the conversation you and Santiago had been having, scrolling up until you see the contact he’d sent you which read “ Catfish”. You click on it hoping to get the guys real name as a result but no luck, you should have asked Garcia for more information about this “Catfish” guy. You click on the number opting to call, not wanting to waste time wondering if he’d gotten the text you’d sent. The phone rings a few times before you hear someone pick up.
"Catfish?" you say, less confident in yourself than you had been dialing.
"In the flesh, who's this?" the deep voice responds.
"Your ride, Santiago’s friend" you offer, hoping that this wasn't some elaborate prank.
"Oh shit ya, Pope told me you’d be later than you said. I'm still downstairs" he says.
"Of course he did the little shit" you mutter, causing Catfish to laugh "Im outside now, departures second floor"
“I'll be out in a second" he says, hanging up the phone before you can say anything else.
You plug your phone back into the aux setting it back to the playlist you’d made last night during another bout of insomnia. You're checking your email to see if anything came up from the hospital when a tap at the window causes you to jump. As you look over you see the man who must be “Catfish” gently tapping on the glass. You unlock the door, popping the trunk as you slide out the driver's seat.
“You can put your bags back here. Fuck!" you exclaim when you trunk won’t open, likely having frozen shut again.
"Here" he says dropping his bag on the salted pavement and heaving up on the trunk freeing it from its icy constraints with a relative ease causing him to smile down at you.
"I loosened it" you say defensively, as he tosses his bag in the back still grinning when he
slams the trunk shut.
"Fransico Morales, though most people just call me Frankie" he says as you sit back down in the driver seat rubbing your hands together to warm them and applying some chapstick.
"Y/N, nice to meet you Frankie, seat warmers are here, use as your leisure. There are snacks in the back, but no touching the phone.” you rattle off.
“Aye aye captain” he responds, saluting you.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Santiago was right, Frankie was quiet. He offered you little in conversation or any noise at all really. You’d only heard him laugh maybe twice, once while listening to a podcast episode and then again when Britney Spears made her appearance on your soundtrack. "What? She’s America's sweetheart" you say trying to sound offended, but smiling when you notice his lopsided grin. You’d attempted to open up a dialogue with him a few times, but his one worded responses told you all you needed to know, so you stopped forcing it. It wasn’t a hostile environment, it was more of a comfortable silence one that you usually only found in people you had known for years. The silence gave you an opportunity to study the man’s features, glancing away from the road every now and then to slowly piece together his profile. You had pegged him as attractive the second his face had appeared in your passenger window, but it wasn't until now that the details that made him so could be seen; relatively tall, tanned skin, soft curls, deep brown eyes. Glancing over again you notice a concerned look spread across his face.
"What?" you ask, nervous that you’d creeped him out with your excessive, and not so subtle staring.
"Storms coming our way" he says, nodding up at the darkening sky.
"We’re not supposed to get snow for another week, I checked” you reassure.
"Things change" he says
" Sky’s clear, so we don’t stop for another 3 hours" you say, definitively.
" Your funeral, well mine as well I guess" he chuckles, earning him an icy glare from you.
“It's nothing, trust me” you affirm, confident in your ability to read a weather app.
" No one likes a know-it-all" he mutters still grinning.
"Could you help me with something" you ask smiling sweetly
"Sure" he responds, eager to help.
"Pull up the map and show me when I asked for your opinion"
"Eyes on the road” he says, causing your grip to tighten around the wheel.
Well crow wasn’t your favourite food to eat, but here you were eating it. Turns out Frankie was right. A storm was heading your way and it hit hard and fast. You’d managed to make it to a hotel off the freeway just as it came into full effect. What had started as a very pleasant road trip had quickly soured when you refused to apologize for not heading his warning. This paired with the 6 hours you had already driven had left you both irritable so much so that Frankie was now refusing to be any use in respect to figuring out what your next move was going to be.
"Hi" you say to the equally tired looking receptionist. Apparently, every other person travelling through Illinois had also missed the memo about the storm and were now all stuck at the same hotel.
"Hi, so sorry for the wait" she says, forcing a smile in a way that you recognized from your retail days.
"No need to apologize! What are the odds you have any rooms available?" you ask rubbing your eyes in an attempt to keep them open.
"Let me check, we have one... suite left on the... fourth floor” she says after a few moments of typing away into the computer.
"Perfect we’ll take it." you say, tapping your credit card to the machine. You walk back over to Frankie who was sitting with the bags and hand him a room key. He exhales deeply, not looking up from his phone as he takes it from you.
"There was only one room left so we’ll have to share" you say.
"Fine," he says, standing up, grabbing his bag and heading over to the elevator not bothering to wait for you. You watch as the elevator doors open and close behind him. Sure maybe it was your fault that you were stuck in this situation, but that was pretty rude. You push your way into the room after struggling with the key for a moment. Frankie must have been eager to get to sleep, or at least eager to not converse with you as he’d wasted no time in unpacking his bag and getting ready for bed. Your eyes move from the clothes on the floor, to the suit hung up in the closet, to the closed bathroom door. You hear the toilet flush and watch the door open as you drop your bag down onto the living room floor, grabbing the toiletries out of your bag's side pocket. You were far too tired to wrestle down to your pyjamas so you opted to stay in the leggings and sports bra you’d been wearing all day. Yes it was gross, but you couldn't be bothered to change at this point. Your eyes follow Frankie as he exits the bathroom in a green cotton t-shirt and a pair of plaid boxer shorts. You continue to watch as he plugs his phone in and shifts beneath the covers. Guess you were on the floor then. The couch was far too small, and you really weren't trying to break your neck sleeping on its arm rest.
"Pass me a pillow" you huff, as you grab a glass from the nightstand, turning back around to fill it up with water from the sink.
Why?" he asks, watching you take a sip from the overfilled cup.
"So I can sleep on the floor." you state, as if it was obvious.
“No, I’ll do that, you can have the bed" he says shifting up and pushing the blankets off himself. He hadn’t realized you were so averse to sharing a bed with him, but you had just met so he guessed it was fair enough.
"I’m not the one with the bad back old man" you state, the words sounding a lot harsher than you’d intended, but you were younger and thus more likely to recover.
"Fair point, but you’re not sleeping on the floor. Santi wouldn’t allow it. We can put up a pillow barrier between us if that would make you feel more comfortable" he offers, any hostility you had felt from him earlier now turned to tenderness. In all honesty, you hadn’t realized that sharing the bed was an option.
"I need two to sleep with so no point in making a barrier" you say, begrudgingly placing the glass back down on the nightstand "Shift" you say, fanning your hand.
"No" he says looking you dead in the eye "I got here first" he’s grinning slightly, further indicating he’d gotten over his anger from earlier. You could have just walked around to the other side, but for some unknown reason you don’t. Instead, you swing your leg over him pushing yourself up onto the bed, straddling him for the briefest moment before rolling over to the other side.
"Couldn’t have just walked around?" he chuckles
"Couldn’t have just shifted over?" you parrot back, moving onto your back, closing your eyes and dozing off.
#frankie x reader#frankie morales x reader#frankie catfish morales#frankie morales x you#catfish x you#catfish x reader#triple frontier fic#triple frontier fanfiction#in a week#part 1
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Un-alone, Chapter 4
Here it is!
“I’m so happy they let you stay here, at least for the wedding and all.”
“I am absolutely delighted, petite fleur.”
[little flower]
Lucien took Marie’s hand and looked at the ring on their fingers.
“I can hardly believe that I am now married.” He said.
“That’s what I should be saying.” She answered.
“How on Earth could you think that no man would marry you?”
“I’m not the marryin’ type. Just never saw the point of it.”
“Oh…”
“Until now.”
They exchanged a conniving smile and a kiss that of course Marie initiated.
“Lulu?”
“Oui.”
“I love you.”
He blushed.
“So do I, infinitely.”
And now it was raining. Hold on, how could it be raining, they were inside? And why was it so hot?
“Oh merde…”
Lucien woke up, or rather his hot tears woke him up. He looked at the time and it was barely 4 in the morning. He tried to fall back asleep after wiping his face with the back of his hand, but to no avail. So after fighting with himself, he decided to pull himself out of his bed.
He sighed and took a shower just to chase the last bit of hope for sleep away before realising that he hadn’t had anything to eat for more than 24 hours. So he headed out of his room and of his hotel, in search of some food.
He found barely anything edible so he dragged his feet in a city that he started to hate profoundly until he found himself in a park. He sat on the first free bench he encountered and waited.
For what?
He thought that he would wait for the first few cafés to open up to get himself some decent breakfast. But in truth, the more he waited, the less he wanted to move.
"Hey…"
Lucien smelled the intrusion before he could hear or see it. It was a beggar. The poor man sat next to the prim one, who was still wearing his black suit. Lucien took a cigarette and lit it.
Ooh, that one was a good one, extra bitter from his fasting. Perfect. It burnt his trachea to the point of pulling the tears out of his eyes.
"You up early, eh?"
"I am." The Frenchman said.
“Somethin’s on your mind?”
Lucien frowned and sucked on his cigarette harder.
“I just lost my wife.” He coldly said and getting the words out of his mouth was both extremely easy and unbelievably hard.
“Oh, wow… ‘m sorry…” The beggar removed his worn out hat. He scratched his bushy beard. “Is that why you’re out this early? Ya couldn’t sleep?”
“Oui, exactly.”
“I see. You don’t seem too old though, pal. The missus was young?”
“Younger than me, and infinitely better.”
“Arh… I‘m real sorry, man…”
“Mh.” Lucien sucked on his cigarette more and he realised that it was finished. He took his cigarette case out and offered one to the beggar, whose eyebrows jumped before he accepted.
“That’s kind of ya.”
Lucien lit both of them and smoked again.
“The worst part is that I wasn’t there for her.”
“In the end?”
“Non, all along. I barely was at her side, and wasn’t there for her last moments.”
“Why?” The beggar asked, seeing that his improvised bench-friend was now leading the conversation.
“Because I made the wrong choice decades ago. I chose my career over her.”
“So you left her all that time ago? But she’s still your wife?”
“Non, she…” Lucien raised a trembling hand to his brow, while holding his cigarette between his fingers. “She agreed to it.”
“What…?”
“She agreed to it. I was married to the only woman in the world who… putain de merde…”
[fucking hell...]
The beggar’s eyebrows were still up.
“Doesn’t sound like your typical gal, eh… Did she leave anythin’ to you?”
Lucien’s eyes slashed to the beggar’s and he might have shot bullets out of them. Money was a dirty topic and Lucien didn’t want any of Marie’s hard earned dollars.
“Don’t look at me like that, I don’t mean it for the cash! I meant like souvenirs or somethin’.”
Lucien exhaled and looked away.
“Only a letter.”
“Oh… What’s it say?”
Lucien frowned. It wasn’t like him to openly pour his life into the first stranger to come into his life. It was immensely dangerous. What if that man wasn’t a beggar but another, less than friendly spy?
“She is asking me for two favours.”
“Oh ho, let’s hear it.”
Lucien took the letter out of his pocket and read it again, squinting at the letters to imagine the pen gliding, the ink absorbing into the grainy paper, all of this under her soft hand…
“When I met her, I was a singer.” Lucien started. “She is asking me to continue singing.”
“Oh, that’s sweet, eh. Women are like that...”
“Oui.” Lucien read it all diagonally again. He knew the letter by heart and it bore very little magic anymore, although paradoxically, it was the most precious object in the world.
“What’s the other thing?”
