#i think i’m gonna get a white board and a cork board

[katierosefun]

and when i realize all my original stories are just about the same thing over and over and over again as though i’m sitting in front of a white board of crazy

[godlygreta]

game night | j. m. kiszka

title | game night

summary | game night ends a little bit differently than expected (the ask that it was requested from is here [x])

warnings | this is smuttt ! it also contains alcohol

word count | 2.3k

author’s note | i.. am so happy someone sent me this ask days ago. thank you, anon, for blessing everyone with this. i hope you guys enjoy !! thank you for reading and as always take care of yourselves please ! i love each and every single one of you. don't ever hesitate to message me if you need to vent or want to talk about one of the boys ! i am always down

also, this is unedited as always ! ignore any typos because i'm too lazy to proofread these before i post them <3

(also.... yes, i know, this is the third fic i've posted today i felt very productive and actually wrote two of these today because i had the time)

Game night was something you and Josh tried to do every time he came home from tour. You’d invite the boys over and play the most ridiculous games. One year, the five of you played Just Dance, just to see who the best dancer was. As the five of you became more and more drunk on tequila, obviously the better your dance moves got. Another year you tried Monopoly, but that ended almost as soon as it started. You knew the twins were competitive, but you underestimated it greatly.

This year, however, as you stayed home because of the pandemic, you and Josh decided to keep things between yourselves. Renting a little cabin in northern Wisconsin for a week, the two of you had gotten equipped to the games of Life and Monopoly. Chutes and Ladders were only fun for so long.

The glass of wine you had poured yourself had run empty, the nearest bottle all the way on the kitchen counter. You pushed yourself off of the living room floor, leaving Josh to plan out his next move in the game of chess you two were playing. You went to pour yourself another glass until you realized that the bottle was empty. “Josh, do we have any more wine in the house?”

“Yeah, in the basement. Want me to grab you another bottle of red? Or do you want white?”

“I think I’m gonna switch to white. Need another beer?”

“Yes, please! Also, it’s your turn!” He shouted, disappearing into the basement to grab you a new bottle. You brought your glass back into the living room with you as soon as you grabbed Josh another beer. You looked across the board, smirking once you realized you could win, as long as you moved your queen piece.

As soon as Josh sat down, he noticed he was in checkmate. “Oh, fuck me.”

“That’s three in a row, honey love. Just face it, I’m a chess master.” You took the bottle from his hands, noticing he had already taken the cork out of it for you. You poured yourself another glass, watching Josh open the can of Miller you had gotten him.

“I admit defeat. Can we play something else? I’m tired of the board games.” Josh spoke, beginning to clean up the chess pieces. You nodded, asking him what he had in mind. His smile turned upwards, a smirk playing at his face. “I’ll be right back, give me one second.”

You watched as Josh darted upstairs, no idea of where he was going. You brought the glass up to your lips, sipping as you remembered the way Josh’s hands looked as they moved the pieces strategically around the board. He settled back down in front of you, stack of sticky notes in his hands. “What’re those for?”

“We’re going to play trivia, but if you get the answer wrong, you have to take a sticky note off my body with your mouth. First one to have no sticky notes left, wins. Oh, and you kind of have to be naked for this to work, so get to stripping, my love!” Josh beats you to removing his clothing, keeping his boxers on. You followed in suit, removing your shirt and pants, leaving you in just your bra and underwear.

You placed your sticky notes throughout your body. You put some of them on easy spots, your shoulders, the backs of your hands. A few of them you put atop both of your breasts, one on your ass, and another one right over your panties. Josh’s almost mirrored yours. “Who’s going first?”

“I can. What is the tip of your shoelace called?” He asked, half expecting you to get it wrong.

“Aglet. Phineas and Ferb taught me that one. Okay... Name one of Neptune’s moons.” You smirked, wondering just how much Josh was listening while attending your astronomy classes with you once your university switched to online classes.

“Fuck, um. Titus?” You shook your head no, smirking. “It was fucking Triton, wasn’t it?”

“It was, but you got the answer wrong. Take a sticky note off of me, pretty boy.” You waited for Josh to pick which one he would be removing, noticing him go straight for the one on your shoulder. He removed it, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin. “Your turn.”

“When is John Denver’s birthday?”

“Really, Josh?” You rolled your eyes as he smiled at you, beaming his pearly whites in your direction. You went over to him, removing the sticky note he had stuck to his neck, your breathing on his neck sent goosebumps all over his skin. As soon as you removed it, you licked up the length of his neck, taking his earlobe into your mouth, nibbling at it slightly.

“Your turn.”

“Jupiter’s is the Roman version of what God?” You asked, knowing Josh might easily be able to get this question. You didn’t want to make this one too hard, hoping that Josh would make the next question easy on you.

“Zeus?” He dragged the name out, half muttering it as a question. You nodded, watching him celebrate with a fist in the air. You laughed at him, watching his face contort as he tried to think of another question. “Easy question: how many notes are there in music?”

You stared blankly at Josh. Music was not your strong suit by any means. You were more of a science kid growing up. Anytime you picked up an instrument, you played it so terribly, you put it down and never picked it up again. “E-Eight?”

“Yeah! Good job, babe!” He cheered you on, giving you a high five as you smile widely at him. Your brain began to think of another question, thinking of a really hard one. You wanted Josh to take a sticky note off your body, you’d hope he would pick one of the ones on your breasts. “How many moons does Saturn have?”

“Um. Three?”

“Nope.”

“Fuck.” Josh muttered under his breath. With eyes raking over your body, he picked the sticky note that you had wanted him to pick in the first place. His eyes looked up at you as he removed the sticky note from your breast. As soon as it fell from his lips, he licked over your nipple earning a light moan from your mouth. You were able to feel his tongue through the lace mesh of your bra. He pressed a kiss to it before leaning back up. “My turn again. What’s the instrument that Sam plays besides the keys and the bass?”

“Oh fuck, I don’t know that one. A fuckin’ electric keyboard.” You knew the answer was wrong. You also knew that Josh had told you about it a few times now, having been with them through the recording process. Fuck, even Sam told you what it fucking was. He shook his head, watching you intently as you began to pick at another sticky note.

This one was on his abdomen, right above his navel. You picked it off, letting it fall to the floor. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, sucking a hickey into his skin. He put his hand on the back of your head, never wanting your mouth to be removed from him. He threw his head back when you bit into his skin a little harder than you usually would, simultaneously letting out a hiss. “Fuck the game.”

Josh’s hand flew to the back of your neck, bringing your lips to his. You moaned into his mouth, feeling his other hand press into the soft flesh of your hip. He pressed you against him, feeling him rock hard against you. He licked into your mouth, coaxing another moan from you. He removed his lips from yours, following your jawline to your neck. He left wet, hot open-mouthed kisses in his wake, traveling further down, down, down, until he met with your nipple again. His hands travelled up your back, unclasping your bra while his mouth was occupied. As soon as your lace bra was removed, he attached his mouth to you once again.

With every swirl of his tongue over the sensitive bud of your nipple, you felt yourself drip more and more. Josh was incredible with his mouth. You loved watching him perform, the way he owned the stage as if he was born for it. He demanded the attention of everyone in the venue, their eyes never straying far from the beloved lead singer. You loved hearing him sing to you in times of loving moments, making something together in the kitchen. Although, ultimately, you’d kick him out due to being a pest and making a bigger mess that only you would clean up.

“Lay down, wanna taste you.” He muttered against the skin of your chest. You pulled away from him, laying down on your back as Josh climbed over you. His mouth stayed between the valley of your breasts, kissing down, down, down until he reached the waistband of your panties. He pulled them with his teeth, hearing the snap of them against your skin. You smirked, looking down at Josh as you propped yourself up on your elbows. He picked off the sticky note that covered your mound with his teeth, spitting it out on the floor next to your body.

He pulled your panties down your legs, kissing your body as soon as the fabric left your skin. He spread your legs open a little, looking up at you from his position between your legs. “Is the carpet bothering your knees, babe? We can move this to the couch otherwise.”

“I’m fine, honey love. Can’t I take my beautiful girlfriend on the floor with the fireplace crackling in the back?” You chuckled at him slightly, bringing him up to you for a quick kiss before letting him continue.

He kissed the insides of your thighs, nipping at the skin slightly. His eyes looked back up at you, tongue finding your clit. The sound you make as he begins to draw figure eights with his tongue is a fraction of a notch before desperation. You wanted more of him; the wine mixed with the pleasure he was bringing about made you feel more drunk than you already were. “More, Josh, please.”

“Anything for you.” He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking harshly as his fingers began teasing your entrance. He slipped a finger inside you, up until his first knuckle. You arched into his touch, wanting nothing more than to be filled up more by his fingers. You whined, Josh removing the finger that was inside of you.

His finger was replaced by his tongue, your clit being stimulated by his thumb. He licked you up and down, the vibration of his moans making you moan in response. The pressure he put on your clit was torturous mixed with how slow his thumb was moving. He removed his tongue from your hole, “You taste so sweet, love. So fuckin’ sweet.”

“Mhm, more. Need more. Need you.” Your body writhed under his touch, thumb not enough for you anymore. You pulled him off of you, bringing him up to you. You reached your hands down, scratching the skin of his abdomen as your hand trailed to his cock. He shuttered in your touch, moaning as soon as your hand wrapped around him. Your thumb ran over his slit, a groan falling from his lips. “Need you to fuck me, Josh, please. Can’t take anymore.”

“Yes, princess.” He tucked his head in the crook of your neck, hand guiding his dick up and down your folds, collecting your juices. He slipped inside you with ease, causing your head to go back into the carpet, eyes rolling into the back of your head. You loved the way Josh filled you up. As soon as he was fully seated inside of you, he groaned into your neck. “Fuck, I love the way you feel wrapped around me.”

“You feel so good, Josh, so fuckin’ good.” As soon as he quickened his pace, it left your jaw to hang open. The way his hips moved against you just right, the tip of his cock brushing against the sweet spot just right. You devoured the moan he let out as you left crescent shaped marks on his back. You wished you could play it back on an endless loop. He moved your leg, making it parallel with your sides. The other he left wrapped around his hip.

The devilish feeling of this new angle made a moan rip right through your body, it was somewhere between a desperate plea for more and appreciation of the new position. The sound of your skin slapping together mixed with the crackle of the fire ignited flames in your lower gut, a familiar pressure beginning to build. Josh was almost to the edge too, his hips falling out of its perfect rhythm every now and then. “Where do you want me to come, doll?”

“Oh, fuck, come inside me, Josh. Please, need you to fill me – oh fuck – so bad.” Your eyebrows furrowed together as soon as Josh’s fingers reconnected with your clit. You whined, chanting ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ over and over again as the pressure almost reached its peak. “Wanna come with you, Josh. Please come with me, baby. Wanna feel you fill me up.”

“Shit, almost there.” You pulled his lips into yours, swallowing each and every moan that came with his climax, just as he swallowed your own. You pulled him closer with your arms wrapped around his neck, wanting his body as close to your own as possible. “Fuck, holy fuck.”

“That was fun.” You said, half out of breath. He chuckled, pulling out of you. He fell on the ground next to you, fingertips brushing your hand.

“We definitely should’ve done that on the couch. My knees are fuckin’ raw with rug burn.”

“I hate you so much. I suggested that earlier and you we're like 'no, I don't wanna, I wanna have sex with my girlfriend on the floor'. Your rugburn is your fault, Joshua.” He turned towards you, smiling crookedly as he pulled your body close to his. He littered kisses all around your face, making you giggle. “We should play these games more often.”

“Maybe next time we’ll actually get to a winner.”

[pedros-mustache]

fiddle

summary: you can’t help the fiddling. it’s become a habit ever since your wedding day. you just hope he doesn’t mind...

a/n: no official canon yet? that’s okay—i’ll make my own!

you do it without realizing. you do it completely unawares. at this point, it’s just muscle memory: the reach, the slip of your thumb and pointer finger around his left hand, the fiddling.

it starts on your honeymoon. you lie with your head against his chest, your body perpendicular to his, heavy white gown fanned out along the mattress. you’re tired, damn near exhausted. no one prepared you for how draining the happiest day of your life would be: the sore feet from standing so long, the aching cheeks from smiling too wide, the upset stomach from only managing to grab a tiny bite of cake and flute of champagne the whole afternoon. as much as you want to be railed into the following month by your new husband, it’s hard to keep your eyes open, even as marcus recounts the story of nearly losing the wedding bands before the ceremony. 

there will be plenty of time for newlywed sex once you get to hawaii. for now, you just want to bask in the newness of it all: in the strength of your husband’s rising and falling chest beneath your head and the weight of a ring on your finger.

you reach for his left arm, drawing it away from where it lay draped over your stomach. you unfurl his relaxed hand and squeeze the wedding ring—wide and prominent—around his ring finger. you wiggle the piece of jewelry slightly, just to see how easily it would be slide over his knuckle. it remains snug, and you grin.

tilting your head back, you glance to the side, and you smile wider when you see marcus looking down at you. you smooth the pad of your finger over his wedding band again. “my husband,” you whisper.

he nods, drags the thumb of his free hand along the underside of your jaw. “your husband.”

now, over ten years later, it’s just a silly habit.

when you’re standing in the grocery store, waiting to line your items on the conveyor belt, you will reach for his hand and toy with his ring while he inspects the candy display.

when you’re sat beside one another at the movies, his left hand on your knee, his right arm slung around missy, you push and pull on the ring, tugging it back and forth across his knuckle.

at parent-teacher conferences, in the airport, at the post-office, or fancy restaurants—whenever the urge strikes, you twine your fingers around his and fiddle with the outward expression of his love for you and you alone. 

he’s never really said anything about it, seemingly accepted it as a harmless coping mechanism or self-soothing strategy. still, you sometimes worry the habit makes you look possessive and maybe you are. but with a husband like marcus, who wouldn’t be just slightly territorial?

you confront him about it one evening after missy goes to bed. she’s a precocious little thing—like you, marcus says—so you hope she hasn’t slipped out of her room to listen to your conversation from the top of the stairs as she has done before. there are some things you’d prefer be kept between your husband and yourself. 

you find marcus on the couch, a recent football game replaying on the television. his legs are spread wide, one arm flung backwards over the furniture. there’s a half-empty beer bottle on the coffee table, sat atop missy’s third grade christmas gift of a cork-board coaster decorated with puffy paints and plastic gems.

you approach from behind and slide your hands down his chest, tucking your face in the curve of his neck, peppering whatever exposed flesh you can find with soft kisses. he hums in amusement and drops his phone to hold one of the hands pressed against his cotton t-shirt.