“We… We had a son.”
“Had?” The older man asked. “Did he also…?”
“Non, he is alive and well.” Lucien folded the letter and put it back in his breast pocket. “She asked me to help him in life with a job. She thinks he is gifted.”
“What d’you work as?” The beggar asked.
“The worst.” Lucien answered.
“Well, a job’s a job, eh? Puts food on the table. Can you get him to work with you, whatever you’re doin’?”
Lucien’s eyebrows jumped and he winced.
“Never!” He answered and almost jumped on his seat. “My occupation is a nightmare, a hell that is painfully real. I do not wish for anyone to follow my footsteps, especially him, because in the end, he will surely make the same mistakes as I did. He might choose his work over his own life and lose the only woman who ever understood him.”
“You’re wrong, pal.”
Lucien’s eyebrows jumped and he turned his head to the beggar. He was shaking his head.
“He might like the job, he might even be good at it, do something good with his life. And it’d put his Ma’ to rest too. Look, there aren’t any half-jobs, or bad ones. It’s only bad if you don’t like it. And if the wife’s seen somethin’ in him, then surely there is. Or maybe you don’t agree with her? Don’t you see him like she does?”
“I do not see him, full stop.” Lucien answered. “I do not see him because I was there for him up until his mind could remember me.”
“That’s when ya left?”
Lucien nodded.
“If you don’t mind me sayin’... That’s a hell of a mess you’ve lived through, man. I mean. You get married to a woman and you agree to live separated for decades you say? And you leave her with the kid too? Bit odd, eh?”
The Frenchman held his head in his gloved hands, his cigarette hanging from his lips.
“Besides… About your son, he's already lost his Mum. You're the only thing he has left even though it's tough with you."
Lucien sighed.
"Yeah, a mess of a life you built yourself, I don’t know how you’re gonna get yourself straight after all that.”
Lucien took a deep breath and stood up.
“I will not.”
He left the bench and walked some more. He carefully avoided any and all places that carried some souvenirs until he fell deep in thought. He didn’t see the streets, Boston waking up and going to work. Non, he only saw his black shoes swallowing more and more of the grey pavement, his heels lightly clicking with every step, stabbing his ears.
Cafés were opening thankfully and he entered the first one to cross his path. Lucien went to a table in the corner and sat down, with the window on his right hand.
“Hey there, how can I help?”
“A black coffee please.”
The waitress disappeared and he lit yet another cigarette. He saw in his metallic case that he was eating the cigarettes way faster than in normal circumstances. Marie would have told him off…
His coffee landed in front of him and soon, people started coming and going in the café, bringing some distraction to the grieving man. He had hoped that sitting next to the window would help with that too, but to no avail.
He did the only thing he could to not let his mind play any more tricks on him and took a sip of the coffee. Ah, hot and bitter. It burnt his tongue and left an awful aftertaste that lingered all the way down to his stomach.
Lucien frowned and put the cup back on the table before opening the letter again. His mind rolled and rolled. He would do anything for Marie, but would he have liked Jérémy to become a spy too? Surely the boy could do something better than that, better than himself. Yet she said that he was gifted and Lucien knew that she was an admirable judge of character.
“Mh…” He grumbled and shook his head.
He didn’t want his son to follow his path. It was way too dangerous, and for what in the end? Nothing. Nothing was worth losing his family and his life over.
And then Fred's words came to Lucien.
So that was the plan the Ministry had for his retirement, huh? Turn him into an instructor? Pfff… If he could, he'd burst into the Minister's office and he'd have a word with him! But Lucien was in America, thousands of miles away from the office that now doomed him further.
“What did he have?”
“A black coffee.”
“Bring me the same, yeah?”
“Sure thing!”
A silhouette appeared in front of Lucien.
“I see you haven’t killed anyone yet, eh?”
Lucien frowned and still refused to make eye contact with his American colleague.
“HQ is mad at the damage you did in the gym the other day.” He took his pack of cigarettes and lit one up as the waitress brought him his coffee. “They say they’ll make you pay for repairs.”
“What more do they want? Do I need to bury myself in the ground next to Marie for everyone to leave me in peace?” Lucien answered in a sigh.
Fred fell silent for a moment, looking at people coming and going. He waited for Lucien to drink a bit more to start the conversation again.
“Managed to sleep at all?”
Lucien eventually raised his eyes to his American colleague. The dark circles around his eyes answered for him.
“Thought about what I told you the other day?”
“Oui, and my answer is non. I am quitting. This is it.”
“You might wanna reconsider that, pal.” Fred put the cigarette on his lips and took an envelope out of his coat pocket. He slid it on the table.
“What is this?”
“Work.”
“For me?” Lucien asked.
“Yup.”
“Fred, I said I am quitting.” Lucien pushed the envelope back to the American.
“Yeah, but you didn’t tell anyone yet. So here’s work.”
The Frenchman frowned and shook his head.
“Non.”
“Listen, pal, you can resign all you want but they’re gonna receive your letter after they sent you this, so they’ll expect you to do this first. You can then try and ask them to leave without training a newbie, but I doubt they’ll accept. Everyone does that now. The hard days of the war in Europe are over. You and I were trained like no people should be trained, but that’s what makes us so good at what we’re doin’. They want us to pass on the tricks and all to the younger ones.”
“I could hardly care less. I have nothing left on this Earth to care about.”
“Wouldn’t that exactly make you the best spy?” Fred asked and Lucien stared in his eyes for a long second before averting his gaze. “Open the file.”
Lucien sighed. He hung his menthol cigarette between his lips and pulled the file to himself before opening it. His stare was still slicing through Fred’s.
“I am not doing it out of anything but my own curiosity.”
“I know.”
The envelope yielded and Lucien retrieved the papers and pictures. The French spy read the file diagonally. He knew how mission orders worked all too well.
“Seems easy enough, doesn’t it?” Fred said, observing his friend discover the mess of a file he had been handed. “And yet, we’re up against the Soviets to find that guy before they do.”
“This might seem easy,” Lucien answered and removed the cigarette from between his lips to tap it against the ashtray. “However, above anything else, this is an American problem.” He put the papers and pictures together and slid them back into the envelope before sliding it back to Fred.
“Yep, you’re right.”
“It doesn't bear any sign of it being given by the French government. We have no input in this.”
“Yep, absolutely.” Fred sucked on his cigarette and blew the smoke away. “But this thing here, it’s been botherin’ me and my friends for far too long.”
Lucien raised an eyebrow. How was that any of his problems?
“So here’s the deal. You do this for me, and I’ll pay for the repairs for the gym in your place.”
Lucien burst out laughing.
“You do surprise me, Fred. You should know me better than this.” He scoffed.
“Yep, so let me put this differently…” Fred shifted closer to the table and laced his fingers together. He bent closer to Lucien opposite him. “This is my pay back.”
“What for?” Lucien asked arrogantly.
"You owe me, Frenchie."
"And what for, huh?" Lucien scoffed.
“Mary.”
Lucien’s smile shattered and his brow furrowed.
“Listen, pal. While you were tourin’ the world and huntin’ Nazis and all, someone here had to look after the missus. More than twenty years I kept an eye on her for you, for nothing more than friendship. Now, I’ve got this case,” Fred pointed at the envelope, half annoyed and three quarters fed up. “The guy’s a goddamn pain in my ass to get, been on him for years and the Soviets might be closer than we are to get him.”
“So you blackmail me because you are desperate?” Lucien hurt him back, clearly signalling that he did not appreciate Fred’s way of doing things.
Fred frowned and sighed.
“I blackmail you because I’m stuck and you’re the best spy I know, you fancy ass.”
Lucien shook his head and smirked.
“I am indeed exactly that, without a doubt, you mannerless primate. But Marie is dead and gone. I have nothing left that ties me to this job or this life.”
“You got your son.”
“And?”
“The kid’s homeless and jobless. Good at baseball but absolute shit at school. He’s never gonna be as successful as his dear Papa.” Fred arrogantly answered.
“Do not speak of him.” Lucien looked away and contained his anger but Fred knew his friend all too well, and his reaction there betrayed his emotion.
“Take him in to help. You’ll spend some quality time and hit all the birds in the world with one stone. You’ll do me a favour and you’ll get him a job and a future, and!” Fred raised a triumphant index finger. “You’ll train a rookie so they’ll be very happy high up. And who knows? The kid might have gotten somethin’ from you after all, eh?”
Lucien frowned.
“After all that, you can call it quits. Just vanish again, fly back to Paris or the fuckin’ Moon for all I care. You’ll have cleared your slate.”
Lucien sighed in exasperation.
“I will not involve him.”
“So you’re gonna let him be jobless, homeless and orphaned longer, eh?”
“He is not an orphan.” Lucien’s jaw was tense.
“It’s all the same. Lives with his auntie now and two little cousins who look up to one bad slice of an example. I don’t want to hurt you further but the kid doesn’t listen, he doesn’t stay home. He spends his life outside and doesn’t have anything to do, he’s practically in a limbo of his own. You and I both know what happens to kids like that. They either finish on our side of the bars or the other.”
Lucien winced at the thought of Jérémy breaking the law, getting caught and sent to jail. What would Marie think…?
“Best thing you can do is just do it. Go through it and get done. You don’t even need to tell him you’re his Dad! And you don’t have to babysit him either, he’s overage now. Can vote, go to college or buy a gun and make his life a livin’ hell and fuck Mary’s efforts up!”
Lucien held the bridge of his nose with two fingers.
“You do as you wish, pal.”
Fred crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and stood up before he left the café, leaving the envelope on the table. Lucien watched him and waited for the American to be out of sight before cursing in his mother tongue. His fingers slid to his head and he grasped handfuls of his hair, staring at the bottom of his near empty coffee cup.
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So you've probably heard from many Habs fans by now that this playoff run "Feels like '93" but what does that mean exactly and is there an equivalent we have already seen some twenty eight years after Canada's last Stanley Cup victory?
As an '97 born Montréal Canadiens fan (most likely due to the Jonathan Drouin trade with Tampa Bay ) brought up in New Zealand and now currently living in The UK, I didn't know a lot about the 1993-1994 Montréal Canadiens team or what it had meant for Habs fans until I spotted a YouTube video commemorating the 25th anniversary in 2018 .
That exact same video then popped up just before Game One of the first round of this year's playoffs - against one of the best assembled . So I , wanting that "Playoff Hype " clicked on it and soon realisation hit . I saw similarities with the team then and the team now .
The similarities side by side are eerie .
First up , in 1993 - it was a season of change after the Canadiens heartache of the two prior off-seasons . A new coach Jacques Demers believed in his players and in his 1st meeting at the beginning of the regular season of that year , He echoed " We're going to shock the world . We're going to win the Stanley Cup ."
So where does that sound familiar with the Montréal team of today ? Well , Dominique Ducharme was brought in under relief for Claude Julien - who was relieved of his coaching duties at the beginning of this year (February 2021 )
Like coaches leading the team to success , General Management also have an equally important role and that's just what Marc Bergevin did , adding important pieces to the puzzle such as Cup winners Jake Allen,Joel Edmunson , Tyler Toffoli ( Longest 8 game point streak since Vincent Damphousse in 1993 ) , Eric Staal as well as Corey Perry - fresh off the previous years Stanley Cup finals with the Dallas Stars . Young playmaker studs like Josh Anderson (First Habs Player to score a game tying and Overtime winning goal since 1993 ) and Cole Caufield ( A 5 game point streak ) also slotted into Bergevin's master plan .