“what’s this for?” he murmurs, twisting his head to try and catch your mouth with his.

you avoid him as you say, “just ‘cause i love you.”

his smile is lazy, domestic, as he squeezes your palm. “come here.” he cocks his head for you to walk around the couch, and you do with ease, slipping into his lap with practiced grace. 

marcus kisses you square on the mouth, and you resist the urge to sigh into his touch. even after so long, he treats you like he’s just met you, like he can’t wait to discover you and your body with his entire being.

you pull away and press your palm to the space below his collarbone. “marcus, can i ask you something?”

“we aren’t getting a cat,” he says flatly. 

you shake your head. “that’s not what i was gonna ask about, but i do think that would be a good opportunity for missy to learn some extra responsibility.”

he lifts an eyebrow from behind his glasses. “i thought we weren’t talking about that?”

you wave the topic away with a roll of your eyes. “whatever.” drawing in a breath, you bite your lower lip before lifting his hand, just as you always do, and fiddling with his wedding ring. he watches you intently, no sense of urgency or frustration in his gaze as you tarry. “does this—” you start. “does this bother you?”

“what? you in my lap?” he pats what part of your ass hangs off his thigh. “nah, baby. doesn’t bother me. i asked you here, didn’t i?”

“no, i mean this.” you lift his hand, his ring still caught between your thumb and pointer finger. “when i play with your ring.”

“oh.” his brow pinches as he considers, and your heart freezes, waiting for him to tell you that yes, it does bother him; yes, he’d like you to stop. finally, he just shrugs. “no, doesn’t bother me.”

“really?” you tilt your head like you don’t believe him. “i do it a lot.”

“yeah—and i smack your ass a lot.”

“it doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable? like i’m marking my territory or something?”

marcus’s face eases into a soft smile, and he lifts his hand to cradle your cheek. “i wear that ring because i want people to know that i’m yours. i kinda like it when you fiddle. reminds me of our wedding night...”

at a loss for words, you lean forward and press your lips to his. his tongue darts out, requesting permission, and you easily grant him access. how could you not? you curl your arm around his neck, pulling him closer, and he shifts so you can straddle his waist. you’re lost in him, in his love, in his hands skimming your waist, in knowing he is perfectly perfect for you in every way. 

missy’s disembodied voice suddenly interrupts the heated moment. “hey! when you guys are done being gross, can we talk about that cat?”

marcus pulls away from your mouth with a groan, and you laugh.

“well, at least she’s persistent,” you whisper.

it’s marcus’s turn to roll his eyes as he shakes his head. his lips still brush yours when he speaks, and you giggle at the tickle of his mustache when he says, “sure hope that comes in handy one day.”

[collecting-stories]

Illicit Affairs - Rafe Cameron

Request: can i request a rafe x reader where she is john b's older sister? like they're trying to keep their relationship on the DL, but get tired of it after a year or so?

A/N: Sorry this took so long to get to, just getting back into writing more regularly again. 

The TS Anthology Series | Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ you showed me colors you know I can’t see with anyone else ✰

_ . ◦ ⭐︎:*.☾.*:⭐︎◦∙._

Your brother had left you a text just before the news began cycling their storm watch, warning everyone to stay inside and be careful of Agatha, the incoming hurricane sitting off the coast of the Outer Banks. The text said simply that he and Pope were heading out to surf the surge. You texted back a ‘come back in one piece’ and sent the same sentiment to Pope before leaving the Chateau.  

The hurricane should have warranted a reason to stay inside for both you and John B but you knew better than anyone that your dad’s disappearance had left him restless and grieving. Running into something seemed the only way he knew how to cope, even if that something was a massive hurricane. You were probably running into something too, if you were totally honest with yourself. And it was just as deadly as a category five storm.  

-

A midyear rager at the boneyard, that lacked the usual buffer created by tourons in the spring and summer, meant more kooks, or just more kooks crossing the line onto pogue territory. Nothing that should’ve inspired any real issues, but Rafe Cameron was hovering closer to the keg than you would’ve liked so you took it upon yourself to move him.  

“Don’t you guys have like...a yacht party or something you could go to?” You asked, stepping into the semi-circle Topper, Rafe, and Kelce had seemed to make. All three of them looked at you, Rafe’s eyes travelling over you appraisingly. You grimaced, “if my brother sees you hanging around-”

“What’s he gonna do?” Rafe challenged, “its a free beach.”

“You know the boneyard is on the cut.”

“What are you, beach patrol?” Kelce laughed. “Go bother someone else.”

“Just get off the cut...you aren’t welcome here.” You replied, stepping away from the three of them. You turned, heading away from the group in search of any of your friends, you knew that Rafe was right, you couldn’t actually kick anyone off the beach, but you also knew that John B had been in rare form since your dad died and seeing them would only give him an excuse to get himself into trouble.  

You were practically a yard away from the keg when you felt someone grab the waistband of your shorts. Turning, you jerked away from them and slammed your hand against their wrist.  

“Shit, those self-defense lessons at the club really paid off.” Rafe commented, rubbing his wrist.  

“What do you want Rafe?”  

Ever since you had taken the job at the island club it had become Rafe Cameron’s personal mission to drive you crazy. He seemed hellbent on bothering you on a near constant level. At least away from work you rarely had to see him, this night being a rare and unwelcome exception.  

“Have you thought about-”

“No.” You shook your head, crossing your arms over your chest. In the last two weeks he’d asked you out nearly a dozen times. You always said no but you were all to aware of that split second before the no when you considered saying yes. It was just John B that held you back. If anyone in the world took the pogue/kook shit seriously, it was your brother and his friends. There was no way they would be cool with you dating Rafe Cameron.  

“Just one date...you don’t have to tell anyone. If that’s the issue?” He suggested, as if he could read your mind.

“Maybe the issue is that I don’t like you.” You challenged, watching the way he smiled, knowing that he knew you were bullshitting him. You wanted to wipe the smug grin off his face.  

“Whatever you wanna tell yourself.” He replied.  

You wanted some brilliant comeback to throw back at him but when you opened your mouth the only thing that came out  was, “do you even date?”

“For you I’d make an exception. We could go over to Chapel Hill if you’re worried about your brother.” He offered, always ready with an answer.  

You were worried about John B, he would be livid. He was so consumed with the idea that your dad was out there somewhere, stranded at sea and people should be looking for him. You had been placating him since Peterkin told you that he was lost at sea, presumed dead, but in all honesty, you had moved on already. Maybe it was heartless but you weren’t fooled into believing that the loss of your dad was a tragedy.  

“Let me show you a good time,” Rafe said, hooking a finger through the belt loop of your shorts and moving closer to you.  

“You can try,” you said, pulling away from him, “but I doubt it’ll work.”

-

You should have known then, even as you agreed to the date, that there was no need to try on Rafe’s part. He was an asshole sometimes but you had certainly never been accused of having great taste in guys. That might have been the most surprising thing about Rafe, not that he was exactly the kind of guy you would usually go for on paper, but that off paper, behind closed doors, he was different. Softer. It made sneaking around the island to see him completely worth it.  

And as Agatha bared down on the island, the decision to drive to his house as the hurricane was on the horizon seemed like a good one. It was already raining heavily when you parked your car two houses down from his, walking through the downpour to Tanney Hill. The power on the cut was on its way out, you’d driven passed already dark houses and you were sure the Chateau had lost power by now. The eight seemed to be hanging onto its power and the lights on the patio flickered as you knocked on the door.  

Wheezie, the sole secret keeper of your very secret tryst with Rafe, was the one who opened the door. Though you knew she had a tendency to double cross people, so far, she hadn’t told anyone about the two of you, a possible record in her books, and you couldn’t help being thankful. As much as you hated sneaking around, there was no way John B was going to take this development in your life lightly.  

“My brother’s upstairs.” Wheezie supplied, pushing the door wide enough that you could walk through.  

“Thanks,” you skirted passed her, taking the steps two at a time and heading down the hall to Rafe’s closed door. Wheezie had decorated hers with a wooden sign and Sarah’s had a cork board on it. Rafe’s was always blank though, just a plain white door that blended in with everything else in the hallway.  

You didn’t bother knocking on the door, pushing it open. Rafe was laying on his bed, eyes fixed on his phone, the sound of the stereo playing some R&B song you weren’t entirely familiar with. When the door opened, he turned his head to the side, confused for a split second before sitting up and swinging his legs over the side.  

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” He asked, already reaching his hand out to pull you closer as you walked over to him. He grabbed the zipper of your hoodie and tugged, getting you to step between his legs.  

“John B’s surfing with Pope and JJ’s still at work so I figured I’d sneak out and come over. See how you rich folk are faring in this storm.” You teased.  

He hummed, nodding, as he placed his hands on your hips. “Your concern is overwhelming,” he laughed, tilting his head up so that you would lean forward and kiss him. You complied, placing your hands on the sides of his face as you did. When you pulled away, he smiled, “you should stay over.”

“My brother will freak out if he gets home and I’m gone.” You replied, stepping away from Rafe just so that you could climb on his bed, pushing his phone away to make yourself comfortable.  

Rafe opened his mouth to say something before thinking better of it and shaking his head, going with a simple, “I doubt he’ll notice.”

“That a massive storm is slamming into the coast and his sister is missing from the house at the peak of it? Give my brother a little more credit babe, he’ll notice that I'm gone.” You replied.  

“Then tell him you’re here and you’ll see him in the morning.” Rafe said, turning to face you. He put his hands on your ankles as if he was grounding you there, “You know this sneaking around thing is shit.”  

Whenever Rafe wanted you to do something that you didn’t particularly want to do, like stay the night at his house or go somewhere that someone might see you, he always claimed to think that sneaking around was shit. A circumstance of the relationship that he hated when it was convenient to him, you knew as well as he did that admitting to anyone that you were dating was something neither of you had the luxury of doing.  

“I can’t, he’ll freak out.” You replied, “this is just...a difficult time for him and he doesn’t need any new issues.”

Rafe fell back onto the bed, turning his head to look at you, “he’s 16, he doesn’t need you to hold his hand through every little thing.”

“I’m not ‘holding his hand’ Rafe, he’s my little brother, I’m worried about him.” You reasoned.

“Yeah, maybe, but here you are. Every free moment you get you spend here...this isn’t just an escape when you don’t feel like dealing with your brother and his antics. You know John B and his friends aren’t my favorite people but I’ve kept my mouth shut about them. I think the least you could do is be honest with yourself...I know you want to tell him, you wouldn’t have come here in the middle of the storm-”

“I wanted to see how you guys were doing.”

“Bullshit.” Rafe replied, “you know it’s getting worse out there and there’s no fucking way I’m letting you drive back to the cut in this weather.”  

You sighed, you had known that Rafe wouldn’t let you leave once you got here. They were already advising people to stay inside and not leave the house when you decided to drive to the eight, there was no way it was safe to be out. And there was no way Rafe was going to let you risk your safety driving all over the island because John B might get upset that you weren’t home.  

“I know.”  

“So text him, tell him you’re staying at a friend’s.” Rafe urged, “it doesn’t have to be my house...you can tell him that when you’re ready.” he conceded.  

“I’ll tell him soon. I don’t like sneaking around,” you admitted, pulling your phone from your pocket and texting John B that you had gone to a friend’s house for the night and would be home once the storm passed. You sent a mirrored text to JJ, in case he was already at the Chateau, before laying your phone on the nightstand. “I don’t want us to be a secret...it’s just, complicated.”

“I know, trust me.” Rafe sat up, scooting closer to you on the bed so that he could kiss you. Keeping this secret forever was impossible, you’d have to come clean soon and Rafe was right, you had been handling John B with kid gloves ever since you had found out that your dad was dead. Telling him you were dating a kook, and Rafe at that, was an unavoidable conversation that you had been trying not to have for the past year almost. And every time you stepped out of the house you considered telling him all over again. Eventually you’d give, but it didn’t have to be tonight.  

[vanchlo]

Beside

Main Masterlist / Word Count: 4.6k / Warnings: Is angst considered one? Is sadness? Excess fluff?  / Song: Beside You by 5SOS, ofc

Premise: You had been his first fan, before anybody else, arguably. Perhaps, that had been what had made it hurt the worst when he had forgotten you, amongst so many other things. How could you ever tell him that, if you were given the chance?

Pairing: Harry x Reader

“He smiled the most exquisite smile, veiled by memory, tinged by dreams.”

- Unknown

You’d be lying to yourself if you said that it looked any different. Sure, the addition of the few cardboard boxes and elliptical could maybe chalk up to that. But, the lie fell away before it was even really thought when a memory was sparked by every item your eyes fell on. What was different about it was how it felt, and how it felt more than different, if there was even a word for that. You were rather sure that there were never words good enough for your feelings after everything that had happened over the years.

You hadn’t even been sure if you could make it this far. That started with the drive, the worst part being driving past his. You thought that nothing could trump that until you opened the door and the multitudes of memories came flying at you. Long ago, you had taken down the pictures tacked to cork boards and shown in frames, but somehow, they had reappeared. Thanks to your mum, you thought. It felt like knives in the back of your eyes when you saw them, reminded for the hundredth time of how much things had changed. You weren’t sure if the reminders would ever stop, seeing as how they had been coming for the last nine years. Although they had dwindled over time, according to your proximity and whereabouts, they still never ceased. They never stopped hurting, or stirred up ‘what if’s inside of you.