However the regular season back then and now weren't that flash . Goal tending was a struggle especially with Carey Price suffering a concussion late in the regular season and the Habs of '93 lost the last 5 and 6 of regulation games before the playoff that season .
Losing the first two playoff games against the Quebec Nordiques, (Now Colorado Avalanche ) Montréal Canadiens began to be written off and underestimated by Nordiques players and media . What a bad mistake that turned out to be . (HEY TORONTO! )
Another question I had noted was if there had been any equivalent we had already seen in terms of the 1993-1994 Montréal Canadiens and the Canadiens we are watching right now? I say , Yes!
In 2018-2019 , The St Louis Blues defeated the Boston Bruins in seven games to win their first franchise Stanley Cup after a 38 year wait . It has now been 28 years since Montréal's last Stanley Cup victory so there's the waiting game .
St Louis had a real rough season that year with a 15-18-4 record before a change of coach pulled them out of being last place in the league and the odds as favourites to win , were definitely never in their favour -like what we see with the Montréal Canadiens in 2021.
Overall to end this little word dump of my feelings and research, it's a great time to be Montréal Canadiens fans and to get behind this incredible underdog team . Here's to proving them all wrong . Here's to '93
#sorry if its too long and bad#montréal canadiens#i just wanted to get how i felt onto this#prove them wrong#habslb#habs lb
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I.
“Let me tell you a story, about a Spaniard named Vasquez...”
Following this fantastic video essay by Rowan Ellis (contains spoilers for the entire show), I am currently rewatching Black Sails. The first season has a slightly different tone from the rest of the show and, in particular, has a major sexual assault storyline. I know several people who have been put off from watching the show as a result
So, with that in mind, I’m gonna give summaries and content notes for the episodes of the first season as well as timestamps of any scenes with particular content people may want to avoid. Hopefully this information can allow people to either skip those scenes or, read the summaries of these episodes and skip them entirely
Anyway, this post is about the very first episode
Major Content Notes:
Violence: some bloody violence, shot fairly brutally
Wikipedia Synopsis:
John Silver joins Captain Flint's crew as his ship's new cook whilst secretly holding a highly valuable page of the Captain's Log, which he takes from the first cook, who had stolen it from the captain himself. Meanwhile, Captain Flint faces a potential mutiny from his crew and must work to secure their support. The Captain recruits his first mate Billy Bones' help to overthrow the mutineer's leader, Singleton. Meanwhile, Eleanor Guthrie tries to keep order on the lawless island of New Providence conducting her father's business, as the Royal Navy's suspicions of the pirates grow stronger.
There’s quite a lot going on in this episode, with several speeches establishing important themes, because it has to establish all the major players, and most of their relationships, so the summary is actually quite a long (albeit quite condensed from my 8 pages of notes). Below the cut are the timestamps of any scenes requiring any of the major content notes, and then the summary (which includes all the events of the episode)
Timestamps:
All timestamps are from the “Complete Collection” DVDs which includes a Starz logo at the start. Depending on your source, timestamps may vary a little, which is why I’ve included the timestamp for the opening titles. Timestamps are only given for the start and end of scenes featuring any particularly warning-worthy content
06:30: opening titles
56:23-60:30: Flint & Singleton’s fight. The violence here is pretty brutal & bloody, moreso than most of the rest of the series
Summary:
1715 West Indies
The Pirates of New Providence Island threaten maritime trade in the region
The laws of every civilized nation declare them hostis humani generis. Enemies of all mankind
In response, the pirates adhere to a doctrine of their own… war against the world
A merchant ship is attacked by Captain James Flint’s pirates on the Walrus. During the attack, the cook steals a page from a logbook, and ends up barricaded in a compartment with the coward John Silver (below). The cook plans to joint the pirates after the fight, saying a good cook is always in demand. Silver spots the pouch the page is hidden in, causing the cook to draw his sword
The rest of the crew barricade in a separate room, but eventually the pirates break in, defeat them and the pirate captain, Flint (below), gets the merchant Captain to surrender
The quartermaster Hal Gates (below) walks through the merchant ship assessing the prize as the crew breaks down the door to Silver’s compartment, in which he finds the cook dead, stabbed in the back, Silver claims to be a very good cook and asks to join
On the deck, Singleton (below, and also pictured in the background of Flint’s picture) is giving a speech to the captured merchant sailors, appealing to their sense of class consciousness
"Now that the fight is over, you have nothing more to fear from us today. Because we know this fight was not of your making, it was the choice of our true enemy, your true enemy, the tyrant captain. Many of us once sailed on ships like this one, we know what it is to be slaves to his whims, his violence, his shit wages! His insufferable stupidity! So we’ve made for ourselves a different life, where we don’t rely on wages”
The accountant Dufresne (below, note that he is played by a different actor as his original actor sadly died after the filming of the first season) assesses the prize as barely covering their costs and, after four prizes in a row with little profit, Gates is concerned about dissent in the crew, and that Singleton is angling for the captaincy
Flint and Gates appear conspiratorial over the logbook, saying it proves that this is the ship, but Gates quickly spots the missing page, the schedule, without which the logbook isn’t very useful in leading them to the greater prize
“let me see if I have this right. This is the fourth prize in a row from which the profits will barely exceed the expenses it took to win it, Singleton’s out there trying to convince your crew to torture that poor bastard of a captain simply because he hasn’t worked out how to get them to do it to you, but all’s well, because you’ve discovered, that the information we can’t tell anyone we’re looking for, exists on a page, that we don’t have“
A Royal Navy Man-o-War, the Scarborough is spotted (unusual seeing as she’s based in Boston), and the Walrus leaves behind the merchant ship so it can get away
Belowdecks, the Bosun, Billy Bones (above) introduces Silver to Randall (below), who used to be the Bosun before him, before he was beaten to within an inch of his life and “lost his wits, but not their loyalty”. Randall is mistrustful of Silver, apparently because he feels like Silver is replacing him. Billy emphasises the equality of the pirate ship, that everyone should get the same food, including the captain & quartermaster
Gates tells Flint that Singleton plans to replace him, and now has the votes to do so. Flint tries to manipulate Gates into blaming himself, even though the crew’s poor morale is due to Flint’s seemingly poor choice of prizes to chases. Flint says that with a few more days, the schedule could be reconstructed from the logbook, but he’ll need a favour from Richard Guthrie who is responsible for selling all the goods the pirates steal. When Gates is skeptical that Guthrie will help them, Flint says they’ll just go back to normal and pretend none of this ever happened & Gates calls him out for lying
The Walrus arrives in Nassau, and the crew go ashore (below). One of the pirates tells Silver that it used to be English, now it isn’t, and that now it’s “ours”. Gates tells Billy that Flint is going to ask Guthrie for a favour and is likely to react badly when he refuses, and tells Billy to go with him and, when the time comes, restrain him, so they don’t lose Guthrie’s business. As Silver is unloading the cargo, he notices one of the logbooks is not among them and deduces the page must be from the missing volume and is in Flint’s quarters
Silver then gets hazed. He is accosted and told he needs to see Blackbeard, who “meets the new ones, no exceptions”. When thrust into a smoky room he’s told contains Blackbeard, he realises that the person in the throne is not, in fact, the pirate Edward Teach, but rather a prostitute. When he questions this, she opens her coat, revealing a large black bush. The pirates laugh, tell him to yell if he gets lost in there, and close the doors. As Silver is stripped, and has sex with the five prostitutes, he keeps glancing for the page that has fallen out of his clothes
Gates goes to speak to Eleanor Guthrie (below, left), in her tavern. She is introduced berating a captain for being scared of the mere whiff of the Navy rather than going for profit, and clapping back at a drunk pirate telling her to fuck herself. Gates warns Eleanor & her right-hand man, the former slave, Mr Scott (below, right) about Singleton’s plan to take over, and asks for a loan to buy the crew’s loyalty. Eleanor eventually agrees, but Mr Scott chides her, saying that he doesn’t think her father would approve
Max (below), one of the prostitutes from Silver’s hazing pours some tea as he scrambles for the page, which she already found, having noticed that despite having “a whore for every finger on your hand, but your eyes kept drifting to this”. Realising it’s valuable, but that Silver doesn’t know anyone to sell it to, she offers to act as a middle-man, in exchange for half
Gates enters a tent with several of the black pirates and negotiates with the eldest of them, who he knows the rest will follow, to buy their votes. Despite having spent the entirety of Eleanor’s loan on other sections of the crew, he persuades them to side with him in exchange for payment taken out of the next prize. Unfortunately for him, Jack Rackham (below) spots him and tells Singleton that Gates has been buying votes
Silver sneaks into Flint’s cabin aboard the ship with Max waiting in a rowing boat, where he finds the logbook and matches the page to it, but disturbs a feather Flint had left
Meanwhile, Flint has his meeting with Richard Guthrie (below), explaining his plan, how he heard of it, how the logbook confirms his lead, and that he needs Guthrie’s contacts to reconstruct the schedule
“Let me tell you a story, about a Spaniard named Vasquez. A few weeks ago, he staggers into a tavern in port royal, takes a seat next to an English merchant captain. Vasquez, it turns out, is dying, bleeding to death from a knife wound to the belly. The knife wound was courtesy of his former employer la Casa de Contratacion in Seville”
“Colonial Intelligence?”
“Navy, more specifically. One of the top agents in the Americas, responsible for the security of one particular ship, a ship with a cargo so rich, the king of Spain is very anxious to see it launched. Vasquez warned that it was too late, storm season was upon them and no escort could be mustered to guard her, but his superiors demanded that he sign off. They advised him that if he couldn’t arrange for an escort, he should plot a course unknown to anyone but our captain, and consider that route to be a state secret of the highest order. When Vasquez refused and threatened to report his concerns to the court things got ugly. The ship in question? Urca de Lima. The largest Spanish treasure galleon in the Americas. According to Vasquez, total cargo in excess of 5 million dollars”
Guthrie refuses to help, saying that the ship is heavily armed even without an escort, and that even making enquiries would jeopardise his standing with the Spanish. Flint twists his arm and goes to break his fingers, asking Billy to threaten Guthrie with his pistol, but Billy instead aims it at Flint
They hear a commotion outside, it’s the British! Captain Hume of the Scarborough to be precise. Billy, Flint, & Guthrie have all returned to their positions to maintain the pretence of respectability, but Hume isn’t buying it treating us to his pontifications on the relationship between gossip and civilisation, and attempts to take them all into custody. Flint & Billy resist, defeating the Navy men, but Guthrie is shot in the shoulder
“Tell me something, Mr Guthrie. Do you have gossip here?
“Gossip?”