*

Tears streamed angrily down your cheeks as the cotton fabric of the curtains left your hands. You had checked maybe twice now, three if you were telling yourself the truth. The thing was, you hadn’t been doing a lot of that lately, but you had needed it right in that moment as his curtains remained still. Then, there were yours, yanked to the side in a blush pink crumple. The images stared back at you, making your head hurt more than it already did. You weren’t sure how that was even a possibility.

“You rang?” a voice nearly demands. “Hullo?” you still don’t know what to do or how to say it, until you do.

“I’m sorry.”

“Reckon it took ya long enough. Now, why’re you cryin’ over Maths? Don’t think it deserves that much attention, don’t you agree?” he replies, making the pages in front of you blur all the more when your bed dips from his weight. “God, remind me again why we’re takin’ Geometry t’gether when we could’ve done somethin’ easier?”

“I dunno. I thought it was your idea,” you answer sheepishly, finding his shoulder with your head.

“Beats me. Whatever helps me avoid mo’ Maths down tha road,” he suggests, and you find yourself humming along in agreement. His fingers calloused from trying to learn guitar are felt on your forearm. “What d’ya say we take a break from this t’ bake some cookies?”

“But I want to finish it now,” you protest, meeting his eyes for the first time. They’re green as ever, and softer than you predicted after the argument you had had last night.

“Ya, and yer not gonna get anythin’ done if yer upset. I think doin’ somethin’ fun, like bakin’ fer a bit will be jus’ tha trick. C’mon,” he almost cooed, shutting the textbook and then tugging on your hand. They had ended up burnt, but the both of you ignored it when you later ate them on your bed as he explained tangents, cosines, and the like.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” he answered with enough confidence in his voice that you thought maybe you’d ask for some. You thought to yourself, isn’t that what you had been doing all of this time? Regardless of how many times you had asked that question, the same answer never made you feel any better. You nodded, just like every other time, assuring him you believe him, but you didn’t. How could you?

“You really won’t forget me if you make it big on the show, Harry?”

“Truth or lie, bubs?”

“Don’t tell me,” you whisper.

“‘Course not, love. How could I forget me bestest friend in tha whole wide world, huh? ‘ve known you since we were in nappies, ya don’t f’get that kind o’ rubbish,” and then, you were laughing.

Every time you’d think of that memory, you’d chide yourself for how you’d left it at that. The way that you let him leave you, but more importantly, how he let himself leave you.

*

That was one of the last times things had been so normal, and the last of burning cookies in the oven. There weren’t any more food fights in your kitchen, splashing hot, sudsy water at the other, or snapping tea towels at the other’s bum. A few weeks after the burnt cookies, you’d found the last one at the bottom of the cookie jar, amazed that any were left after his greedy hands. With an emptiness in your chest, you dropped it in the trash bin hurriedly, and escaped to your bedroom. It hadn’t been the first time, and you hoped, somehow and in some way, it would be the last.

Without knowing it, you had started a bad habit of lying to yourself, right then and there. As you stood at the window, pinning the curtains to the side in your secret S.O.S message, you waited. It wasn’t nearly as long as a few days before when your legs had ached for being there so long, but you still waited, too long. He didn’t come or pull his curtains aside. Somewhere deep inside of you, you knew that he never would come to your rescue ever again.

*

You couldn’t remember the last time that you had came home since moving out that a visit hadn’t been marred by the memory of him. Then again, when you thought hard on it, you were sure that there had never been a time where it wasn’t. Even if it had been nine years since things had changed, your eyes still strayed to his window at every visit. Sometimes, you even thought you saw his outline behind his curtains, or in the near dark, on your bed waiting for you. He never was there waiting, and unbeknownst to him, you could never help it but be waiting. It was what you had done best, and worst, for the last near decade.

It was difficult for you to remember the last time you had been home, stretching your thoughts until you figured it was last Christmas. Another one where he left you waiting, seeming as if that was the thing he was best at himself. Leaving you waiting for a text from him, but regardless of the bittersweetness, they came. On Christmas. Your birthday. Random days. The day you graduated with all of your classmates and without him. Then, when you had graduated uni, unable to stop wishing that he had been there, just like he was supposed to at all of the big moments. Most of all, when your mums told him to text you and the other way around, which you think hurt you the worst.

*

The house was quiet after a busy day cooking with your mum for a Sunday lunch. It always had confused you how so much fuss and work could be made just for a meal that lasted shy of twenty minutes. Tick tocking, the clock above the tap was the only sound in the house later that night. A mild summer heat still clung in the air outside, but you had chosen to stay in. You tried not to register the traditional disappointment on your mother’s face when she had asked you to join her to go next door for dinner. After several times of obliging, sitting at his family’s table with memories splashed all around, you found it unbearable to do it ever again. Worst of all, it made you doubt yourself when you’d remember the way your eyes gravitated towards the door, wondering if he’d walk in. It happened every time, even if you knew he was on the other side of the world at the moment. You couldn’t do it again, not just that, but so many other things.

At the memory of fingerpainting on the sliding glass door, much to your mum’s horror at your mere ages of three, you retreated to your bedroom recalling how you had insisted it was his idea. You didn’t believe him when he pulled the same thing then, and certainly you didn’t now, when a Peter Pan like scene waited before your eyes.

Your blink was long and purposeful, but no matter how many times you repeated it, it failed to do its job. It was still there when you opened your eyes, leading you to have a hard time believing them. At first, you weren’t sure if you wanted to believe them. If you were going to lie to yourself, you’d tell them that you wished it was a mirage of sorts just like all of the other times. You wishfully thought that it’ll go away with a blink, but it doesn’t.

If you weren’t lying to yourself? You’d tell them that you should be a lot of things, including wanting it to be imagined, but you couldn’t change the fact that it was not. Deep inside of yourself, you knew like black and white that you wouldn’t ever want to change it. If you thought with your brain, that’d be another story. You should be mad, but you weren’t. For once, you hoped that the good feeling would outweigh all of the bad ones for just enough time so that you could have a good visit. You had wanted that, and so much more, for so many years, more than anything at all, that it could be like old times. That dream had yet to come true, and you had buried it long ago.

Swallowing against a dry throat, you decide with your hand that you’ve been ready for years for this to happen, and the light flickers to life at your fingertips.

“Y’know, ya shouldn’t just leave yer window open. A burglar or someone dodgy like that may very well take advantage o’ it. ‘s quite dangerous.”

Were you lying to yourself right now? No, you weren’t, and so you saw how he had changed. His chocolate curls were longer now, but still cropped around his ears. More rings claimed his fingers, and so did the ink all over his observable body. Self consciously, you wondered if the little train in his noggin was running on the same tracks.

“Reckon it’s also dangerous to just help yourselves into a girl’s window,” your reply sounds anything but firm like your words had implied, but you don’t. It’s a tie between whose lips begin to curl first, but secretly you hope it’s his, so that it means you’re closer to seeing those trademark dimples. “Harry,” it falls before you have the chance to reel it back in. In succession, your name drops from his pair. The ones you had always dreamt of, and according to your mums whenever they got the chance, you had kissed once or twice when the two of you were little. You couldn’t blame yourself, if you were telling the truth.

“Ya didn’t use t’ mind it,” he defends. Only now, do you allow your eyes to stray from that face you weren’t sure was real. Your prior wish is nudged at when you realize that he’s sitting in the same spot he always had been when you found him like this. Whether it was after school, when the moon was high in the sky, or after you’d ripped the curtains to the side, it was always the end of your bed where he sat.

You can’t help it, and you say something that you’ve been trying to for too long.

“Hare, that was almost ten years ago.”

It catches him off guard, just like the words had done in your mind, unspoken for so very long. On your one hand, you could count the number of times you had seen him since he walked on to that stage. Each one was less personal and more unfulfilling than the last, and you hoped undyingly with every fiber of your being that this time wouldn’t be. For once, you didn’t want him to disappoint you, but you couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t. If you tried and if you didn’t lie, you could think of one long ago, you could think of so many. You wanted this time to be different, and at the same time, you didn’t want him to be. No, you wanted him to be him. Your Harry.

“What do you want, twerp? Why are you breaking into my childhood bedroom at nine o’clock at night?” your questioning lips deal. No matter the itch you have, you can’t get your feet to move in his direction.

The fact couldn’t be more of a truth when you hear what he says, “Mum told me ‘bout yer engagement.” Without you knowing, your feet wander across the room and away from him. On your vanity, sits the gold band with diamonds of all sizes set into it. It was the very reason you had come home, but if you were being honest with yourself, it wasn’t the only one. No, that one was sitting behind you on your bed. The biggest one of all, for so very long. “‘m sorry.”

“What could you be sorry for?” your voice is still and rather quiet, but the feelings inside of you are the least bit that.

“Loads. That I didn’t congratulate you earlier, that I didn’t know ‘til now. You should’ve told me, ‘m really happy fer you. Congratulations t’ tha both o’ you, ‘d love t’ meet tha lucky man.”

All at once, words and emotions are flying at you, and you’re unable to make sense of them. First, you want to be mad. Then, you want to be sad. Is there a middle ground or a combination?, you wonder. “Well, you don’t need to worry about it, because I’m not getting married,” it had been the third time you had said a version of these words out loud. The bloke in question, of course, your mum, and now, Harry. You hadn’t thought that this was how it would be playing out.

“What?” hasty questions are riddled in his one breath. The images pass before your eyes until you tear them from the ring, but it doesn’t make them go away. Out of sight and out of mind didn’t really work for this one, you had found, or with this one over there, either. He had been in your mind more than he had ever been in your sight, you think. “Love, why not?”

“Well, Harry, marriage doesn’t really seem to be in the cards for me. I dunno why I ever thought it had,” you confess gently, as if you need to soften the blow for him, of all people. You weren’t sure if he deserved it anymore, even.

“What d’ya mean? That’s all you could jabber ‘bout when we were kids, and teenagers too. It was all ‘bout walkin’ down tha aisle and bein’ a mum . . havin’ four bloody kids, and no less. What were tha names, again? Avery, Margot, Henley, and . .”

“Jones,” your lips decide for you. “I’m surprised you could remember all of those.”

“‘s not hard when you’d already decided our kids’ names when we were only five, bubs,” he wheezes, a nostalgic happiness dripping off of his words, likened to honey. “You’d always insisted you’d marry me one day, and not let anybody else have me.”

The tears had come and went over the last few days, and once again, they had made their fateful return. Sometimes, you had wished that he could know how many multitudes you had shed because of him. For him. At others, if you thought with your heart, you knew that he shouldn’t know. He couldn’t.

“I remember it being the other way around. You said I’d be your wife one day, I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

“A truth or a lie, love?” the saying brings your actions to a halt, making your eyes freeze on the bottle of contact solution just within reach.

“Truth.”

“I was sad t’ hear you’d broken yer promise t’ me when Mum had told me you’d gotten engaged,” this time, you’re not sure if his words are imaginary or actual. The feelings bubbling inside of you, demanding to be felt and then spoken, feel quite like the latter.

It was never ‘my mum’ between the two of you, because growing up it was as if the both of you had had two mums and a dad, or for Harry, two. Since the day he went away, she had never stopped being your mum either, and she reminded you with every card and text checking up on you. Sometimes, you’d wished she would just stop, but you didn’t know how to do that. You feared not knowing how to accept that if she had even agreed, if asked. She had spent countless times stroking your hair when you found your way onto her sofa, another sob on your lips from missing her son.

“‘s it shitty o’ me t’ say ‘m tha least bit relieved?” his next words come, and you can hear the sheepish tone in them.

“No, join the club.”

“Did he cheat on you? ‘Cuz if he did, I swear t’ high heavens that I-,” you stop him when his words become unnecessary, but after the ‘stop’ you utter, your lips falter.

How do you tell him that he’s the reason? The very one that led you to end the engagement with a man that was everything you had wanted and more, and yet, he wasn’t. Because, he wasn’t the man who stands behind you now. The exact one who at one time in your lives would walk around your gardens in nappies with you and nothing else. The boy you took baths with as a child, took naps with fighting over who got the Mickey Mouse blankey and the next day who got the Scooby Doo one. Try as you might, you couldn’t find a way or a time to tell your fiancée any of that, in all of the years you had been together, or even just the other day when he wrapped the ring back in your hand with wet eyes.

If you were even able to tell Harry that, how could you ever bring yourself to tell him what you’ve been holding inside of you for all of these years? You had tried again and again to forgive him for what he had done, but each time it had failed sooner than the last. What was to say that even if he was there in front of you, that one more try would work? How could you tell your lifelong best friend who wasn’t really your best friend anymore, who hadn’t been almost longer than he had, that you had never stopped loving him, but never stopped hating him for leaving you?

“No, he didn’t cheat on me. He was perfect . . but not for me.”

“‘m really sorry ‘bout that, love. Mum had good things t’ say ‘bout him afta meetin’ him and I trusted her.”

“Harry, like you ever approved of my boyfriends when we were in school,” you argue with a smile, not realizing you’re facing him until well, you are. His lips are smiling at you until they’re not, and it’s the furthest thing from your own, too. “You never liked any of them, and always were mean to them.”

“I rememba. Only gave ‘em a hard time ‘cuz there wasn’t one who treated you good enough, like you’d deserved,” if he sees the wetness collecting on your cheeks, he doesn’t mention it. His lips don’t, but his eyes do all of the talking, and more.

“Why are you saying all of this now, Harry?” it had been years in the making and there was no stopping it now. You couldn’t lie to myself anymore. No, not with the tears in your voice could you mask another one fed to his ears.

“Truth . . or lie?”

“I’m done playing games with you, Harry! We’re bloody twenty five years old, we’re supposed to always tell the truth. You promised all those years ago that you wouldn’t lie to me, and you did just that, Harry! How could you?” you feel the words swell inside of you, and you’re past trying to figure out how to get them to stop. He stares back at you with a face devoid of any inkling of understanding, telling you what you had always known, despite the lies you’d told yourself. “You left me, Harry! You forgot about me! Y-You went on that tv show and I didn’t exist anymore. How could you do that to me? We were the bestest of friends, ever since we were babies! I cheered you on, Harry. I was your biggest fan before anybody else, listening to your made up songs on guitar before we even started school. We wrote our own songs and we had our own band, The Brunette Bunch, with you on guitar and me on the keyboard . . I always knew you were a rockstar, because you were my favorite person in the entire world, Hare. But, you were there one day, and then you were gone. My best friend never came back after that . . I couldn’t count the hundreds of times that I’d hate myself for wishing that you’d never went on that show.”

“You were never very good at sharing me from tha start,” his words are sugar, perhaps the spice, and everything nice. So many still wait inside of you, left unsaid.

“I couldn’t do it, Hare. I couldn’t marry him, because of it.”

“Bubs, you left him ‘cuz o’ me?” his astonishment is vivid in your eyes and his, as well.

“You never did do that great in Lit, trying to make out what the books were trying to say,” your attempt is measly at a laugh, but amongst the glassiness in his eyes, you see an echo of it. “Twenty years later and I still can’t help but want nobody else to marry you.”

The dimples are home again and they make the same word resound inside of you, too. His steps are quiet but they speak volumes in your skull, and in your chest.

“Seems it was yest’day ‘d find you scribblin’ ‘Mrs. Harry Styles’ over and over in yer Comp journal, ‘stead o’ practicin’ cursive.”

“Oh, I was practicing my cursive still, just the important stuff,” this time, it’s the closest thing to a real laugh you've shared in days. It’s been years and more since the last time you’d heard one spill from his own, until now.

“Sure,” he titters. The soft padding of his Vans on the carpeted floor stops, but your heart tells you that it never will. There had been a lot of never’s that took up rent in your heart for too long now, but another one seemed to be turning to dust in front of your eyes. “Could never tell you how sorry I am fer leavin’ you behind, love. Never could, but I never fo’got you. Ev’ry time I called home I asked Mum how you were and what you were doin.’ At first, I couldn’t take the truth, and Mum didn’t want me t’ know, but I told her t.’ Y’know how she’d hug you ev’ry time you saw her? That was from me, told her t’ give you a hug from me ev’ry time I called, ‘cuz I hated that I couldn’t give you one . . I know ‘s no excuse and that it wasn’t anythin’ compared t’ yers, but it hurt too much afta awhile t’ see you when I came home. I wanted things t’ be the same again, but I couldn’t, knowin’ I was to leave again. But, y’know what, I never stopped. I asked Mum each and every call ‘bout you and made sure she told me ev’rythin.’ Saw photos o’ you graduate school without me, uni too, yer fiancée, passin’ yer driver’s test, movin’ t’ London, and at last, I got t’ send her one o’ when you came t’ that concert o’ ours a few back and saw me backstage. I never fo’got you, or stopped worryin’ ‘bout you, knowin’ how bad ‘d fucked things up. Just didn’t know tha first thing t’ do or say t’ fix ‘em.”

If you were dreaming all of this, you realized, you hoped that you wouldn’t wake up for a while still. You needed this to be real for just a bit more, maybe longer. Definitely, more.

“Truth or lie, Hare?” is all that your lips can utter at this point. You think that you made the right call when his lips sing with a laugh.

“Truth. Always, bubs.”

“Can I give you that kiss I’ve been sitting on for a good ten years, now?” it had been so long since your lips had curled with happiness because of him. Within moments, it feels like mere minutes since the days with your heads resting on each other’s shoulders with textbooks and Red Vines in your laps. Not much further, walking home with scraped knees reading Dr. Seuss to each other, either.

But, when his lips touch yours, it could feel like a million miles away, too. For the first time amongst your own lies and truths, you’re telling yourself the truth when you think that you’re glad that you’re here. Cradled against his chest and with his arm around your waist, you’re at last happy where you are, because it’s finally with him beside you again.

“Can I have a truth, bubs?”

“Sure, Hare. What is it?” you yawn, your forehead nudging against the sandpaper feel of his face. Quickly, you’d realized there were so many things you had to learn about him. You couldn’t be more excited to annoy his ears with questions.

“How set are you on that ‘never gettin’ married’ thing?”

With warmed cheeks and heart, at last, just the same, your smiling lips deal an answer you’ve held for too long.

“I’m still set on not letting anybody else marry you, if that tells you anything.”

In that moment, it had been the easiest it’d ever been to let yourself tell the truth. He’d changed and so had you, but he still smelled the same and felt the same and he was your same Harry, and your heart did too. It greeted him again as his lips did the same to your own, giggles shared underneath the covers like you’d been doing for years with him beside you.

[beautiful-and-terrible]

dazed ‘n’ confused (part 4)

A/N: just a quick chapter for you guys before i have to put this story on the back burner :( i have an annual essay coming up in school that i gotta focus on. anyway, hope you like the gangs drunk shennanigans

Ship: Rodrick Heffley / OFC

Warnings: underage drinking / drug use, inebriated driving (DONT DRIVE DRUNK KIDS THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY DONT BE STUPID :) )

---

“If we get caught, my mom’ll kill me,” Rodrick groaned.

“Let’s bounce,” Nicole said, untangling herself from him and grabbing his hand as they ran further into the back yard, looking for an escape route.

“I’ll boost you,” Rodrick said, gesturing to the fence. Nicole nodded, not thinking of a better plan, and wanting to get out of there as fast as possible. She stepped into the make-shift step Rodrick made with his palms, and as she swung a leg over the fence, he pushed her the rest of the way. It wasn’t the most graceful execution, and she ended up landing on her ass with a grunt of pain.

Rodrick also clumsily made his way over the fence - both of them being drunk and high didn’t help their coordination much. “Sorry, are you good?” Rodrick said, clutching his shin, and Nicole waved him off.

“It’s fine, let's just get to the van.”

“Oh, fuck, the van!” Rodrick hissed, “The pigs are totally gonna know it’s mine.” With a big fucking stupid band name written on the side, Nicole reckoned he was right - it was pretty easy to identify, even without the plates.

“I can drive, don’t worry,” Nicole said, already starting toward the white van, creeping between other cars on the street.

“Nikky, you’re as trashed as I am, no way am I letting you drive.”

“Trust me, hot Rod,” Nicole said, slipping her hand into his front pocket and pulling out his keys before he could even blink. As they approached his van, Chris and Ben appeared in the shadows next to them, whispering excitedly as they spotted them.

“As soon as we saw the lights we bolted,” Ben snickered, but Chris looked concerned.

“Yo, I hope Caitlin doesn’t get arrested. There was a lotta booze in there,” he muttered, and Ben smacked his arm.

“You whipped, dude?”

Chris scoffed, “No, I would just feel bad for anyone in that sitch.”

“I agree,” Nicole said, feeling guilty that she couldn’t help Caitlin get out of trouble.

“C’mon, let’s fucking go,” Rodrick said, and all at once the four of them dashed to the van. Nicole jumped in the driver's seat, shoving the key in the ignition with some fumbling, and peeling out from their parking spot across the street from Caitlin’s house with enough force to make even Rodrick proud.

“We’ll make a NASCAR driver out of you yet, Nikky,” Rodrick laughed, whooping as he leaned his head out the window like a dog, the night air tangling through his hair. Ben scrambled up to the front seat from the back of the van, fiddling with the radio before he settled on a station playing “Where Is My Mind” by Pixies. Nicole turned up the volume to its top capacity, concentrating on the road lines in front of her. The adrenaline of avoiding the cops had sobered her up a little, but she was still feeling paranoid from the weed and drowsy from the beer. She drove as slowly as she dared so as not to seem suspicious. 

“Thanks for being our getaway driver, Nicole,” Chris said, his words slurring a little more than she had noticed previously. She looked back and saw him chugging a beer in the back.

“Dude, don’t fucking drink while I’m driving! We’re already in deep shit as it is,” Nicole said, turning on to the main street of downtown Plainview. Just a few more turns and they’d be home.

“You’re deep in something, alright,” Ben cackled, and he and Chris high-fived.

“Yeah, six inches deep in your mom,” Nicole shot back, and Rodrick let out an “ooooooo”, pointing at Ben, “Gotcha, bitch.”

Eventually, by some miracle, they made it to Nicole’s street. She hit the curb as she pulled up in front of her and Rodrick’s house, causing all three boys to shriek in unison. Nicole dissolved into giggles, both in relief of finally being out of danger and in reaction to the boys high-pitched screams of indignation.

“She’s an antique, Nikky!” Rodrick said, jumping out of the van to stumble to the front and assess the damage.

“Oh, I’m fine, by the way,” Nicole snarked, and Rodrick suddenly looked at her intensely, giving her a slightly blurry-eyed up-and-down look. 

“Fine as hell,” he muttered, loud enough for her to hear, and she blushed, biting her lip to keep from smiling too widely.

“Rodrick, can we crash at your place,” Ben asked, Chris making puppy dog eyes at him.

“Me too - I don’t wanna wake my parents up. Our front door is creaky as shit,” Nicole said.

Rodrick sighed loudly, as if he were being asked to do something terribly inconvenient. 

“Yeah, fine. Y’all want mac and cheese?”

The four of them, all drunk and high as kites, looked at each other and nodded in perfect synchronicity. 

As quietly as they could for four fucked up teenagers, they snuck their way into Rodricks kitchen. He pulled out a four pack of Kraft Mac and Cheese microwave cups from the pantry, filling them all with way too much water and sticking all four of them, at the same time, in the microwave.

“Dude, can I eat this beef jerky?” Chris asked, rummaging through the pantry.

“They’re my dads,” Rodrick said, as if that offered an explanation. “If you wanna explain to him why they’re gone, knock yourself out.”

Chris slowly put the bag back, looking put out.

Nicole stood next to Ben, both of them leaning on the kitchen counter. Nicole looked over at him, and he looked back, giving her a little smile. He wasn’t bad looking, but where as Rodrick was endearing because he tried to seem cool and really wasn’t, Ben had an effortless coolness about him.

“Thanks for coming with us tonight, Ben,” Nicole said. The alcohol must be making her feel emotional. After all, they had only just met today.

“Aww, Nikky, of course! I never pass up an opportunity for debauchery,” Ben said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. He pronounced debauchery like “de-booch-ery”, but Nicole was too drunk to catch the mistake. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rodrick glaring at Ben. Dumbass, he has no reason to be jealous, Nicole thought to herself, and gave him a little reassuring wave by wiggling her fingers in his direction.

“Yo, be careful on this mac, its fucking hot,” Rodrick said, pulling the cups out of the microwave. They still had water in them, and the cheese powder wasn’t fully mixed in, but in the moment it was the most delicious thing Nicole had ever tasted.

“Should we watch a movie?” Ben suggested, and Chris bounced on his toes excitedly.

“Killer Clowns from Space!! Pleeeaaaase! You’ve been promising me for weeks now that we’d watch it.”

Ben sighed, Rodrick rolled his eyes, but Nicole had no opinion on the subject, so she made the executive decision to say, “I’m down.”

Ben and Rodrick both groaned, and Chris gave her a fist bump from across the kitchen island.

“Nikky has taste, sorry guys,” Chris said, looking very smug as he slurped his luke-warm mac and cheese.

They all somehow stumbled up to Rodrick’s room - Nicole belatedly realized she had been dreaming about being in his room for weeks, and now that she was here took the time to really appreciate what was in front of her.

A person’s room can tell you everything you need to know about them. For one, Rodrick was messy, but no more messy than any other average teenage boy. Clothes on the floor and the back of his desk chair, thrown haphazardly over a bean-bag in the corner of the room. There were christmas lights strung from the ceiling, both white and rainbow, that gave the room a cozy vibe that Nicole would’ve never expected from Rodrick.

His walls were mostly covered in band posters, and above his desk there was a cork board littered with tickets of concerts he had been to. Nicole almost seethed with jealousy at the sheer amount and quality of concerts he had been to - Leftover Crack, Pleasure Venom, Less than Jake, and one of Nicole’s personal favorites, Mannequin Pussy.

“You like Mannequin Pussy?” Nicole said, whipping her head around to look at Rodrick. 

“That's not the only kind of pussy he likes,” Ben hollered, causing Chris to smack him upside the head.

“There's a lady present, dumbass,” Chris said, and Ben raised his hands in surrender.

“I think you mean that’s the only kind of pussy he gets,” Nicole said, throwing a teasing wink toward Rodrick, who blushed bright red.

“Yeah, they’re good. Romantic is my favorite album,” Rodrick said, scratching the back of his neck self consciously. Ben and Chris started making kissing noises in his direction, and Rodrick threw a pillow at them.

As Chris and Ben fought over who would set up the projector, Nicole let her snooping instincts take over, looking at the other miscellaneous things Rodrick had around his room - empty liquor bottles filled with more lights, a surprising amount of books (mostly graphic novels), a lava lamp filled with miniature rubber ducks, and mushroom paraphernalia. Everywhere. His pillowcases, the tapestry above his bed, and the stickers on his water bottle all had holographic or brightly colored mushrooms on them. She was so absorbed in her investigation she didn’t even notice Rodrick next to her until he spoke.

“Committing it to memory? You might never be in here again,” Rodrick said with a small smirk. Nicole gave him a look out of the corner of her eye.

“I wouldn’t count on it, babe,” Nicole said boldly. She felt the warmth of Rodrick’s hand on her hip, and looked up at him. And his lips. She wanted to kiss him again so badly it was like a drug, her body telling her to get her next fix as quickly and as often as possible. Being in his space, the place he let himself be his most authentic self, was very intimate, even with Chris and Ben still arguing in the corner.

Rodrick looked away shyly, squeezing her hip once before turning back to the boys. Chris had evidently lost the rock-paper-scissors match to set up the movie on the projector, and was adjusting the screen on the far wall of Rodrick’s room, trying to find a website to pirate the movie from.

“If we’re gonna watch this shit let’s do it,” he said, settling himself in the beat up reclining chair he had, arms above his head. He should be illegal, Nicole thought to herself, making herself comfortable on the bed.

Which ended up being a mistake, because 20 minutes into the movie, Nicole was asleep. She felt a blanket being gently placed over her before she was dead to the world.