“I’ve often wondered if it can survive in so remote a location. You see gossip is what holds civilisation together. It reinforces shame, and without shame, well, the world is a very dangerous place”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand”
“Do you know what the gossip is in London about you? The gossip is that you make your profits selling ill-gotten cargo, stolen by the pirates of Providence Island”
Singleton confronts the leader of the black pirates about his change of heart. When they refuse to change back to his side, Anne Bonny (below right) appears together with Jack Rackham and she kills them
Before the leader is killed, Captain Charles Vane (below) comes out of the shadows too
Gates tells Mr Scott & Eleanor that he’s secured the votes, only to be told by one of the remaining black pirates that their leader was killed, and his last words were “Vane”. Eleanor decides to do something about Vane
Jack, Anne, & Vane are drinking in a brothel, and discuss their plan. Singleton will become captain, fail at it, and the skilled hands will then defect to their crew. We also find out that Jack & Anne are fucking. At this point, Eleanor storms in, and punches Vane. He punches her back and then offers her a hand to help her get back up. He follows her as she goes to clean up. She explains that he’s fucked her over, and we find out he used to love her and, despite grabbing her face, he still tucks her hair behind her ears suggesting conflicted feelings about that. She threatens to cut him off from selling goods, but vane points out that her father is the one who buys the goods, and he’ll always choose profits over daughters
Max sees that Eleanor has been hit, and leads Eleanor to her bedroom, hand-in-hand. She correctly guesses that Vane is the one who hit her and, when Eleanor blames herself she scoffs at it. She nurses Eleanor, they kiss, and then have sex
Flint & Billy sail away from Mr Guthrie’s mansion, with his pale, unconscious body. Flint strips Guthrie’s rings & wig, and explains that he plans to hide Mr Guthrie, so as to avoid panicking the crew when they find out their fence is burnt
Billy calls out Flint’s constant lying, and wonders if maybe Singleton is right, and they do need a change. This causes Flint to move aggressively towards Billy, but he puts his sword between them forcing Flint to keep his distance.
“War is coming, one ship is not the war. When a king brands us pirates, he doesn’t mean to make us adversaries, he doesn’t mean to make us criminals, he means to make us monsters, for that’s the only way his god-fearing taxpaying subjects can make sense of men who keep what is theirs and fear no-one. When I say there’s a war coming, I don’t mean with the Scarborough, I don’t mean with King George, or England. Civilisation is coming, and it means to exterminate us. If we are to survive, we must unite behind our own king”
“We have no kings here”
“I am your king”
Flint tells Gates about Guthrie, and finds out that whilst they were gone, Singleton has called a council to vote on him taking the captaincy. Flint takes a moment in his cabin and, whilst flinging some furniture, notices the feather Silver had disturbed
Taking the logbook to the council, Flint tells them of his plan, and accuses Singleton of having stolen the schedule from the logbook
"I’m sorry. For the short hauls. For the trouble I’ve caused. But most importantly, for the disregard it seems I’ve shown you
“The most important element of a healthy ship is trust. Trust between men. Trust between captain and crew. Without it, a ship is doomed
“For the past few months, you and I have been on the trail of a prize so rich, it could upset the very nature of our world. And for that reason, I felt it necessary to keep it secret
“I didn’t trust you. And that was my mistake. Right now I would like to tell you that prize is within our grasp and we are close, so close. But it would appear that my concerns about secrecy had merit
“Someone on this crew discovered my plans. And tore from this log the very page necessary to discover that prize. Stole it for their own gain. Stole it from us. And then, stoked your resentment to cover his crime, and make himself your captain”
Obviously, Singleton is confused, and protests that he doesn’t know anything about this. Gates points out that this is a serious accusation, thievery being punishable by death, and a false accusation likewise. Per the articles of the ship, Singleton must either submit to a trial (with Gates as judge, who Singleton does not consider would be impartial), or they can settle it by sword
This fight is analysed in a lot of detail by Matt Easton (a historical fencing instructor, well versed in military sabre of the late 19th and late 18th centuries, so only shortly after the period of the show) here (may contain spoilers for later in the show, I don’t remember). Flint has good form, and is clearly well-trained, but Singleton is stronger, tougher, and more ferocious, easily gaining the upper hand
There is some back and forth, with Flint temporarily gaining the advantage, before losing it again, ending up injured and covered in blood. He is finally able to grab a cannonball and smash Singleton on the head, before crawling over him and beating him to death in front of a shocked crew
Flint produces a piece of paper, seemingly from Singleton’s bloody corpse, and offers it to Billy (seeing this page, Silver confirms that he does in fact still have the real page). Billy opens it, sees that it’s a completely blank page, but as Flint coolly holds his gaze tells the crew that it is in fact the stolen schedule
“Friends, brothers, the prize that you and I have been pursuing, is l’Urca de Lima, the hulk, a prize of almost unimaginable value, now with this page securely in our possession, we can begin our hunt, and we will succeed, no matter the cost, no matter the struggle, I will see that prize is yours, I’m not just going to make you rich, I’m not just going to make you strong, I’m going to make you the princes of the new world!”
The crew all cheer whilst Billy, Gates, and Silver, who all know that this page is not real look on in disbelief
Max is called from her room, where we see Eleanor sleeping naked on the bed by Idelle, one of the other prostitutes. She goes down to meet Jack & Anne and, sitting on his lap (which Anne does not like), tells them she has something she thinks they may want to buy
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(Warning: NSFW, entirely. 18+ smut content. | Ao3 link.)
After the war's end, Andy and Eddie invite their favourite mortarman over for a visit. Eugene agrees to the visit, and some other things.
The ruin of one Eugene Sledge (by pleasure of Andrew Haldane and Edward Jones)
They discuss it at length, the two of them.
Full novel length, chapters upon chapters, with subheadings and notes in the margin. Clauses and subclauses and sub-subclauses are proposed and ratified over the course of many an afternoon. Debates rattle over dinner plates, wild hypotheticals meet very real concerns for thorough consideration. (Which might be deemed a little much for what would probably fold into under five hours of action, including the inevitable water chugging between rounds.)
Their exceptional communication skills and stable relationship certainly allow proceedings to progress without a hitch. They have always discussed their sexual endeavours at length, after all.
Being in the commonly considered ‘sexual deviant’ category of existence means even your most vanilla sex is beyond the comprehendible realms of your white picket fence neighbours. (Not that they have a white picket fence. Theirs is cast iron. And their Boston apartment comfortably on the city lines, not in the suburbs.)
They end up taking no small amount of pride in it. That they can casually discuss exactly what turns them on, slipping further into potential depravity as they open up about themselves. Usually, however, these conversations last all of half an hour before they fall into bed to test their proposed plans. That aside, the process is exactly the same.
Andy says he’d be open to watching Eddie with another man. Or sharing him with another man. Or something to the ‘another man’ effect. Eddie asks him to elaborate.
Ack Ack considers, chews his lip with half-lidded eyes. “Maybe blowing him.” He says.
“Only if ye’ hold m’ hair.” comes the reply on Eddie’s part.
“You want me in control.” Andy deduces.
His aroused smirk makes Hillbilly’s blood boil. What a smart, omniscient cunt. The greatest displeasure? He’s right. That is exactly where his lover wants him.
They chew it over from there. Negotiations last longer than necessary due to constant courtroom breaks, since the prosecution and defence keep getting turned on and needing to take the time to fuck. The most fruitful discussions are never when the topic is spontaneously brought up, but rather at least an hour after, when Eddie’s lit his post-sex cigarette and Andy’s playing with his hair.
Eventually, the green light is given. They’re eating dinner across their humble wooden kitchen table. (Hillbilly’s gravy could drown a dead rat on a plate and it would still taste divine.) They’ve settled on an agreement and want to go ahead with the idea.
“Well,” Eddie says around a mouthful of beef, “Pick your man.”
This choice is harder than it sounds because it has to be someone they know. They’re an item, sweet and simple. A stranger might get some bright ideas about their place in this scenario. Plus, it’s 1952. Some secrets need to remain under wraps.
Another problem is that the shortlist starts with Burgie.
Eddie’s rubbing his forehead in exasperation, reclining in their frayed armchair. “We attended his weddin’, Andy.” He explains, talking to nothing short of a fool, “Ye’ was with me in the arch a’ sabres.”
That absolute fool is currently pacing across the carpet, tapping his finger against his lips.
“Is it not polite to ask regardless?” Andy muses, pausing in his motions.
He receives an aggravated grunt. Low, drawn-out, and unimpressed.
“Not Burgin, then.” The captain finally acknowledges. The name is mentally crossed from the list, though not before he points an accusing finger his lover’s way, “But you wanted it, too.”
After a deep, longing pull from his cigarette, Eddie gives the answer they’ve been looking for.
“Sledge.” He says.
The name floats upwards with the smoke. It catches on their small porch roof; one they share with the apartment next door, divided by more iron fencing. He’s sitting on the steps, Andy leaning against the doorframe behind him.
“What about him?” The blond asks. The conversation had previously been about weeding, what to do with all the insects tearing up the captain’s petunias.
Eddie takes another drag.
“He’s our third man.”
“I know he’s queer,” Andy asks, “Does he know he’s queer?”
‘He’ is Eugene Sledge. The name stuck, dangling over their heads constantly since they’d been stupid enough to mention it. The possibility of their fantasy scenario drifts ever closer.
“By now, yeah.” Eddie says, staring up at their bedroom ceiling. He’s playing with his chest hair, curling it around his finger, “But I bet he ain’t got his dick wet much.”
Lying beside him, Ack Ack smothers his laughter in his lover’s neck. The words ring so horribly true. He reaches up regardless and slaps Hillbilly’s peck. Right on the nipple for that extra sting. The hiss the man emits confirms an acceptable amount of pain, retribution for his mean words. (Honest words but mean nonetheless.)
If they didn’t have sweat cooling on their bodies from a good fuck, the smack would turn Eddie on.
“It’ll be good f’ him.” He suggests instead, not wanting to earn another punishment.
“You think?” Andy replies, propping himself up on his elbows.
“Yeah.” Hillbilly says, “If he’s up fer’ it.”
Andy writes the letter.
It’s scribbled with barely pent-up excitement and the slightest tremor in his hand. The penmanship is far from pristine, the careful innuendo and wax poetic only legally veiling the message conspired within. The raw arousal motivating the ink is on full display.
He’s absolutely fucking losing it.
Watching from the doorway, Eddie shakes his head. That’s the moment he knows Andrew has been fantasising about this longer than they’ve been discussing it.
He tries to pretend he’s shocked by the realisation.
“Why Eugene?” Andy asks.
Again, for the fifteenth time. They have, as per, already discussed the reasoning at length. Eddie’s about ready to grab the man by his sweater vest and give him a good hard slap across the cheek.
Instead, he summarises.
“’cause he’s always wanted to fuck you, Andy.” Hillbilly explains, “And I’m about t’ let him.”
If Eugene’s smart, which he is, he won’t pass up this opportunity.
If Eugene accepts the opportunity, which he does, any nervousness he may have will be proven weaker than his excitement over the proposition.
And if his excitement is that strong, which it definitely feels like, then it’ll be all over his face when he arrives in Boston.
Andy collects him from the train station. Hands in the pockets of his pale slacks and short-sleeved shirt tucked in. He’s wearing a braided belt because it complements the look. He’s gay and he’s about to show this young man a wild time, why not make it special from the start?
He waves at the redhead who steps off the 4 o’clock train from Birmingham. It’s sunny and warm, painting that ginger hair with yellow streaks. It’s very attractive when seen without the sweat and dirt of combat or those ugly helmets crushing it flat.
Not that they haven’t seen each other several times before now. This is the first time, however, that Eugene’s wore his shirt without a tie. Today, the white of his collar is unadorned, handsome beige suit jacket left unbuttoned. Casual, familiar. No formality in sight, which is relieving.
He’s got a green carnation pinned to his lapel.
Andy has to keep his smile from splitting his cheeks. It wouldn’t be polite to wear the satisfaction of victory across the entirety of his features.
“I should have known you’d be familiar with Wilde’s work.” Andy says, referring to the flower.
He’s driving Eddie’s blue pickup, which they have come to share the use of. Fancy cars are for rich cocksuckers and married couples who don’t have the imagination to use the truck bed. You can’t fuck beneath the stars in an estate.