[caswellprmanager]

drawbridge

read it on ao3

Ship: Ricky Bowen/EJ Caswell

Summary: Snippets of EJ Caswell's life leading up to the mystery that is Ricky Bowen.

Notes: Hello. I decided to bite the bullet and post something here! This technically is in my Trans!EJ and Genderqueer!Ricky AU but I haven't properly written anything for it yet so consider this one to be the first official fic within that universe. Feel free to send some asks or other headcanons in my inbox about the AU! I'd love to hear what people think (but don't be unnecessarily mean. I will delete that very quickly.)

Disclaimer: I'm not an expert in all things transgender or genderqueer. I am writing from my own experience within the spectrum however so it's truthful to what I have been through, but will not represent everyone else's experiences. I also have friends within the spectrum who have given me great advice on how to go about these things but once again, it won't be accurate to everyone's experiences.

Warnings: Mentions of gender dysphoria, transphobia, and neglectful parents

People always told EJ that he had the picture perfect family.

His mom and dad were successful corporate lawyers, they lived in the wealthiest suburb in all of Salt Lake City, and he was the kind of child other parents would compare their own children to saying, "why can't you be more like EJ?"

But EJ knows that's farthest from the truth.

He doesn't have the picture perfect life or the paragon of White American families that people think they do. His parents are affectionate and supportive only when there are people around to comment on it. Most of the time, they're not even at home, leaving all of the child raising to their maids and other house servants. EJ spends more time at Ashlyn's house than he does at home because at least his aunt and uncle actually treat him like a son.

Because there are days his parents would forget they have a son. Sometimes they'd slip and call him their daughter, which makes EJ want to disappear from this world altogether. He supposes he should be grateful that they even bothered to pay for all the things he asked for — binders, testosterone shots, and regular visits to the doctor to check up on him throughout his transition. And he is grateful. He knows so many kids like him that can't even afford a decent sized binder without going bankrupt. He used to be that kid until he gathered up all his courage to come out to his parents.

But what they told him?

"Well, if you're gonna be our son, you will have to work twice as hard to make us proud now."

Yeah. It's a lot to process when you're 12 years old and scared shitless that you'd be disowned for "disrupting the natural order." But he figures things could be worse. So he sucks it up and vows to become the kind of son that his parents could truly brag about.

When EJ was a kid, he loved mysteries. His parents were the greatest mystery of them all. He's spent so much of his time trying to figure out what makes them happy, or angry, or sad. He's put the clues together and has a cork board of pictures and red string at the forefront of his mind whenever he so much as tries to interact with them. Soon, he sort of figured out what makes his parents smile at him — when EJ is excellent.

So, he became excellent at all kinds of sports, took up piano lessons, studied until his eyeballs burned with the lowlight of his desk lamp — all so that he could maybe get a pat on the back from his dad and a small smile from his mom. Their versions of "good job" or "keep it up." He drank that all in, craved it even, and worked his whole life until now to get even an iota of his parents' affection.

So, when he meets Ricky Bowen, the lanky and extremely clumsy skater who seems to live in the detention room, he was met with a brand new mystery to solve.

"Who's that?" EJ whispers into Nini's ear, who just seems to be irritated by the new person's presence.

"That's Ricky," she says with the barest hint of affection but with a whole lot of irritation. "My ex."

"Huh," He says, intrigued by the way Ricky's movements stutter like a half-finished stop motion film and how their wide doe eyes scan the room like — unironically — a deer in headlights. They looked nervous, confused, and all around terrified and EJ wants to reach out to them and tell them that this was a safe space. That they could be whoever they wanted to be in the theater.

He glances at Nini when Ricky starts singing a song that she seems to recognize. The immediate tensing of her shoulders and the way she subconsciously reaches out for EJ's hand for support tells him that this song... means something. Or meant something. EJ's not quite sure but he squeezes Nini's hand in silent reassurance, bringing himself to half-glare at the guitar playing skater just a few feet before him.

--

He met Nini during theater camp. A firecracker of talent with a voice that could melt the heart of even the coldest man on earth. She was beautiful in the spotlight and even more ethereal beneath the stars. She was kind, gentle, and a mystery that EJ solved quickly enough. She wore her heart on her sleeve despite it being broken because she believes that broken hearts can be mended with time and patience.

Nini was patient with him. She was patient with him when he took her up the little hill next to the campsite just to watch the stars on an old picnic blanket he stole from the camp counselors. She was patient with him when he couldn't keep up with the dance steps. Her hand was warm in his own and the flush of her palm by his neck was a grounding force that kept his head from going in the clouds.

She was especially patient with him when he took her to an empty tent and told her about his life. Nini was kind. Nini was patient. Nini was safe. And if she were to walk away and tell him that she wanted nothing to do with him after what he told her, he would have understood and learned to not associate kind brown eyes and ukulele calloused fingers to what could be barely described as home.

But she held his hand in her tinier ones, a smile on her face that radiated warmth that seeped into the depths of his soul, and told him that she was proud of him.

It was the first time that someone was proud of him... for just being him.

He cried into her arms that night, knowing he's got a lifelong friend within the kind brown eyes and ukulele calloused fingers of one Nini Salazar-Roberts.

--

"She thinks I'm a Chad?" He asks, less incredulously and more with a burning curiosity.

Nini rubs his arm comfortingly but he keeps staring at the cast list like it was going to burst into flames any second. "You're still a Troy understudy! You could still go on as him in one of the shows."

"Shows only run for three nights, Nini." He says with barely concealed frustration. Great. If he can't even get the role he was technically destined to play, how the hell is he going to explain himself to his parents?

You're not the lead? Oh, then we won't watch. If you're not onstage the whole time, why be there?

EJ grits his teeth and slowly brings his gaze to the person who has just taken away one more way for him to prove himself to his parents. Ricky Fucking Bowen, who stands there once again with their enormous brown eyes, gaping like a fish. EJ wants to deck them in the face. But Nini's hold on his arm grounds him back to reality and he lets out a long breath through his nose.

This is gonna be a long next few months.

--

"Look, I'm just trying to make the best out of a bad situation."

"Don't try," He ends up saying, still wiping at the blood caused by the basketball Ricky hit him with only moments ago. "It's painful to watch you do something you clearly don't want to do."

"What makes you think I don't want to do this?" Ricky asks with furrowed brows and EJ throws the wadded up tissue paper stained with his blood into the trash.

"You hated musicals before you auditioned. You landed the part of Troy without even fucking trying. And now you think you can get through rehearsals without fucking trying? It's tiring to work with someone who couldn't give two shits about this musical in the first place!" He says, every sentence rising in volume as he steps closer and closer to Ricky. "You also need to stay the fuck away from Nini."

Ricky scoffs then. "Why? Cause you're her boyfriend?"

"What? And you are?" He retaliates, which effectively makes Ricky click their mouth shut. EJ smirks. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

"Nini can choose whoever she wants to talk to." Ricky ends up saying with tense shoulders and a glare that could murder if EJ weren't already a person who doesn't fear death. "You can't tell me what to do."

"Well someone has to!" EJ throws his hands up in frustration, grabbing his jacket and zipping it up angrily. "Because you don't listen to Nini though, do you? Have you ever listened to her? Do you listen to anybody?"

"EJ I—"

"You better listen to me right now Ricky Bowen," he laces every syllable of Ricky's name with venom. "Stop trying to make things right. Stop trying to become a person you're not. If you actually cared about Nini or – god forbid – the musical, you'd stop trying and just get your shit together."

EJ doesn't even bother to look back at Ricky as he exits the bathroom, unaware of the look in Ricky's eyes when he walked away.

--

It isn't until Ricky approaches him one day after rehearsals that EJ was finally starting to unravel the mystery that was Ricky Bowen.

"Hey... EJ?" Ricky asks, looking at anywhere but at him and EJ would have been annoyed if it weren't for the way Ricky was holding themselves in front of him. They were tense, eyes glassy and unfocused whenever EJ caught a glance, and their fingers were gripping their bag straps so tightly that he was afraid Ricky was going to rip it apart if they weren't careful.

"Hey Ricky," He says with a softer voice than he's ever used with Ricky. "Is there something you need?"

Ricky's eyes dart around the still full rehearsal room, at the dangerously close proximity Miss Jenn was, at the stage managers that were just behind EJ who were reviewing the blocking notes, and finally at Nini who was engaged in a conversation with Carlos and Seb. Ricky's eyes lingered on Nini for a bit before they reluctantly settled on EJ's pristine white sneakers. "I would have normally asked Nini for this but – and you can say no by the way I'd completely understand – it's just..."

Ricky looks around again before leaning closer to EJ and shakily whispering, "Do you have any tampons?"

And just like that, the walls that were built around a certain Ricky Bowen were starting to crack. And EJ was allowed to see the smallest snippet of the kind of vulnerability that Ricky was capable of.

And it was the kind of vulnerability that he could relate to completely.

"My emergency stash is in my locker," He says, hastily packing up the rest of his things while Ricky continues to stand there dumbfounded. When EJ turns back to him with his own bag over his shoulder, he could see that there are a few unshed tears shining in Ricky's eyes. EJ softens for a second, knowing how difficult it must have been for Ricky to come to him for something so private.

"Come on. I'll even guard the bathroom for you." Ricky eventually follows him after a few seconds of just staring at his back and they fall in step around the corner. Ricky stays silent, fingers all fidgety and eyes still darting around like they'll be caught any second. EJ, instinctually, wraps a comforting arm around Ricky's shoulders. Ricky doesn't relax immediately but they do lean a little closer, somehow finding the weight of EJ's arm around them safe.

They eventually reach EJ's locker and Ricky smiles a bit because it's directly across from Sharpay's famous pink lockers. "Did you choose this spot specifically for Sharpay's lockers?"

EJ glances behind him and chuckles, rummaging through his stuff. "Oh yeah. If you say Ashley Tisdale three times in a row while touching her locker, you're guaranteed good fortune for at least a week."

Ricky looks at him with a smirk. "Have you tried that before?"

"Every year during finals week. I'm telling you, that shit works."

"Or maybe you're just really smart."

"Maybe," EJ says, finally locating his emergency stash of period essentials. "Or maybe it's just Ashley Tisdale bopping me to the top."

That's when Ricky lets out a laugh — an honest to god booming belly laugh that makes EJ pause just to stare at him. They look... nice like this. Without the worry lines and longing gazes at a girl who won't give them the time of day. They look just like a little kid, carefree and alive despite the world crumbling all around them, and EJ feels a weird surge of pride at being the person who made Ricky laugh like that.

He wants Ricky to laugh like that more. He wants to be the person who makes Ricky laugh like that more.

And so the walls around Ricky crack a little further, and the drawbridge is opened for one weary traveler to come in.

EJ doesn't notice the cracks on his own walls, nor the knowing little princess who watches from the east tower, smiling.

--

"Hey, what are your pronouns?"

Ricky doesn't look up from their practice skateboard, concentrating hard on their balance. "I don't have any. I'm just Ricky." They look up though, giving EJ a warm smile. "But go ahead and use any pronouns with me. I don't mind if it's you."

"So would you mind if I call you your majesty?"

EJ doesn't miss the flush on Ricky's cheeks at that and definitely doesn't miss the way they say "I'd like that very much." with the barest hint of embarrassment.

"Okay," EJ says with his chin propped up in his hands. "Your majesty."

Ricky falls off of their practice skateboard then, soon glaring up at a cackling EJ still with a blushing face.

--

EJ forgot his binder today.

And his body loved reminding him every time he took a step.

Thankfully, there wasn't going to be water polo practice today and he could get away with wearing multiple layers to school. But even with the sports bra, the t-shirt, the sweatshirt, and the letterman jacket doing a good job at making his chest look flat, he still felt his skin crawl looking at the mirror. His jeans hugged him a little too tightly, forcing him to notice the still feminine curve of his hips. His sports bra was a tad smaller than the last time he wore it, so the pinch at his chest doubled in size.

EJ resolved that he was not going to have a good day today.

But today was tech rehearsals and he couldn't ditch that. He was starting to really enjoy rehearsals now that he and Ricky are on good terms. Even the stage managers ask him to hang out with them time to time outside of rehearsals. EJ actually felt like... he really belonged somewhere now. And he wasn't going to let this ruin it for him. Not today.

"Hey EJ," He heard Nini say to him as he got out of his car. "What's with all the layers? It's pretty hot today."

"It's one of those days, Neens." He says with a heavy sigh and Nini just grabs his hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Ricky rolls up to them two seconds later, their head suspiciously missing a helmet.

"How many times do I have to tell you to wear a helmet when you're skateboarding, Ricky?" EJ tries to scold the junior despite this weirdly overwhelming fondness growing inside of him every time he even looks at Ricky now.

"Haven't gotten into an accident yet," Ricky shrugs, smiling politely at Nini and changing it into a cocky little smirk the second they look at EJ.

"Yet being the operative word here," EJ rolls his eyes and opens his trunk for Ricky to stash his board in for later. "I won't drive you to the hospital if you end up getting a concussion for not wearing a helmet."

"Yes you will." Ricky says, knocking their shoulders together. "You love me!"

EJ freezes for a bit but before he could even respond, Ricky is already catching up to Big Red and Gina, waving back at EJ and Nini with a wide grin. EJ stares at him for a few seconds, not quite sure how to process the last few moments, until Nini waves a hand in front of his face.

"Hello? Earth to EJ?"

"Huh?"

"Care to share with the class what's going on?" The little smirk on her lips says it all and EJ was not going to fall for that.

"Nope. There's nothing to share."

"Mhm," She says, looping her arm around EJ as soon as he closed his trunk. "Of course there isn't, EJ." Nini pretends not to see EJ staring at Ricky as they walk into school. EJ pretends to not notice that she's pretending to not see EJ pretending to not overtly stare at Ricky.

Besides, EJ has gotten pretty good at pretending.

--

Aaaannndd that's it for now. I hope you guys liked that! I really enjoyed exploring trans!ej and genderqueer!ricky through this au and it means a lot to me. Maybe next time I'll write something in ricky's pov but for now thanks for reading !!