“It was always my favourite.” Eugene notes. He chews on the bit of his pipe thoughtfully, “Even when I couldn’t place quite why.”
“It’s a fantastic touch.” Ack Ack compliments.
Pleasantly calm, every glance he sends across the cab radiates pride. The young man – just a man, really, but that might teeter on Andy thinking himself ‘old’ and they would be having none of that – has grown so much since ’44.
Eugene’s strong nose and dark eyes will never bleed with unbreakable confidence, for sure. But that’s a favourable trait, it keeps him far from arrogance and the unattractive features that come with it. Yet Sledge is still surer of himself than he used to be. Or perhaps he’s just learnt to hide his self-consciousness. (Really, they’re the same thing.) The only hint of nervousness is the drumming of his nails against the door, resting his elbow out the open window. A touch of trepidation for what’s coming.
Keeping the wheel steady, Andy reaches out and places a hand on his company’s thigh.
Eugene doesn’t flinch as his captain used to expect. (They both distinctly remember how a tipsy and boisterous young lady had ran a hand over Sledge’s ass at Burgin’s wedding. The redhead had jumped high enough to paint the ceiling ginger. And spilt wine all over the poor girl’s dress.)
Good. Better than good.
“I’m glad you could come, Eugene.” With a laugh, Ack Ack quickly clarifies, “It’s always a pleasure to see you, I mean that wholeheartedly.”
Pink colours Sledge’s cheeks, his smile sweet. He’s convinced it’s the truth, should have known that already. That doesn’t make it any less warming to hear.
“I’ll admit I did consider replying in a more-“ He searches for the word across the dashboard, “-reserved nature, so I could visit without fear of gettin’ cold feet.”
The hand on his thigh is reservedly placed nearer his knee. It pats him comfortingly. Andy opens his mouth to speak and assure the young man that his excited scribbles – and the excited scribbled response – are not legally binding. They can enjoy a repeat of prior visitations if desired.
Eugene beats him to the punch.
“But sittin’ here now-”
Those dark brown eyes flutter downwards. Over the steering wheel, that neat braided belt, the front of Andy’s slacks. Sledge’s tongue flashes across his lips, wetting the dry skin. His pipe hovers uselessly, forgotten as his mind drifts elsewhere.
He catches himself enough to speak. His gaze is torn slowly from the fabric over his company’s cock.
“I think I made the right decision.” He mutters. It’s quiet and a little shy, but not unsure.
The fingers on his thigh squeeze happily.
Eddie opens the door with a grin of true happiness. The sunlight turns his curls that slightest hint of ginger, though it’s nothing on the crop of hair sliding out the passenger side of his truck.
“Eugene Sledge.” He drawls like he can’t believe his eyes, like he isn’t in on the plan. His arms are folded loosely across his chest, “M’ favourite mortarman.”
Jury might be out on that one, prior to this moment. Right now? This is absolutely his favourite mortarman.
“Hillbilly.” Eugene greets with a bashful smile.
There’s a respect lingering there that has already been dropped with Andy. Not that it didn’t take a couple of years’ effort to achieve that, too. They’re steadily working their way to Sledge dropping all pretence from the Marines, the two of them. They are so remarkably close, the title of captain and lieutenant fully thrown to the wind sometime around 1948.
That might prove to be a spanner in the works later. Andy fully planned on bringing those titles back this evening.
For now, though, he focuses on Eugene and Eddie.
“It’s good t’ see you ag’in.” The latter says.
They stand as far apart as the compact space of the porch allows. (Not much, apparently.) They both glance Andy’s way as he shuts the cast iron gate and ascends the steps. He’s carrying Eugene’s suitcase like a gentleman. Now there’s three grown men in a one-and-half-man area of entranceway.
Eddie has to huff out a laugh. He kicks the door open behind him.
“C’mon,” He says, “We’re drawin’ more attention with this tomfoolery than if I’d kissed ye’.”
It’s a pleasure of an afternoon.
Eugene helps Eddie cook dinner. Andy had insisted on it. A strategic placement of their visitor, if he does say so himself, perfectly aligned so the two can share close quarters. Unpressured by expectations and protected by clothing for the time being. Sledge chops vegetables, unphased as Hillbilly stands behind him, chest against his back to guide his hand.
Their captain sips his tea from the kitchen table. His boys work to cook a meal for him to enjoy, at his instruction, without him lifting a finger. That victory smile returns and this time he can hide it behind his mug.
While he’s certain Eugene will be learning a few things tonight about how to draw submission from a man, there’s no outmanoeuvring a master.
They eat, they talk. Some of it about the letter’s content and expectations for the evening. Most of it about how Alabama is and Eugene’s new job. About the petunias in the front garden and the pests that are ruining them.
Eventually, they clean their plates away. (Well, two of them do. Andy gets brought more tea.) They retire to the sitting room. It’s small and cosy. Andy takes the armchair, facing the men on the couch so he can actually finish his drink in relative peace.
Eddie sits and reclines against the arm of the sofa, head propped up by his hand. Eugene moves to sit on the other end. His company has different plans.
Hillbilly grunts. A complete and non-verbal ‘no’. Ass halfway to its destination, Sledge is off balance enough that the arm around his waist completely topples him. He’s brought down in the middle of the couch, all but in Eddie’s lap were it not for their closed legs.
They all laugh at the familiar horseplay. It’s short only a ruffle of red hair. (The lieutenant declines that, it’d be too condescending considering he plans on blowing this boy’s mind soon. And blowing him, period.)
“You gonna surprise me like that every time I sit down?” Eugene asks.
“I’m gon’ surprise ye’ a whole lot.” Eddie replies.
Andy hums approvingly into his mug. They both turn his way. It’s a good distraction; the redhead doesn’t notice Hillbilly adjusting their position. Getting comfy with the other man leaning against his chest, his hand coming to rest on Sledge’s hip. A warm hand on warm skin, separated only by thin shirt fabric. His thumb rubs small circles over the ribs he can reach.
“Let that inform tonight’s exploits,” Ack Ack muses, finished with his tea, “Whatever they may be.”
He sets the mug down on the small table to his left, beside the room’s ashtray. Eugene’s raised eyebrow begs him to explain.
Andy obliges. “Eddie can lift me quite easily.” He says, “He could probably break either of us in two. Don’t worry about playing rough.”
Behind his head, Sledge can feel the warmth of Eddie’s grin at the acute description. A strong arm is slung around his shoulder now, no longer content on his hip. The taller man’s hand is running over his chest absentmindedly, brushing his collarbone. Without any conscious effort on his part, Eugene has leant his full weight backward and against the warmth holding him.
“I have every confidence that if he wants you to stop,” Andy continues with a shrug, “He’ll stop you.”
Sledge glances to his right, head turned just enough to glimpse confirmation. At his back, he can see Hillbilly’s smile. His lips brush red hair as he speaks into the young man’s ear.
“He’s right.” is whispered against his skin, “But he’s still bein’ a bastard about it.”
“How am I being a bastard?” Andy laughs.
“Ye’ just are.” Eddie calls across the room.
They all chuckle. If they can’t have a sense of humour about this, there’s no point even attempting the deed. A little comedy won’t kill the mood and can save most faux pas.
During their bit, Eugene’s hand drifts to Hillbilly’s thigh. Testing at first, fingers ghosting over the thick denim of his jeans. Then pressing down, sliding over the fabric close to his knee. It sits there presently, finally building up the confidence to squeeze exploratively.
Those dark brown eyes glance down at his own machinations. Eddie’s hand on his chest slides across his peck, arm around Sledge’s shoulder gripping him tighter.
Andy sits back in his armchair, stretches his back. He’s convinced he can watch this forever. Or however long it takes to play out, at least.
“I want you to know,” Eugene drawls softly, his focus still on rubbing circles on Hillbilly’s thigh, “I’m not the most experienced at this.”
Politely, neither of the other men mention their knowledge of the fact. (Especially not mentioning how the fact may have played into a prior discussion.)
“Experience isn’t particularly important.” Andy says, “Attitude and a little guidance goes a long way.”
His fingers play idly with the handle of the mug at his side. Every pair of eyes are on him, yet he can’t care less. He looks like he can’t care less, cultivates the persona whilst he speaks with absolute authority.
“For example,” Ack Ack explains, “If Eddie were to keep his hands to himself for a moment…”
There’s no ‘if’ present in his tone. The hypothetical is a veiled command, upheld by the man who uttered it with crossed legs and gaze focused nonchalantly on his empty mug.
Eugene feels the rumble in Hillbilly’s chest behind him. That large hand retreats from where it had ventured over his nipple. While still leaning against the tall man, Sledge is no longer held captive in his grasp. (Not that he wanted his hostage situation to end.) Eddie even sits back, arms now slung over the back and arm of the couch, respectively. The heat of his breath disappears from the redhead’s ear.
All without so much as a raise of Andy’s voice.
“Then,” The blond continues, turning to the pair on his own cue, “You can come sit over here, and I can show you exactly what I mean.”
As Eugene stands, he uses the hand on Hillbilly’s thigh for leverage. It’s the last part of him to abandon the couch, sliding his way over to the armchair with all the grace he can muster. His steps are casual, taking their time. An impressive display, complimented by the hands casually slipped into the pockets of his slacks. Like he’s in no rush, can’t care less.
(Behind him, Eddie forces down a knowing smile. There’s no finer flattery than imitation and the young man has always been a fast learner. Copying Captain Haldane, even now, will serve him well.)
Dark eyes meet pale blue for a moment at the armchair crossroads. Andy uncrosses his legs, spreading them wide to he can lean purposefully on his knee. Eugene’s eyes wander back over the front of those beige slacks. The fabric had been just a fraction tense during their car ride. It sits taught in the living room, but it’s not for Sledge to ogle freely.
Andy reaches up and tilts the man’s chin towards his face. Eyes on mine, please.
Eugene’s smile has grown bashful under the gaze of Captain Haldane. He doesn’t reach to touch like he had with Eddie. That stare is intense. It’s too much too soon and Ack Ack can recognise that. Not a problem.
“Unlike our rude associate over there,” Andy teases, bringing some comedy back into the thickness of the air, “I’m going to ask you to sit down.”
“The rudeness was ye’ takin’ that boy off this couch before I was done with him.” Eddie remarks.
He makes no move to leave his position or rectify the offence.
“Can you believe him?” Andy mutters.
The soft-spoken, relaxed-rhetorical disguises the arms he puts around Eugene’s hips. Turning him around without meeting his eyes, acting as he had with the mug. Calm, collected, like it’s nothing of note to him. Manhandling the chuckling redhead to face away, towards Hillbilly. (Out of line with that intense stare, until further notice.)
Pausing his motions, Andy glances up at Eugene. He nods, satisfied.
He then waves his hand across his lap.
“There’s enough space for both of us.” He comments.
Sledge, no doubt picking it up from the bastard tactics continuing across the evening, frowns for a moment. His consideration is definitely not genuine.
“I think there is.” He agrees. Andy beams in response.
Eugene settles down between his legs, the armchair being fairly deep. (It isn’t a lie to say it can fit them both.) Ack Ack adjusts himself with a hum, arms around his company’s waist. Hugging him momentarily to set him just-so.
His forearms withdraw partially but leave his hands to dangle between Eugene’s legs. Noncommittally, tapping the muscles of his inner thighs as if it were the arms of the chair. He’s thinking.
“Mnn, yes.” Andy concludes, “This is much better.”