[seijorhi]

hello, im always on the hunt for new funky fresh yandere!suga content! i really enjoyed the post you made for him, it's exactly up my alley! would it be possible to request a gender neutral reader finding out just how much suga's been stalking them after they left him? by stumbling on something they shouldnt see (could be a dark room, or a journal, whatever youd like) and have him walk in on them then?

Suga will always be my first Haikyuu love, so of course!

Sugawara Koushi x Reader

TW stalking

Red Handed

When you were a little kid, your mom told you a story.

It was about a handsome man with a blue beard, the woman who married him despite the warning signs, and a locked cellar that was never supposed to be opened. You were too young to hear it, but as horrifying as it was - it stuck with you. 

Curiosity can be a dangerous thing.

But sometimes… sometimes you just can’t help yourself.

In your defence it wasn’t so much a wilful breaking of trust so much as it was an honest mistake. Sort of.

It’s not the first time you’ve found yourself pouring over textbooks and hastily scrawled notes with Suga, but it is the first time it’s been just the two of you - and the first time it’s been at his place instead of yours. 

“I give up,” you moan, letting your head fall flat against your notebook. “I’m gonna fail this stupid exam, drop out of school and have to resort to finding some rich, attractive guy to marry and support me instead.”

You’ve been at it for hours, the two of you spread out on his couch, a mountain of snacks between the two of you. You have to give Suga credit for that - the man knows how to keep you motivated to stay but this, this was beyond your limit. It’s never a good sign when you reread the same sentence five times and still have no idea what it says.

A soft laugh sounds and there’s a hand rubbing soothingly at your back, “Aw c’mon, don’t be so dramatic. You got me, right?”

You lift your head slightly to find him smiling at you with that same fond exasperation, and almost without meaning to you find your frown softening. It’s true. Suga’s pretty much your lifeline at this point - not to mention the reason you’re actually doing pretty well in most of your classes this semester. 

God only knew where he found the patience.

“What, you gonna marry me when they kick me out in disgrace?” you ask with a wry half grin, pushing yourself away from your notes. “Take care of my freeloading ass?”

Suga doesn’t say anything for a moment. You brace yourself for the lecture and/or pep-talk he’s given you a thousand and one times before, but when you glance up at him again, the look on his face isn’t the one you’re expecting.

He’s still smiling, but there’s something… odd about it. 

It’s just a flash, a flicker of something fleeting in his eyes-

You blink, and whatever it is- was - it’s gone and Suga’s looking at you with the same expression he always wears whenever you start bemoaning your future and the possibility of failing. 

Huh… your eyebrows draw together, the faintest hint of unease teasing at your gut. Just for a moment - a split second - you could have sworn that… 

But no, you’re just tired. Your brain is absolutely fried after hours studying, whatever you thought you saw, you must have imagined. Because Suga’s your friend. A good friend, maybe the best one you’ve ever had. Still… you really shouldn’t tease him like that.

“Hey, you know I’m kidding, right?” you ask, nudging his shoulder playfully. “Anyway, I think I’m done. I can’t look at these stupid notes anymore - they’re making even less sense than when we started.”

Suga sighs, rolling his neck and flipping the cover of the textbook shut. “Well I suppose it is getting late. Are you hungry? I can order some take out if you want-”

You shake your head before he can finish, “Nah, can’t tonight. I have a date,” you say, shooting him a wink. “Next time though? When everyone’s free. I feel a little guilty stealing all of your time for a one on one session as it is.”

Suga stills for a moment, glancing up to find you smiling sheepishly back at him. “Oh, a date? With that guy from class?” he asks, busying himself in tidying up the notes spread out across the coffee table. 

That guy from class. Yeah, the one you haven’t been able to shut up about for weeks. That one.

“Yeah. Nothing crazy, just dinner and a movie - still, I think it’ll be fun, y’know?” You were trying for a blasé tone, but somehow you think the slight dusting of pink on your cheeks kind of ruins it a little bit.

So maybe you were a little excited about it - it wasn’t a crime was it?

Suga gives a non-committal hum, but doesn’t say any more on the topic. Together it doesn’t take the two of you long to clean up, gather your notes and stash the snacks back away for the next study session. 

You still have enough time to dart home, have a shower and get ready, but- “Hey, before I go, is it okay if I use your bathroom?” you ask a little shyly. You guys have been friends for months, and you definitely don’t want to come across as rude, but you can’t deny there’s still something slightly embarrassing at having to ask permission.

“Yeah, of course. Down the hallway, last door on the right.”

 You nod, thanking him quietly.  

It’s a simple mistake. At the end of the hallway, there are two identical doors, both closed over.

Last door on the… left? That’s what he said, right?

You twist the doorknob, easing the door open and within a split second you know that you’ve got the wrong door because this is definitely not a bathroom, but…

Curiosity pushes you forward. 

It’s Suga’s bedroom. Your feet move like they have a mind of their own, drawing you in further into his room. You’ve never been to his place before, and you’ve definitely never been in his bedroom before, but you can’t deny that you’re curious. Surprisingly it’s not the mess that you’re expecting - the double bed neatly made and aside from a sweater tossed haphazardly across the back of a chair and a pair of jeans that hadn’t quite made it into the laundry hamper, there’s no dirty clothes littering the floor. 

You know it’s rude to pry. You know that, but in that moment you can’t seem to help yourself. Suga won’t mind, really, and it was an honest mistake.

There’s an acoustic guitar in the corner (does he play it, you wonder) and a volleyball covered in signatures sitting on one of the shelves above his desk. Even now, you know that he loves the sport with his whole heart. You’ve never been to a game before, but part of you thinks you’d like to, Suga always makes it sound so exciting. You find a smile creeping across your face as you wander over to have a closer look - there’s photo’s everywhere, in frames, pinned to a cork board on the wall - him with his family, with his friends, even one of the two of you together… and is that a medal?

You’re startled out of your thoughts by your phone vibrating in your pocket.

It should have been a wake up call, a sign from the universe to snap out of whatever nosy spell you’d managed to find yourself under and get out of Sugawara’s bedroom before he comes in to find you blatantly invading his privacy. It should have been - except instead you reach for your phone and fumble. 

You’re incredibly thankful for the carpeted floor because you can only watch in horror as your phone clatters to the ground and bounces (bounces!) under his bed.

“Shit!” you curse under your breath, dropping to your knees and resting your cheek against the mattress as you reach blindly into the dark space.

It takes a second of fumbling before your hand lands on something. It’s not your phone, you can tell that much right off the bat - it’s bigger, a box of some kind. 

You should have left it. 

Really, Sugawara’s a young, healthy guy like any other - you have an inkling of what could be inside the box. And it’s not like you want to see whatever spank bank material your friend has stashed away, you don’t, but…

But there’s a voice in your head that ignores all of that. A voice that whispers so delightfully, so eagerly, for you to just open it.

Open it, it whispers as you slide it out and set it down on the bed, settling yourself down beside it.

Open it, it whispers as you run your fingers along the wooden lid, sanded smooth except for the intricate carving in the centre. It’s strangely beautiful you think - not exactly the kind of box you can imagine filling with something so lewd.

Maybe it’s not what you think… maybe Suga has something else stashed away in this pretty little box. What else could it be? What does a guy like Sugawara Koushi have hidden away under his bed?

Open it, it whispers as your fingers find the edge and you slowly slide it open.

You immediately wish you hadn’t.

It’s you.

The photo’s a little blurry, taken from a distance and zoomed in, but it’s definitely you, lying in your bed, head thrown back with your eyes closed, bottom lip caught between your teeth-

The sheets obscure the rest, but from the flush on your cheeks and the arm disappearing between your spread legs, it’s obvious what you’re doing. 

There’s more. You with your friends, laughing. You out with your ex, maybe a month or so before you’d broken up. You in your bedroom again, a white fluffy towel wrapped around you, your hair still wet from the shower.

You walking home from class, taken from behind.

You in your favourite cafe, sitting by the window with a steaming mug in hand, staring out with a soft smile.

You tucked up on the couch, eating dinner with the TV playing in the background.

You.

You.

You.

Every single photograph was of you, and every single one of them taken without your knowledge. Pictures of you from last year, long before you ever met Suga. How long has he been-

You can’t even bring yourself to finish the thought. You feel sick, violated, your hands trembling as you flick through the images. You don’t want to see any more, but you can’t seem to stop yourself. You at the park with your friends, walking their dogs and chatting aimlessly. You bending over to pick up something, the shot framing your ass in a way that seems almost… lewd.

When did he take these? H-how had you never noticed?

Oh god, some of these are from outside your home.

Your stomach churns, you might actually vomit… 

“Got lost, baby?”

You jump at the sudden interruption, quickly snapping the lid shut and shoving the little box of horrors away from you like it’s poison, hurried excuses already on the tip of your tongue - but it’s too late for that.

One look at Sugawara, standing framed in the doorway, watching you with an eerily calm expression upon his face and you know that it doesn’t matter what you say. There’s no denying what you’ve seen. 

No coming back from it. 

His eyes drift to the box, the incriminating pictures spilled across his sheets and he sighs. “You know, I wanted to make this special for you. I wanted to do this right.” His hazel eyes flicker back to you as he steps inside his bedroom and shuts the door behind him. The soft click has never sounded so deafening. So final. “But you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? You just couldn’t keep your nose out of where it doesn’t belong.”

Your heart thumps painfully against your ribs, the sound so loud that you’re sure he has to be able to hear it too. It’s not nausea that seeps through your veins, keeping you frozen in place, but fear. Suga’s always been such a gentle presence in your life but there’s no trace of that person left as he closes the distance between the two of you. 

It’s all been a lie, a carefully crafted facade designed to pull you in. Do you even know him at all?

“S-suga, what-”

“Shh,” he murmurs, placing a finger across your lips, a soft, delicate smile playing across his features. “Didn’t your parents ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat?” He pauses for a moment, watching with wicked delight as your face pales and you jerk away from his touch with a strangled gasp. “It’s okay, baby, there’s no need to look so worried. Don’t you know I’d forgive you anything?”

His lips crash against yours before you can even think to reply. 

[lesducks]

Britgate fic, innit?

Pls why has my life come to this

“C’mon bruv he won’t even know iss’us,” Reggie adjusted his hood so it covered his face and stuck his hands in his pockets.

The four boys were loitering in an alleyway, down the side of the train station, a crowd of kids bustling past the alley entrance.

“I dunno,” Luke looked around at the front of the corner shop, “Remember what ‘appened last time mate?”

“Yeh yeh, but that won’t happen this time,” Reggie assured him, “I bet he’s forgot by now, right. We’ll be fine, g, promise.”

“If we get chased down the high street again I’m blamin’ you lot,” Bobby grumbled, from where he was leaning against a half-destroyed brick wall.

“I just won’t come into the shop,” Alex said, “But you have fun, chaps!”

Alex made to leave when Luke grabbed him by the hood.

“We all go in or none of us go in,” Luke reminded him.

“God, fine, if you insist,” Alex sighed, “Reggie has to open the door though.”

“Oi!”

“Well, I’m not going first!”

“I’ll go first, alreyt?” Luke stepped in between them.

“Now, we gotta be quick before the school rush ends, lads,” Reggie said.

“We’ve wasted too much time jabberin’ on anyways,” Luke replied.

“Well less’go now then, bruv,” Reggie replied.

The boys huddled together, all wearing hoods pulled tight and obscuring their faces, and shuffled over to Covington’s corner shop.

It was well visited by kids after school, just before the train pulled in, but, unfortunately, the boys had been given a ‘permanent ban’. According to Caleb they were “unruly, disruptive thieves who brought chaos to his business”, whatever that meant.

As they slipped in through the door, the familiar beeping sounded from above them, and they flinched. Luckily, Caleb was distracted with some others at the counter, rustling through the register for coins.

“Aw, man, here it is,” Reggie murmured, reaching for a pack of Caleb’s original gum, flavours you couldn’t find anywhere else.

“Just slip it in ya pocket and leave,” Luke said.

“Is that it?” Bobby sniffed.

“You got a fuckin problem with it, mate?” Reggie gave Bobby a light shove on his shoulder, “This gum is absolutely bangin’.”

“I’m going to get a drink,” Alex sighed, moving past them to open the fridge of drinks.

“Yeh but be quick so we can do a runner, alright?”

“Yeah yeah,” Alex reached over a year seven to grab a coke from the shelves, then let the heavy door slam shut.

“Make sure you pay for that, boys.” A voice came from the counter immediately after the bang of the closing door, causing Alex to jump. The boys turned around and-

“Great,” Reggie muttered. Caleb Covington, owner of the shop, dressed head to toe in a sickening purple stood at the counter, eyeing the boys.

“‘He’s forgot by now’, my arse,” Bobby muttered.

Reggie elbowed him. “Shut up mate,” he hissed. “Luke, get out ya wallet.”

“Hey, I ‘aven’t even bought anything!” Luke protested.

“Well I didn’t bring any money!”

“Thas’ your own fault then innit?”

“I’ll give ya some of this gum if you pay.”

“What if we just run out the shop?” Bobby added in.

“He’s seen us now, let’s just pay,” Alex said, then walked up to the counter.

“Afternoon,” Alex said timidly, placing his bottle and two pounds on the counter.

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “No service,” he said pushing the coins back across to Alex with the tip of his finger.

“What?” Alex spluttered, “Why on earth-?”

Caleb said nothing but pointed to a pin board behind the counter. Plastered over the cork, the four boys’ faces were printed out in black and white onto paper. And underneath, in big, bulky, red font: BANNED

“Oh…” Alex said, his voice small, “Well that’s new, isn’t it?”

“Get. Out.” Caleb smiled threateningly wide, “And leave anything you picked up.”

Alex turned to his friends, Bobby putting his gum back onto the display. Reggie had his hands behind his back suspiciously. Alex lowered his eyebrows at Reggie, who shrugged, his eyes not meeting Alex’s.

“Go, now,” Caleb repeated. Before they could leave, he stopped Reggie with a cane - who has a bloody cane? - and wouldn’t let him pass until he fished the gum packet out of his pocket and put it back on the shelf. A group of year eight kids watching giggled.

“Alright, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Reggie said, walking out of the shop, “Ya bloody nonce,” he added, as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Well we’re screwed,” Bobby said as they stood around aimlessly in front of the shop, not ready to leave yet.

“Nah, we just gotta find someone else to go in for us, ya get me?” Reggie said.

“Who?” Alex asked, “If Caleb knows they know us he won’t let them in.”

“So it’s gotta be someone who knows us but Caleb doesn’t know they know us?”

“They have t’know us and know what t’get in tuh shop AND know Caleb can’t know that he doesn’t know they know us,” Luke said, as if that simplified anything.

“So they have to know that he knows-” Reggie started.

“Please stop,” Bobby cut him off. Reggie and Luke sniggered.

“I can’t believe that wanker got our faces up an’ everyfing,” Reggie said disbelievingly, “I mean, I know we’re well peng,” Reggie placed a hand over his heart dramatically, “But c’mon? I thought that permanent ban was a bloody exaggeration! He’s such a prick.”

“We did kinda ruin some of his stock though,” Luke reminded Reggie.

“Yeah and it was a fucking accident, wasn’it?”

“What was an accident?”

The boys jumped as a result of a sudden voice for the second time that day.

“Julie!” Luke exclaimed, breaking into a smile. Reggie rolled his eyes.

“Oh you guys got banned from Caleb’s shop, right?” Flynn asked, then laughed.

“Oi, it’s not funny bruv!” Reggie said, crossing his arms.

“It’s kinda funny,” Willie said apologetically.

“Speak fo’ yourself,” Luke muttered.

“Can’t you just go to another shop?” Flynn asked sceptically, “There’s one literally over there, right?”

“Yehyehyeh,” Reggie waved his hands as he tried to explain, “But Covingboy’s got this really good flavour gum, right? And ya can’t get it anywhere else…”

Julie sighed, guessing where Reggie was going with this. “Want us to go in and get it for you?”

“Would ya, luv?” Reggie answered.

“You gotta pay me back though,” Julie said.

“I’ll come too,” Willie added, “Get a drink or something.”

“Would you mind popping in and getting a drink for me, too?” Alex asked quickly.

“‘Course mate!” Willie replied. Alex smiled, adjusting his hands in his pockets awkwardly. The other three disappeared into the shop.

Apparently, it was not a good idea to discuss their top secret plan to get goods from Caleb in front of the window to the corner shop. Less than two minutes later, Julie, Flynn and Willie had been kicked out of the shop, looking thoroughly disgruntled.

“Well, we tried,” Willie shrugged. The boys groaned. “I also got told I have an extra shift at the pub this Friday night.”

“Oh right, he owns a pub too doesn’e?” Reggie asked, “Bloody rich dickhead.”

“So why’s ‘e so fussed about us?” Luke threw up his hands.

“We gotta get a backup,” Bobby said, “Really reach for someone nice enough to do this, but also someone we never ever talk to ever.”

“‘Ave you been to our school? Who the fuck’s nice enough to do anything for anyone?” Luke asked.

“Well that’s why I said to bloody think about it, innit?” Bobby shot back.

“Fine, fine,” Luke resigned, “We’ll reconvene at school tomorrow and fink of another way.”

“Can’t believe I’m having to go this long without some of that gum,” Reggie complained.

“You know you can just go to another shop,” Julie said.

“No!” The boys responded in unison.

“This is a fuckin personal attack, right?” Reggie said, “So we can’t give up cuz that’s bloody pathetic!”

“I…” Julie started, then gave up, “Y’know just, okay, if you guys are happy.”

“Jules, we’re gonna miss the train,” Flynn said, checking her phone.

“Right,” they left, Willie going with them, “See you guys tomorrow!”

“I should probably get my train too, lads,” Alex said, following after them. “Later!”

“Alex, wait up!” Luke half-jogged to catch up with him.

“You gettin’ a train too?” Reggie asked Bobby after a while.

“Nah, waiting for my sister to finish drama club and getting picked up.”

“A pick up? Alright you fancy sod,” Reggie smirked. He knew Bobby would get a ride in one of his dad’s pristine cars back to their bloody huge house.

“You got a ride home?” Bobby asked.

“Yeh, bus,” Reggie pointed over the road to the bus stop.

“Right.”

“Right!”

The boys stood in silence for a while. Reggie searched his brain for something to say but all it was coming up with was ‘Bobby looks well fit today’. Bloody useless.

“Well, keep thinking about possible candidates for master gum smuggler,” Reggie said after a while, giving Bobby a playful shove on his back.

“Will do, mate.” Bobby reached out his hand to shake Reggie’s, in a casual farewell. Reggie tried not to stare at where their hands touched, Bobby’s warm and comforting against his.

As he walked to the bus stop, he wondered how visible his blushing had been.

[harrysbbby]

Don’t Forget Where You Belong - JJ Maybank x Reader - Part Five

-Thank you guys so much for all the support on this series! I’ve gotten so many messages and comments with such nice feedback and I haven't had a chance to respond to them all so thank you! Also I think I got everyone on the tag list but if not let me know and if possible please ask to be added via my inbox just because it’s easier to keep a track of. anyway, please enjoy xx

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

The five of you sat on John B’s front porch. You had gathered there that morning after the discovery of his father’s compass, which John B and JJ had taken to Lana Grubbs for investagtion

“Her husband just die guys, give her at least a moment,” you had protested by the boys didn’t listen as they go in John B’s van and driven off.

They had now returned, and Pope and Kie had arrived, all somewhat engrossed in JJ’s dramatic retelling of what was had happened

“And we were right outside like this, and all we hear is just, "Bam! Bam! Bam!" Knocking paint off the wall, G! From the inside! All right? And I'm just looking at him, like…” JJ stopped mid sentence and he moved forward shaking his hair over the top off you,

“Wait, first off, look at this shit,” he ran his hands through his hair, white specks falling off on to your lap.

“That's dandruff, disgusting,” Kie said, mouth downturned in a look of repulsion.

“Ugh, JJ,” you scoffed, wiping your thighs as he stood back up looking around at all of you.

“That's paint,” he said, a look of dramatic seriousness on his face, “At that point, I was just, like... I'm waiting for death,” he finished.

“Wow, you’re not dramatic at all, JJ,” you said to him sarcastically. He shot you a look as if to say ‘it’s all true.’

“Oh, okay, so you saw the guys that shot at us, right?” Pope asked him, to which he nodded, “Did you get a good description of them?”

“Yeah, literally anything,” you added.

“Anything we can bring to a police report?” Pope asked.

“Burly,” JJ said curtly, turning back around to the group.

“Burly, that’s all you got?” you asked him.

“Yeah, you know like…”

“That’s not very helpful,” Kie cut him off.

“Okay, well, no, like the type of guy at my dad's garage,” he explained, “I mean, you guys know he made cargo hides for drug smugglers.

You and Kie spoke at the same time,

“Yeah. Yes. No, we know.

“We are, in fact, aware of this, JJ.”

He looked between the two of you before continuing. He leant back against the wall as he spoke, taking a melodramatic swig of his vape, “I can tell you with full confidence, these boys, these killers,” he exhaled, smoke emitting from his mouth, “they're square groupers.” He finished.

“They're square groupers,” Pope started, a very unimpressed look across his face, “like narco square grouper? Like Pablo Escobar square grouper?”

“Yeah, man.” JJ confirmed. You shook your head at the boy as you slumped further into your seat.

“You guys, not everything is a kingpin movie,” Kie deadpanned.

“What does this square grouper look like, specifically?” Pope asked again, still not convinced.

“You were’t there,” JJ defended

“You don’t know what to look for!” Pope fired back.

“Dude!” JJ exclaimed, “I wasn't taking little mental Polaroids the entire time. Man, I was under duress, okay?”

A puff of air left your nose as a long air laugh left the back of your throat. This boy, you swore to god…

JJ a playful glared at you before turning back to Pope, “But I can tell you... I can tell you by the way that Ms. Lana was screaming... that these guys are serious, serious hombres, man.” You caught John B looking down at the compass. “It's a heavy vibe right now, okay? I'm not liking this very much.”

“Okay, well we’ll let you calm down sweetheart,” you said to him in a sarcastic tone that was laced with actual concern. “Jesus Christ,” you whispered shaking your head as you turned to the group, specifically John B who had now turned his back o the group and continued to stare at the object,

“Why do they want the compass?” you asked.

“It’s a piece of shit,” Pope said insensitively, “You could pawn it off for 5 bucks if you wanted to.”

“Pope,” you started but he continued.

“No offense. I know it's in your family—”

“The office.” John B said, speaking for the first time.

“What?” Pope asked him.

“My dad’s office. He always kept the office locked because he was worried about his competitors stealing his Royal Merchant research,” you followed John B through his house and to the door of the locked room, “We used to laugh at him like he was gonna find it. But now that he's gone, I've just kinda... I just left it as he kept it.”

You could see the way he was staring at the door, a look of deep sadness and melancholy swimming through his eyes.

“For when he gets back.” You said, rubbing your hand along his arm.

“Yeah, for when he gets back,” Kie echoed your words immediately. You leant around John B’s body and shot a look at Pope and JJ. They looked at each other and back to you, almost as if they were confused. You rolled your eyes as John B unlocked the door.

You entered the room and took in all of the stuff in the room. Maps, files, all of it.

“I've slept over here like 600 times, and I've never seen this door opened.”

“Here,” John B said grabbing a cork board which showed the lifetime of the compass. He explained who each person was and how they all died in possession of the compass.

“You have a death compass,” Pope stated, looking directly at John B.

“I do not,” he defended, holding the object tighter in his hand. He looked around at the group for support but you scrunched up your face and shrugged- it did seem cursed.

“You have a death compass,” Pope repeated.

“Get rid of it,” JJ ordered.

“It’s cursed, and it’s made its way back to you,” Pope and JJ continued to jeer and John B moved away from you all and sat down. He flicked the compass over in his hands.

“Look, my dad used to talk about this compartment in here,” you all gathered around to watch what he was doing. “Soldiers used it to hide secret notes.”

Something fell out and revealed writing across the inside of the compass.

“What’s that?” Kie asked, you and her both leaning forward over John B’s shoulder to get a better look. JJ’s head came close to yours as he bent his neck around to have a look.

“That wasn't there before,” John B stated, looking at the word, “This is my dad's handwriting.”

“How can you know that?” Pope asked sceptically.

“Because he does these weird Rs. See?”

“Can I see it?” JJ asked, placing a hand on your back to move further around to read the word. He hair obstructed your view as he leaned across you. “"Red—Rout—”

You moved his hair to the side, popping in below him to look up at him, “it says Redfield.” You clarified, ruffling his hair as you sat moved back out of his hair.

“Right,” he said sheepishly.

“Okay, well, what's Redfield?” Kie asked.

Answers were thrown around about what the common word could mean. Everyone began talking over one another, coupled with the rooster crowing very loudly. Pope was trying to work when he said,

“How can you concentrate with that thing crowing at you?”

“Awww,” you cooed sticking your bottom lip out, “JJ loves the rooster.” You smiled up at him as you leaned in closer. He smiled down at you as he laughed, leaning his head down closer to yours.

“I love the rooster,” Kie echoed.

“Let me think.” Pope cut all of you off, growing frustrated. He kept throwing around random before John B’s frantic voice cut him off.

“Guys!”

He drew your attention to the black car that had pulled into the drive, and the two men that exited it.

“Guys, guys, is that them?” Kie started freaking out.

“Shit,” You mumbled.

“No, no!” JJ started to freak out running his hands through his hair. You grabbed his wrists trying to calm him down.

“This is suboptimal,” Pope commented.

“John B I told you,” JJ continued to pace, you moving along with him trying to get him to compose himself.

“JJ, look at me,” you said. He immediately swivelled and looked at you, before John B’s arm covered your face from hi vision, stepping forward to talk to him.

“Where's the gun?”

“Gun? I, uh, I can't—” JJ spluttered, mind running a million miles an hour.

“Now you don't have the gun, the one time we need the gun?” Kie’s shrill voice came from behind you.

You reached your arm out to JJ who was still stressfully heaving.

“Just think, JJ” you said calmly. At your words he took a deep breath.

“It was in my backpack, and then I— on the porch,” he realised looking up at John B.

“On the porch,” John B confirmed pushing him towards the door. You brough your arms up to your chest as you felt anxiety corse through your veins as JJ stepped outside.

“John Routledge!” a booming voice came from outside. JJ skidded to a halt and turn around hastily, running back to the rom and slamming the door behind him.

“They’re on the front porch, guys,” he said.

You let out an involuntary whimper as you and Kie huddled together in fear. You could hear the two men trashing the palce.

“We have to leave.” Kie said.

“Window,” you said, pointing to the only window in the room. Pope and JJ rushed to try and prise it open.

“Hurry,” Kie urged them, she moved over to them as you and John B had your backs pressed against the door, holding it in place,

“what’s taking so long?” Kie asked them.

“It’s painted shut, okay,” JJ said aggressively as Kie moved to find something to slice through the paint. She got the letter opener and began to saw around the edge. Pope moved with you and John B to stand as a shield with the door.

“Come on,” JJ said frantically,”

“I’m going as fast as I can!” Kie exclaimed, fingers moving qucikly.

You and John B shushed them. You felt a harsh force on your back and you and John B pushed against the door as the man banged on it.

“You better not be in there!”

Kie finally got the window opeed and started to climb out. JJ grabbed your hand and dragged you with him. He climbed out of the window first before helping you down, hands around your waist. John B and Pope came after you as you all followed Kie into the oly hiding spot you could find: the chicken coop.  

The five of you sat inside, makig the chickens and rooster cluck loudly. You could feel your chest rising heavily as you struggled to catch you breath. John B was watching through the cracks and you could tell the men had exited the house as he tensed.

The chickens clucking rose louder and louder.

“Do something, Pope,” Kie said as he was the closest to the crowing rooster. “Shut him up.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Pet it, or talk to it,” she said frantically, tears streaming down her face, “I don't know.”