Orange hues momentarily bring Eddie’s face into sharp relief. His pale eyes are absolutely fixed on the display, flashing in the flame of his lighter. Smoke trails towards the ceiling, unnoticed. His first drag is deep, steeling himself. He scratches his crotch without shame, the denim only failing to tent due to its weight.
The two men in the armchair embrace the staring competition.
“What was I talking about before this?” Andy chuckles against Sledge’s ear.
“Attitude and guidance.” The redhead recalls.
“Right.” It comes out as another laugh.
The captain is enjoying himself and it shows. Far too much for the role he’s playing within their trio, relying on his collected vigour to operate the steering wheel.
“Well, attitude is obviously about a man’s words, his manner, his posture-” Firm hands run up over Eugene’s forearms and onto his shoulders, “Making sure your orders are followed without needing to ever threaten a punishment.”
Those fingers roll the muscles under them, relaxing Sledge’s posture. Who hums instinctively, blush returning as he shamefully enjoys the feeling of his beloved captain massaging him. Doting on him, Ack Ack’s handsome nose gently poking the soft skin behind his ear.
“Not that you should be afraid to mention punishments.” Andy mutters. His eyes trot leisurely over to Eddie before trotting leisurely to Eugene, “Rewards just work better.”
His breathing is perfectly regulated as he moves his lips to Sledge’s cheek. Suspiciously perfect, timed and regimented into slow, deliberate motions of his chest. (Without the heavy cloud of lust on the redhead’s mind, he might have deduced that the captain is reigning himself in purposefully. That his collected aura is but a façade to an equally aroused interior.)
“So,” He whispers, hot and husky against Eugene’s ear, “We could ask Eddie to take all his clothes off and say we’d whoop him if he didn’t, or-”
The sentence is punctuated by a jerk of Andy’s head, turning to face the man on the couch opposite. The motion brings cold air to the skin he’d been breathing on, making Sledge inhale sharply. As if he’d been spanked. He enjoys the sensation.
“Take your clothes off, Jones.” Ack Ack orders.
His tone is grave, terrifyingly level with just enough give to keep it below a threat. A perfect command.
“Can I finish m’ smoke first, Skipper?” Hillbilly asks. He hadn’t waited for an answer, already sitting up from where he’d been reclining and rubbing himself through his jeans. An order is an order, after all.
Andy blinks, raising his eyebrows in consideration. He chews it over but gives no answer. He turns to Eugene instead. The redhead mirrors him, both twisting in their entangled sitting position so they can face each other. Ack Ack waits for his response.
“No.” Sledge says carefully, studying the blond’s features.
Though nowhere close to the dominating tone before, Eddie relents. This isn’t a competitive match. It’s a team game and he definitely wants to continue playing. He crosses the short few paces of the room and leans towards the pair.
The other men watch as he bends before them, head bowing as he stubs his unfinished cigarette into the ashtray beside Andy’s mug. Hillbilly twists the smoke gradually, holding himself in that position, an inch lower than their seated statures.
When he straightens up, he steps back a single pace. Enough that he can move his arms freely without fearing his elbow will whack anyone’s skull as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. He tosses it away dismissively.
Andy can feel Eugene’s chest rise with elation as Eddie’s muscles are brought into the light. Just as Eugene can feel Andy’s erection twitch, against the base of his spine, when the man’s boyfriend undresses for them.
Hillbilly is smart enough to have removed his socks earlier and avoid the difficult chore of tugging them off for an audience. He can smirk freely, letting his heavy belt buckle rattle in the quiet room as he tugs it free. He looks like he’s about to drop it when Andy holds out his hand. His fingers make a come-hither gesture.
Sledge’s chest hitches a second time as the folded leather slaps against Ack Ack’s palm.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” He says, pulling the belt into Eugene’s lap.
Eddie huffs out the ghost of a laugh. Yet he averts his eyes and scratches the front of his jeans, failing to cover the elation and arousal he takes from Andy’s simple gratitude.
“Praise goes a long way, Eugene.” The captain muses.
His hands are slipped under the man’s arms, using one to draw the belt across the palm of the other. All done in Sledge’s lap, the leather falling free to drag across the front of his slacks. Accidentally, of course.
Eddie pops the buttons of his jeans one by one. Eugene fights to draw his eyes away, finally turning to Andy. Whether brewing with confidence or just overwhelmed with lust, it doesn’t matter; he presses his face to Ack Ack’s cheek.
“It’s hard to order an officer around-” He hisses. His breathing is the opposite of Andy’s, uncomposed and erratic as he speaks, “-as an enlisted man.”
Andy sniggers quietly, nodding his agreement. The hand unclaimed by the belt retreats, fishing around in his pocket for a brief moment. It returns to Eugene’s lap in time with the fall of Hillbilly’s jeans. The tall man steps free and kicks them aside.
The removal of his underwear is paused only by his wide grin, shake of his head, and hands landing on his hips.
“Ye’ are a bastard.” He concludes, watching Andy clip a silver bar pin to the collar of Sledge’s shirt.
Two bars joined together, in fact. The insignia of a captain.
“Congratulations, Captain Sledge.” Ack Ack says, “You outrank our friend here.”
All three of them laugh, giggles that rattle their chests and set the final ghosts of tension adrift. You have to have a sense of humour in these scenarios.
“You’re very prepared.” Eugene notes. He’s smiling as he says it.
It’s an accusation rather than a compliment. The blond has to suffer a moment of all eyes on him and not in a submissive sense; in a pointed, silent judgement sense. He’s been planning this longer and more in depth than he’d admitted, even to Eddie.
Not one to let his authority slip, Andy lets his chuckle fade.
Both his hands move in unison, a precise pincer movement on the room. His right reaches down between Eugene’s legs, grabbing a handful of the man’s slacks. His fingers tug towards him, forcing a yelp from Sledge as his cock is squeezed suddenly. Ack Ack’s left hand, still holding the belt, cracks it hard against the armrest. It lets out a distinct smack that has even Eddie’s back straightening.
“Thought I told you to strip, Eddie.” Andy muses, tilting his head up to fix Hillbilly with a small, pleasant smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s being kept waiting.
His hand is moving against Sledge’s slacks as he speaks. Palming his length, feeling it already stiff and yearning under the fabric.
Eddie catches his eye briefly, cheek twitching in that familiar lustful frustration that they both know means they’ve struck oil. His thumbs hook into his underwear and pull them down. He straightens up without another word.
For the first time, Andy has to take a steadying breath. (Hillbilly probably notices, Sledge definitely doesn’t. The former’s lip curls just a touch.) With his hand kneading Eugene’s dick and his own pressed tantalisingly up against the redhead’s ass, the heat is more than even Captain Haldane can ignore. The pleasure of drinking Eddie in is exquisite, every curve of his muscles and colour of his ink, his unsheathed cock bouncing free from his waistband.
He forgets occasionally that the hill country man really can snap the two of them in half. He’s incredibly muscular, built like a brick shithouse. It’s only his height, drawing his limbs out a little lankier, that hides the weight behind his hands.
Andy huffs quietly. Short and soft and barely audible. The exhale allows him to turn back to Sledge, who’s head has tipped back, leaning on his shoulder. The redhead’s eyes remain on Eddie, watching with stricken desire as he grinds rhythmically against Ack Ack’s hand. None of his usual gentlemanly conversation will be escaping him presently.
“Do you want him to suck you off here or in the bedroom?” Andy asks. His lips press hard against the man’s ear, tilting their weight against the armrest.
Around gritted teeth, Sledge manages; “Bedroom.”
“You heard the Captain.” Ack Ack says, nodding Eddie’s way. His grip releases from Eugene’s slacks.
Hillbilly reaches out his hand. Sledge takes it enthusiastically. The taller man leads the way, squeezing his smitten follower’s fingers.
Neither of them catches how Andy exhales, a quiet ‘woah’ blowing out his cheeks as he composes himself. A glance down at his slacks reveals the smallest of droplets seeping into the fabric. He considers himself lucky he’s still hard and hasn’t come prematurely.
He wipes his brow, gets his shit together, and stands up to follow.
#the pacific#warning: sm*tty and LONG#i have 0 commentary for this it's just#it is what it is forgive me dom!Andy
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fortune favours the brave
pairing: emma swan/killian jones rated: m (for language & depiction of injury & just to be safe) wc: 5189 pacific rim!au
She passes the pseudo-drift but Killian can’t quite meet her eyes afterwards and Emma catches herself wondering, with clenched fists, if it’s all worth it.
just a warning, this is an open-ended work, meaning the ending is up to your own interpretation and i most likely will not be writing anything else to clarify... unless i decide to have another crack at this au down the line and completely rewrite the whole thing but i am a lazy bitch above all else with too many things to do so please don't get your hopes up!
my initial tag for this was "dealing with the weight of a neurological bond that reveals a lot more about yourself than you’d like." but ao3 said it was too long
this was intended as a birthday present to myself but it's 12 days late and i won't apologise.
also available on ao3 ♠
@artistic-writer is my saviour and i love her.
As soon as the pincer hits her spine, the simulation is over. Quicker than death could ever have captured her, quicker than the pain she was expecting in her lower back, quicker than blinking past a fallen beast and thinking it long past dead. If it were real, she wouldn’t have to deal with the disappointment of her superiors as they marked another tally in the opposite column of their tablets.
Kaiju: 3, Swan: 0.
Pixels dissipate into the air, audios and visuals power down as the relay gel leaks from her display, Killian sighs over the comms and the four walls of the training centre scream failure. Unclasping the plug at her neck, she collapses to the floor. Defeated.
“If your intention was to get paralysed, love, congratulations.” He’s exasperated, words clipped, and she knows he’s probably running his hand through his hair in that way he does or rolling his eyes or praying for this to be over. She can picture it so well because she’s been there, supervising rangers through the same process. That had been her job, her safe space. Then Marshal Mills had coerced her into a compatibility trial with the promise of a bigger bunk and a night off with the last bottle of bourbon on deck. Suddenly, nowhere was safe anymore. “It’s just a simple test,” she’d said, rolling her eyes at Emma’s reluctance to even try. “What harm can it do?”
If he catches the curses under her breath as she stands, he doesn’t let on.
Killian had managed to pass her simulated drift space on the second attempt—eviscerating a CAT 3 with ease and ignoring the distractions along the way. He didn’t talk about what stopped him the first time. Neither did she.
She was not so lucky, struggling not to forget herself in the memories of his past. Each step deeper into the consciousness he’d moulded dragged her further away from the task at hand. Each step closer to finding out what keeps Killian Jones awake at night is a step away from truly knowing him. She felt it all. His pain, grief and loss coming in overwhelming waves, only serving to intensify her own. Each time she failed, she understood him a little bit better and lost herself a little bit more.
Robin said it’s the trauma that helps their compatibility and the resilience in light of such pain. Will said it’s because they’re both insufferable cunts.
You can’t choose your drift partner.
“Again.” Adjusting the helmet slightly, she pulls up her vitals on the inner screen. BP a little high, heart rate too, brainwaves stable. Good enough. If she could just get past the random-access brain impulse triggers, the lure of Killian’s fabricated conflicts, she’d be showering the fabricated city in fabricated Kaiju Blue.
(Of course, she’d never really do that. Regina doesn’t need a reason to resent her.)
“Swan, take five.” The comm in her inner ear buzzes. Killian, again. There’s a tension to his tone, as if he could snap at a moment's notice. It’s not easy, having someone else inside your head—even when it’s not real. It’s worse when every inch of it is projected in agonisingly high definition to your commanding officers. Emma’s been living through his trauma while he’s been forced to watch it back, time and time again. She’ll get it next time.
Next time.
Always next time.
“No, count me down.”
“Swan—”
“My vitals are fine! No bleeds, no dizziness, motor function all good.” The CNS link connects to the back of her neck with a twist of her wrist and a dull click. Power vibrates through the plug suit, humming like the anticipation Emma can feel beneath her own skin. “One more try, I’m almost there.”
There’s no response from Killian. No quip or complaint. He’s silent as Emma closes her eyes and opens them to the darkness of the drift. The next voice she hears is Robin’s.
“Five.”
Her world is blue. Warped. Memories zipping past her that she does and doesn’t remember. Emma recognises one woman’s face from her previous pseudo-drifts. She has a name somewhere.
“Four.”
The woman walks off to some kind of middle distance, between nothing and nowhere. She indicates for Emma to follow with the crook of her finger and a smile.
“Three.”
It’s not Emma she’s seeing.
“Stop chasing it, Emma. Two.”
Taking a breath, Emma wills away the apparition, tuning in to the pounding of her own heartbeat and that of someone else’s — Killian’s, strong and steady. It grounds her.
“Prepare for Neural Handshake.”
When the Kaiju pincer swings for her, she slices it clean off.
She passes the pseudo-drift but Killian can’t quite meet her eyes afterwards and Emma catches herself wondering, with clenched fists, if it’s all worth it.
//
A CAT 3 and two CAT 2’s attack what’s left of San Francisco a week later in the largest triple event in recorded history and yes, it’s definitely worth it.
Ruby and Graham are deployed in Lone Wolf, along with two Jaegers from Alaska. The fight, like all fights, is raw and too close. Always too close. They return half a day later, lucky to have made it out with their lives. The bags under Jefferson’s eyes carry the weight of the world as he reports back to the bridge with the news.
They’ll never pilot again.
Killian finds her later, sat atop Frozen Serenity with a half-empty hip flask and a cigarette. He doesn’t question her or the tears she wears. He holds her, one arm wrapping around Emma’s shoulders, pulling her into his chest. It’s too close, too much but not enough. It’s times like this—times of wordless understanding—that she’s glad of the bond they supposedly have.
Thankfully, he doesn’t waste his words with reassurance. Regina had spent the last thirty minutes on the comms for everyone to hear. The threat was eliminated; victory, but at what cost? Ruby and Graham had been wheeled in on gurneys, surrounded by medics and techs and escorted directly to isolation. Their Jaeger followed shortly after, complete with thick gashes to its middle and a viciously pierced conn-pod leaking rivulets of coolant and Kaiju blood. It didn’t take Emma long to see why they’d ushered the pilots away.
Sneaking off had been a non-issue.
“Next time,” The warmth of his body offers only slight comfort from the chill of the hangar but she’s grateful for it. “It’ll be us.”
“We might not even drift yet. The simulation is nothing like the real thing.” The lump in her throat has her choking around the words. The fragility of it all should frighten her, but it doesn’t. She’s not scared. There’s no time for fear.
“We will.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s called trust.” When he smiles, sad but hopeful, the tears come again.
It’s all worth it, even if she loses herself in the process.
//
Jolly Roger, a Mark 3 with a history of fallen pilots, had been in pretty bad shape when Emma had seen it come through the east coast bunker a year ago. With a compromised pod and basically no left side, it was a mess.
Will had already sized the wreck up for parts before it’d even docked in the hangar.
“There’s no way it’ll run again. Core to Wolf, pod fixed up for Snow’s Mark 4, shocks to whoever needs them most and the rest for scraps and refurbs.” He’d said, around a mouthful of instant mac and cheese. Emma rolled her eyes, grabbing a bite of her own meagre rations. “Bet as much as you want, you know I’m right.”
After six months, when Marshal Mills announced they needed a co-pilot for Jolly, Emma collected her prize with a smile and a disgruntled “Fuck off.” from the mechanic.
Seeing it now, all shiny and new, with a fresh core, updated weapon systems and a slick paint job was like looking at a different machine entirely. Killian has the same awestruck glaze to his expression that she has.
He says something under his breath that sounds like “I missed you.”
//
Three days later, atop the bunker looking out at the wasteland the eastern seaboard has become, Killian finds her again. The horizon is permanently tinged green these days, thick with smog rising from the polluted city that used to be Boston. It’s something else now, something new entirely. New York had really done a number on the east coast.
“So,” he starts, a six pack in his good hand and a thick file—her file—in his mechanical one. “It seems that the fate of the earth relies on us getting intimate, love.”
Emma shrugs his comment off with an eye roll. “In your dreams.”
“In my dreams, we wouldn’t be drinking this backwash,” she catches the bundle of cans as it falls to her lap and pulls two free of the casing. Killian slumps down beside her, a welcome warmth against her side. He’s always warm. “And you’d be wearing a lot less.”
“Pervert.” Her cheeks flush from the windchill and not because of the wink he sends her way as he takes a can from her lap.
He shrugs, gulping back his beer. “I’ve been called a lot worse.”
“Why does that not surprise me?”
“I doubt anything could, lass.”
He reads in relative silence, which Emma appreciates, only pausing to ask questions at the redacted statements in her story. There’s no point in hiding anything from him now—soon, he’ll see it all. There’s something about Killian Jones that she trusts and she’s not exactly sure why.
“You were there? In New York?” He thumbs the report sheet, filled with more censoring than words. She doesn’t remember much of it; being eighteen, the toils of pregnancy, wrongful imprisonment, the first Kaiju attack on the east coast, holding her child to her chest as the walls crumbled. The memories are all so distant, it almost feels like someone else lived them.
Emma nods. “Unfortunately.”
Killian doesn’t push for the details; all the relevant ones are written on the sheet he’s holding. How they’d found her bleeding beneath rubble and dust, clutching the bundle of blankets and the body within. There hadn’t been time for a funeral.
She’s shaking when he takes her hand.
“It was my first deployment. On a CAT 4, no less.” He traces circles around her knuckles as if they’re anything but strangers. She doesn’t have it in her heart to stop him. “Cataclysm, they called it. The ugliest bloody thing I’d ever seen. Liam, the comedian he is—was, spent the whole fight calling it all kinds of names as we tore it to pieces bit by bit.” He takes another sip of his can, eyes locked on the horizon. “I felt him die that day.”
His thumb doesn't stop tracing its pattern, but she grips his hand tighter—part shock, part understanding.
“Jewel never stood a chance. The emp left us wide open and the blasted thing used its last breath to launch at the conn-pod and—”
“You don’t have to, Killian.” She whispers, beer forgotten at their feet. “You don’t have to relive it.”
“But I do. Every time I step foot in the hangar, I relive it. Every time I drift, or spar or train. Every time I look in the mirror I see his face staring back at me.” He sighs, letting his posture slip further. He’s no longer a Ranger. He’s a lost boy. The grief he carries, the guilt, is something she recognises. “I miss him, Emma, and there’s nothing I can do about that.”
Wind blows, alarms ring, sun filters through the murky atmosphere and casts them both in its golden glow and Emma Swan pulls him in for a hug.
He stiffens in her embrace before leaning into it, letting the tension dissipate beneath her touch. It’s intimate in a way that doesn’t need words and her breath catches at the sight of a teardrop on his cheek.
Putting space between them again is hard, but necessary.
“I know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times, but you better be prepared to hear it a thousand more. It’s not your fault. It was never your fault. It will never be your fault. We’re Rangers. We’re disposable. The world is ending and we’re the first line of defence. If we fall—” He’s watching her so intently, hanging on her every word.
There’s no way to soften the blow of a death sentence.
“We’re going to die in a Jaeger, Killian, that much is inevitable. We won’t grow old. We won’t pass in our sleep. We’ll go screaming at the hands of a Kaiju and, I don’t know about you, but I plan on taking a fair share of those fuckers with me in the process.”
A nod.
A squeeze.
A gulp.
He’s still holding her hand when they return to the artificial warmth of the hangar.
//
He used to drink black coffee, dark and bitter. She hates it, preferring sweetness over caffeination in her warm beverages but getting her own would require a trip to the cafeteria earlier than she’d like to be awake. A few seconds of grimacing over the taste is worth it for the extra half hour of sleep. Killian’s an early riser—of course, he is. It’s a wonder they’re compatible at all.
Killian initially tried to put up a fight over it, hold it out of her reach like kids on the playground or finish it off before Emma could even think of crawling out of her quarters, but she wore him down, little by little.
They’re working on Jolly with Will when she takes a sip, stealing the travel mug from his hand and already half wincing for the unsweetened assault. When surprisingly palatable coffee hits her tongue, she almost chokes. It’s not half bad; no acrid punch of burnt grounds, no grainy aftertaste. Instead, it’s sweet. Creamy. Not what she was expecting at all.
“What’s this?” She takes a sniff at the lid incredulously. Is that… syrup?
“According to Ms Lucas, this is what poses as a caramel latte these days. Filled to the brim with sugar, spice and all things nice, just how you like it.” Will hands him a tablet, outlining the Jaeger’s current specifications. Emma understands enough of it to get by—she’s more attuned to reading neural charts, not the gibberish the engineers put out—but Killian revels in the details. He doesn’t even look her way as he speaks, fully engrossed in the graphs, comparisons and visuals. It also means he doesn’t notice Emma eyeing up how good he looks with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a grease stain on his left cheek. Just the right amount of dishevelled. “Is there any way we can drop a few tonnes to help increase speed and manoeuvrability?”
Will peers at the tablet, overseeing the stats with a critical eye. “No, mate. Not without losing vital armouring.”
“What about swapping out the nuclear core?” Killian hums, swiping to the next screen.
“Don’t be daft, Killian. It’s brand new.”
“The arc-whip?”
“I’m gonna cut in and say no on that one.” Emma interjects, surprised that she even managed to drag her attention away from the warm, sweet beverage in her hands or the enigma of a man that let her take it. The arc-whip is her preferred weapon—combining both distance and close combat, great for the CAT 2’s and smaller CAT 3’s that like to stay just out of reach or dragging back the larger beasts from getting further inland. She’s the one that suggested it be added to Jolly’s arsenal in the first place.
“Come on, love.” Handing her the tablet and tapping a few menus, Killian points out Jolly’s stats without it. Their speed would be improved and their power longevity, but they’d be sacrificing their range completely. “Having an arc-whip and a plasma cannon is overkill.”
The mechanic chuckles, coming to her other side and throwing an arm around their shoulders. “Technically, the plasma cannon is overkill anyway. Massive power drain.”
“Don’t you start.” Killian bats his arm away and Will cocks an eyebrow in challenge.
“Just because I’m right.”
Before either of them can respond, the hangar shudders as alarms blare. The alarm they all dread.
The Breach.
//
The CAT 2—Axefury—with armour piercing spines and nasty blade-like mandibles, emerges just off the coast of Florida, stalking towards the shore.
Frozen Serenity is deployed, piloted by sisters Anna and Elsa.
The fight takes an hour.
Killian brings her another coffee as they watch the battle from the command centre. He doesn’t say a word, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as she tenses against the cold realisation.
It could’ve been them.
Next time, it will be.
//
When he knocks her on her ass, straddling her waist with his sparring staff pressed to her throat, Killian’s eyes are the bluest she’s ever seen, and it takes her a second to remember where they are. He smirks, allowing her space to breathe while keeping her thoroughly pinned down.
“Normally, I’d prefer to do other more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back.” With a voice like that, velvet and grit, Emma’s not sure if she wants to push him away or pull him closer. The watchful eye of Marshal Mills keeps her straight. The last thing anyone needs is a show. She struggles just enough to make him cocky before retaliating, using his own weight against him.
In a heartbeat, he’s the one on his back, head caught in a lock between Emma’s thighs. In the time it takes for him to realise what’s going on, eyes widening as he realises where he is, it’s too late. His weapon clatters to the edge of the crash mat, useless.
“For future reference,” She pants, squeezing her legs tighter until Killian taps out against the floor. “I prefer to be on top.”
He laughs and, despite the patrol alarm blaring down the hall and Regina’s eye roll, the world feels a little lighter.
//
When they drift in Jolly for the first time, the phantom woman from the pseudo-drift is nowhere to be seen. There’s a blip where Killian gets caught up in visions of destruction and earthquakes and rivers of blue eroding the streets of New York, but just as Emma feels the echoes of her memories in his mind, they’re gone. He’s in her head. An uncomfortable yet reassuring presence that she never thought she’d be able to endure again.
“Neural bridge initiated and holding strong. Well done, guys.” Robin chirps over the speakers, dragging them out of the initial drift space and back to their shared reality. She lifts her left arm as Killian lifts his right and they join the jaeger’s metallic palms in a salute that rumbles through the bowels of the hangar.
Cheers erupt from the comm lines as scientists and pilots and soldiers line the walkways and balconies to celebrate their achievement.
She can feel the haze of his irritation through the link.
“We’re another shot at hope for them.” Her uncalibrated right-hand takes his uncalibrated left wrist just above the brace of his prosthetic. He doesn’t flinch but his thoughts stutter, interlaced with images of her soft smile and memories of each time they’d sparred, each stolen hour on the rooftops, each close encounter, each moment that could’ve been an almost, or a maybe. Emma pauses just long enough to imagine What if?
She shakes them away. They owe each other that much.
“We’re a suicide mission.” He’s right and his voice buzzes in the back of her skull. If the comm deck picked up on his words, they don’t respond.
“Yeah,” she lets his arm fall back to his side, making sure her left side—the one that’s wired into the eight thousand tonne government-approved death machine—stays relatively still. “But it’s worth it.”
“Is it?”
She can’t tell the difference between his words and his thoughts right now.
Static crackles in the conn-pod before Robin’s voice calls out again. “Ready to take her for a spin?”
//
She kisses him, with trembling palms pressed to his chest. Because she wants to. Because she can. Because, more than anything else, she isn’t ready to die. Not now. He is slow to respond, one hand on her shoulder ready to put distance between them at a moment's notice, the other at her waist, pulling her closer. The corridor leading to their quarters is empty and, beneath the harsh light, he tastes like the coffee they’d shared for breakfast.
He doesn’t push her away. She’s grateful for that.
The absence of Killian in her head should be a relief but it isn’t. It feels… empty. The absence of a presence that had made itself at home. She’d worked with rangers for years, ever since the hangar took her in, learning the in’s and out’s of the neural bridge and working to better align pilots with an initial pseudo-drift before putting them through the real thing.
She’d never expected to like it.
It’s exhilarating.
The expiry date they have hanging over their heads is unavoidable now. They’re compatible, truly compatible, doubting that is no use to anyone and despite whatever lead them both to the corps, whatever it is she catches glimpses of when they drift, she trusts him.
Fingers still trembling and head thick with fog, Emma trusts him.
“That was—”
A mistake.
Long overdue.
A one-time thing.
Just the beginning.
“Worth it.”
//
“Emma—”
“Be quiet.”
She snakes a hand around his waist, using his surprise to yank him closer into the alcove, away from prying eyes. Their dark uniforms blend in the shadows. Chest to chest like this, Emma can barely catch her breath. The cold steel pipe against her back does nothing to dissuade the heat he’s putting out—seriously, how is he always warm? It’s impossible to avoid his gaze either, the intensity of it only magnified with their proximity.
There’s questions there—so many questions—but he doesn’t have to ask them. She knows.
Killian’s tongue darts out to wet his lips.
She knows.
David and Snow walk past none the wiser, caught up in a discussion about something or other. Emma can’t focus enough to listen in, too distracted by everything in her body that screams for her to pull Killian closer and slam their mouths together until they forget about the rest. She holds her breath until the other rangers round the corner at the end of the hall.
“Mills hasn’t cleared Humbert or Lucas for visitation. We’ll be turned away.” Killian whispers, mouth so close to her ear that she can feel his words better than hearing them. His cheek catches hers as he pulls back but he doesn’t get far, her hand still pressed to his side, holding him in place. His brows raise in surprise.
Her palm tingles against the empty air when she lets go.
“Let me do the talking.”
He nods, following as she exits into the corridor, only a half-step behind.
//
They don’t have clearance. The med bay doors beep dejectedly as Emma’s ID card fails to pass the security check. Will had promised it would work, he’d sworn. Either he lied, already ratted them out to the Marshal or—
Victor Whale.
“Mills already has her reports delivered to her directly every hour,” he sighs, tugging off his gloves, surgical mask and running a free hand through his hair. Emma can see the dark roots coming through. There’s no market for salon-quality peroxide at the end of the world, apparently. “With the intention of alleviating the need for rangers like yourselves to check in. Can’t you go be annoying somewhere else? I don’t have time to file insubordination paperwork, I’m already understaffed.”
Killian reaches out, pleading, his eyes wide and blue and honest. He grabs the doctor’s forearm with his mechanical hand.
“Please, mate. Just five minutes.”
Whale’s brow furrows focused on the prosthetic gripping his arm. The fear of disciplinary action outweighs a lot of things in the hangar.
//
She’s pale, too pale, and riddled with tubes and drips and monitors that beep along with the pace of her heart. The burns, blistered and seeping, are tinged blue with the toxic sludge that courses through Kaiju veins. Blue burns, as they’re colloquially referred, aren’t uncommon. There are ointments and salves to calm the low-level contact burns and sprays to neutralise the toxins in the acid. What’s left of the governments have put extensive measures in place to ensure that stuff like this doesn’t happen to the general public.
They don’t seem to care for rangers.
As Ruby’s skin sloughs from the slightest friction of the sterile sheets, Emma can feel the first clutches of fear curl around her throat.
Corpselike. That’s the only word that comes to mind. Ruby, once so full of life, has never looked so… not, and Emma can’t help but fall into step with the ventilator that’s currently breathing for her as if somehow it makes a difference. The steady whirr of the machine only working to wind up the anxieties simmering beneath the surface of her skin.
Next time, it’ll be them.
Next time, it’ll be her.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.
“We’re having to keep her under.” Someone —Victor? — hums, ignoring them both to look over the digitised chart at the foot of her bed. “There’s a lot of irrevocable damage that we’re still looking into while repairing what we can externally.”
Inhale.
“What about Gra— Ranger Humbert?” Killian's hand hasn’t left hers since they entered and, for what it’s worth, she’s thankful for the anchor and the ever-present warmth he offers. His presence is grounding and his words reflect her thoughts when she can’t quite reach her own.
Exhale.
It’s too much.
Inhale.
“More of the same”
Exhale.
They never should’ve come
//
His lips taste of salt.
The inevitability of death.
It burns.
“I don’t want to lose this.” she pants, soft against Killian’s lips as he smiles and steals it away. Like the future they don’t have. That she so painfully wished they could have. “I—”
His kisses trail to her ear, each one as gentle as the last. Too soft, too delicate. It terrifies and excites her how something as small as a kiss can melt her resolve to nothing. Any shadow of doubt disappearing with each step they take closer to the inevitable. After everything that had happened, from sneaking into the med bay, drowning the images with the last of that damn bottle of bourbon that started all this and sparring until they were both bruised and beaten and breathless, sex had been the last thing on her mind. It had crept up on her, crept up on them both, and it was impossible to deny.
That first rooftop rendezvous, first spar, first kiss, all those weeks ago, had cemented this. She can see that now.
Closing what little distance there is left between them, Killian walks her backwards until her thighs bump against the solid table behind them. “You won’t, love. I’ve got you.”
Each touch, each glance, each gasp is another goodbye.
His prosthetic rests on her waist as his other makes light work of the fastenings of her uniform, and she urges him on with a moan. She’s thankful they made it back to his quarters. They won’t make it to the bed.
Emma searches for answers as he pulls off his shirt, praying something in his eyes will reassure her that this—whatever this is—is okay, that they’re not terrible people for finding something worth fighting for at the end of the earth, anything to provide even a modicum of hope that maybe, just maybe, they’ll survive just long enough to have a chance at finding out if it is. She clutches at his shoulders, with nails biting into his skin, and breathes.
She doesn’t find the answers. Instead, she finds herself.
Scared and afraid, clinging to the last comfort she has left.
Three words bloom, fade and crumble in her mind, as fragile as a leaf on the wind and, before she can even speak them, Killian nods.
“I know.”
Somewhere deep inside her chest, behind broken walls and the rubble of a past life, something long since broken, beats.
//
Emma wakes up to warmth. An all encompassing warmth surrounding her so completely, an aura of heat welding together the cracks that had once debilitated her heart. So familiar, and pure and yet so foreign at the same time.
Each beat of her heart echoed by a shadow.
Each exhale mirrored by that of another, a soft caress against her nape.
The solid and comforting press of a body—his body—against her back, bringing forth memories of the night previous so slowly, like a crack in a dam; first a drip and then a flood. The synchronicity. The passion. The mutual need to just Be.
The absence of all thought except one.
Life is just too fucking short.
As if summoned by her mental recollection, Killian’s arm wraps around her waist. His lips ghost against the skin of her shoulder blade and the kiss he presses to her neck brings a smile to her face.
“Good morning, Swan.” He purrs, voice gravelly and wrapped in sleep. Damn, if Emma had only known he sounded like that first thing sooner—
The thought catches her off guard.
It’s so… normal. Domestic.
She could get used to it. She wants to get used to it.
“Mor—”
The spell shatters. The facade peels away to reveal the truth and the bliss that had wrapped her up in its glow is gone. Reality hits.
The blood-curdling scream of the one alarm they pray will never ring.
The Breach.
Robin’s voice screeches out over the comms in a panicked shout, followed by the calm and commanding call of Marshal Mills. Her own name and rank is called, along with Killian’s. Emma’s blood runs cold when the realisation hits.
A CAT 5.
All units to report.
Approaching New York.
Killian doesn’t move for what seems like an eternity, lips still pressed to her skin in an everlasting kiss, as if time has somehow warped around this very moment, stretching seconds into minutes, hours. Allowing them a chance to come to terms with what must happen next.
Their fates were sealed the second they stepped foot in the hangar.
Emma wrapped in a hospital gown. Killian in a battered, blood-stained plug suit.
“It’s okay.” He whispers, already drowned out by the blaring siren that fills every corner of the room. Emma can’t tell if he’s saying it for her sake or his own.
When she turns to him, pulling herself upright in the process and letting the cold of his quarters seep into her bare chest, he’s smiling. It’s by no means her favourite smile—wide and full of laughter—but it’s something and, for some crazy reason, she believes in it.
She believes in them.
“Fortune favours the brave.”
////
tagging a few of y’all! @thisonesatellite @teamhook @kmomof4 @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @thisonesatellite @darkcolinodonorgasm @carpedzem @hollyethecurious
#cs fic#captain swan fic#ouat fic#ficminds#i'm sorry to anyone that likes once upon a time and pacific rim#this is a mess#but it's my mess
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