You could hear footsteps near the car. Tears welled in your eyes as you could feel your heart beating. JJ was next to you, and grabbed your hand. You looked at him and he nodded. A reassurance. You’d be okay. You nodded back.

The rooster only continued to get louder. John B sat back as he tried to hide after he heard the truck boot slam shut and one of the men start to walk over towards the coop.

You held bated breath. The rooster fluttered its wings and flew towards you and JJ.

JJ grabbed it and held it to the ground. It continued to crow loudly. Until you heard a sickening crack. The rooster went limp as JJ hurriedly let go.

You let out a quivering breath. Kie was sobbing quietly. JJ leant back and looked at you, only to see tears running down each side of your face. His eyes started to rim red as his breath became shaky. There was almost silence until you heard the men yell, their car start and drive away.

None of you moved for a moment, letting the adrenaline settle down.

You all crawled out of the chicken coop and JJ immediately made a beeline away from all of you. The four of you all looked at each other, before their eyes turned to you. You nodded, following JJ to where he stood in John B’s backyard, kicking stones.

You stood in front of him for a while. He looked up at you.

“What?” he asked forcefully, kicking another rock with your shoe.

“Just making sure you’re alright.” You said, crossing your arms across your chest, watching him.

“M fine,” he mumbled.

“JJ, you started.

“I saw the way you looked at me,” he said strongly ceasing his movements to look at you.

You sighed.

“I’m a bad person,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets, refusing to meet your eyes.

You slowly moved towards him. You wrapped your arms slowly around his shoulders, until he relaxed and allowed you to fully envelope yourself around him.

“You’re not a bad person, J,” you said quietly, rubbing his back. “You’re a person who gets put into terrible situations without right or wrong,” you said pulling back and holding him at arm’s length. “Was what just happened horrible? Yes.” You told him truthfully, “but it doesn’t make me think any less of you.”

His eyebrows raised as you spoke, looking at you incredulously.

“Just shows me you would do anything to save your friends.”

He nodded at your words, wiping his nose and sniffing before rolling his shoulders back.

“Are you ready to go back to the rest of the group?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, relatively confidently. You smiled as he began walking next to you, returning slowly to himself.

You skipped along next to him, “you owe John B a rooster, you know.”

“Y/N,” he said sternly, but the sides of his mouths twitched as he suppressed a smile.

You spoke coyly, bringing a single finger to the side of your mouth as you teased him, “What? Too soon?”

Tag List:

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[thesetrashimagines]

Do you mind?

A Haikyuu!! Imagine (reader insert)

Warnings: none

GIF is not mine

AN: So I’ve been rewatching a lot of animes recently and...the inspiration is killing me. I might write more of this idea if people like it BUT do not worry our reguarly scheduled (thats a fat lie) ‘The Man’ will continue, part 10 is currently in the works. I hope everybody enjoys this, thanks <3 :)

Being new sucked, a lot. Especially when you transfer in the middle of the school year. Everybody already had a few months to get to know each other and now here you were sticking out like a lonely thumb.

You walked down the semi-empty halls until you came to a cork board with papers covering it and the words ‘Karasuno School Clubs!’, bolded at the top. There were simple white ones, some blue, a few were yellow, and to your surprise there even was a red one. But the poster that caught your attention was, ‘Karasuno High School Volleyball Club’ You hummed quietly to yourself, ‘Maybe I should check it out.’

---------------------

You stared the gym doors infront of you, the sounds of thuds against the floor and sneakers squeeking escaped from inside. Taking a breath you climbed the stairs and slid the door open.

Boys.

The gym was filled with boys.

“Oh,” The group of boys all stopped and stared at you, “is this the volleyball club?” A boy with short brown hair came forward. “Yeah we’re the volleyball club, how can we help you?” You bowed slighty, “My names L/n Y/n and I’m here to join.” The boy in front of you looked shocked for a moment, “Uh, I’m Daichi Sawamura, captain of the boys’ volleyball team.” You straightened up and looked at him surprised, “Boys? There are separate teams?” His eyebrows furrowed for a second, “Yeah we have practice everyday and the girls have practice Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Did you read the club sheet?” Your ears grew hot, “I saw the poster and looked for a gym.” Your eyes went to behind him and you made eye contact with the rest of the team. “So no mixed teams...man that sucks.” You groaned a little.

“Mixed teams?” You jumped lightly and looked to the side where a dark haired boy stood next to a wide eyed ginger. “Oh, uh back at my old school there wasn’t enough kids to split into separate teams so the coaches just made one team.”

“That’s so cool!” You gave a small smile to the boy with orange hair. “Did you play against other teams?” You nodded, “There was only 4 girls on the team so we ended up playing against other boy teams a lot but there was a few times we versed girl teams.” His eyes somehow shined brighter, “Wow! That’s so cool!” A tall blonde boy with glasses scoffed, “You said that already Hinata. Try expanding on your vocabulary.” You bit back the laugh that climbed your throat as the ginger turned to the lanky boy and started yelling at him.

“Wait you were on a mixed team?” This time a boy with grey hair asked as he came up to stand next to his captain, “Yeah we were a pretty small school so the coaches took whoever was willing to play.” His mouth opened a little, “Oh that’s so cool.” You laughed a little, “I guess so.” You scratched the back of your neck, “Well this was embarrassing,” You sighed and looked at the volleyballs littering the floor, you wanted to play so bad. “But if you don’t embarrass yourself once then are you really new?” The two boys in front of you shared a laugh.

“That makes sense why you came to join now rather then at the beginning of school.” You laughed a little at Daichi’s words, “Yeah I was told go to the club board and I saw the words volleyball and I guess got excited since it’s been a few months since I’ve played.”

“Do you wanna practice with us?” Both you and the captain looked at the grey headed boy in surprise, “Wha- I, I mean I would like to but I don’t want to impose or get you in trouble with your coach.” Daichi opened his mouth to speak but the boy next to him waved you off, “Ah don’t worry coach Ukai won’t mind.” Your jaw dropped, “Coach Uk-” You closed your mouth and cleared your throat, “When he shows up I’ll leave,” You turned to the captain, “If that’s okay with you?”

“Let her join Daichi!” “Yeah Daichi let her play!” “Come on Daichi!”

The gym echoed as the team pestered their captian. He let out a chuckle, “You can come practice with us.” You smiled brightly and bowed, “Thank you!”

---------------------

Since you didn’t have your gym gear you had to borrow a pair of joggers and a spare shirt the boys had found in the club room. You walked back into the gym, “How do they fit?” You pulled the waistband up a little, “They fit alright. Good enough for now.” Daichi smiled, “Alright go warm up and we’ll start.”

Coming out of your stretches the ginger haired boy came up to you, “My names Shoyo Hinata and I’m a middle blocker.” You stood up, “A middle blocker? You must be good at jumping then.” His eyes widened a little, “Yeah! I can jump super high!” He jumped and landed back down. You stared at him in amazement, “Wow you can get super high! Higher then I thought!” The rest of the team watched the two of you.

“He’s gonna be on a high this whole practice.” Asahi looked at Suga and chuckled, “Yeah.”

The team decided to play a few rallies. You were buzzing, the ends of your fingertips tingled as you waited to get in the game. “Okay Y/n you can be on Kageyamas team.” You nodded and walked to his side of the court. On your team there was you, Kageyama, Hinata, and Tanaka. It was a game of 4 on 4. The other team consisted of Asahi, Tsukishima, Nishinoya, and Tadashi.

You and Tanaka took the back row, “Asahi’s serving first.” The ball was passed to him and he got ready to serve.

You took a deep breath and bent your knees. Judging by him being the biggest player on the team, muscle mass wise, you guessed he was the ace, meaning this serve was gonna be fast. Asahi tossed the ball up and began to run, you took a few steps backwards. With a loud slap the ball flew towards you, well more like the back line but you were in the way. If you moved to the side the ball would go out but you wanted to play it, the only problem was that the ball was coming at your chest, it was too high for a bump and too low for an overhand. It would be too low for an overhand if you didn’t jump.

You crouched lowed and jumped off the balls of your feet. Your hands came up to in front of your forehead where they aborsbed the impact and speed of the ball, you took control of the projectile and sent it up with a high arc to Kageyama. “Nice recieve!” You landed on your feet and smiled, “Thanks.”

He tossed it to Hinata who was already in the air ready for the spike and then in split second his hit the ball and smashed onto the court. You stared in shock, “Wow...” Tanaka laughed next you, “That’s our crazy quick attack, pretty cool huh?” You nodded your head figerously, “That was awesome! How’d you do that?” The two boys at the front turned to face you, “I just jump really high and Kageyama sends the ball like WHOOSH and I hit it like BAM.” You looked between the boys in awe, “Wow...Kageyama do you think you could toss me one like that?” The gym went quiet for a moment, “I don’t mean to sound rude but you can’t jump nearly as high as he can.” You deflated a little then gave a look, “You saw me jump once and automatically assumed that was my highest point?” With your hands on your hips you laughed, “You know what, underestimate me cause I’m gonna love the look on your face when I surprise you.”

You walked backwards and stood behind the back line, catching the ball when it was thrown to you. Taking a deep breath you read the court, Nishinoya was their libero so you couldn’t send it to him. Tsukishima naturally walked to front row in the beginning so he had to be a blocker or a setter. Tadashi seemed like he was out of place, not like he didn’t know what he was doing but you could tell that he wasn’t in his usual position and to be honest you didn’t want to aim for Asahi, wheres the fun in going for the ace?

You hit the ball of the ground and spun the ball in your hand four times before you tossed the ball up. You ran then jumped, hitting the ball at a very awkward angle. The ball spun slowly as it zipped threw the air, you watched Tsukishima and Asahi stumble as they tried to decided where the ball was gonna land and what kind of hit to make. But they weren’t fast enough, the ball passed the net and shot down directly at Tsukishimas feet, landing right in between his shoes.

“WAAAAAA WHAT KIND SERVE WAS THAT!?” Hinata and Nishinoya were freaking out. “I don’t know, a normal pin point serve?” Tanaka gaped at you, “That was a pin point serve!? But the way it moved was like a float serve but then the direction-” You broke your gaze with Tanaka and looked to Kageyama who still had the same expression as always, “Nice serve.” You smiled brightly, “Thank you but I still want a toss from you.” He didn’t say anything and turned back to the net.

The game went back and forth for a while before Daichi changed out players. Now you, Daichi, Sugawara, and Ennoshita were on a team. Kageyama, Tsukishima, Tanaka, and Hinata made up the other team. You may have asked to be put against the dynamic duo.

“Hey Sugawara,” You placed a hand on your cheek, covering your mouth, and whispered to the setter, “Could you toss me a ball, just one? please?” He laughed and copied your action, “Call me Suga and yeah I’ll toss you one.” You gave him a smile, “Thanks Suga.”

Tsukishima threw the ball up and hit it over the net. You heard Nishinoya call for the ball and then the ball arced its way up and over to Suga, “Right here!” You threw your hands behind yourself, crouched and took off straight up. You watched as the ball came over to you. You couldn’t go towards Tsukishima because that’s where Kageyama and Tanaka think you’ll go, you’ve been staring at it long enough to give them idea. The back right corner, right next to Hinata, was open but the target was really small. The way Hinata was facing you, his body covered up most of the court but that little sliver of white line gave you hope.

You had jumped with your right hand pulled back but with the decision to send it towards Hinata, you had to turn your palm slightly as you came to the peak of the toss before hitting it. The ball wasn’t as fast or as hard as you would’ve liked but that didn’t matter. Hinata tried to bump the ball but instead the ball went over him and bounced off the top of his head and out of bounds.

“Damn it, I could’ve hit that harder.” You whined, “Did you aim for that idiot?” You faced the net and met Kageyama’s steel eyes, “Yeah obivsouly.” His face scrunched, “Tch-” You giggled, “I know I’m not that impressive Kageyama so, you shouldn’t be so beat up that you couldn’t read me.” You beamed at him, “I even had Tsukishima thinking I was gonna aim for him.” The blonde in the back glared back at you, “That was nothing but pure luck.” You rose your eyebrows teasingly, “Was it?”

You had gotten back in your positions as Ennoshita got ready to serve. The ball made it over then was bumped up to Kageyama by Tsukishima, you watched as Hinata started to run forward but so did Tanaka. ‘A synchronized attack? These guys know their stuff.’ You smiled and took a step off the net then looked to Suga, he glanced at you in confusion for a spilt second but in that split second he could read the message you were sending. You looked to his side of court, taking the hint, he nodded and stepped to the side, leaving the middle wide open.

“What are you doing?!” You ignored Diachi and watched Kageyama set the ball to Tanaka, “Right!” You and Suga jumped up and blocked Tanakas ball. “Yeah!” You and Suga high fived in a celebration. “I didn’t think that would work!” You laughed, “I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t either. You guys are a really good team.” You rubbed the back of your neck.

“Those were some nice rallies.” Everybody spun towards the gym doors, there stood a man with bleached blonde hair and two girls were behind him. ‘Is that their coach?’ He smiled at you, “Where’d you learn to do all of that?” You told him what middle school you went to. “Oh I know your old coaches. We used to be on the same team!” He laughed and walked further into the gym, “I’m coach Ukai.” You introduced yourself, “I was only here to play for a bit, sorry for taking up practice time.” You bowed apologetically, “I’ll be leaving now. Thank you for letting me join in.” You gave the boys around you a kind smile, “It was nice meeting all of you.”

As you went over to your school bag the team huddled around their coach and whispers filled the gym. 

“She’s a really good player, please can she stay?”

“I want her to teach me that serve she did, it was awesome!”

“She tricked Kageyama!”, “Shut up!”

“Pleeeeeeeease coach?”

Ukai looked at the pleading eyes staring at him, “You’re not just asking me cause she’s a girl?” Tanaka stopped mid sentence and coughed, “No why would I? Besides my heart resides with Kiyo-” The rest of the team ignored him.

“She has skill and I want to prove her wrong.” Ukai met Kageyamas eyes and saw Tsukishima nod behind him, “As much as I don’t want to agree with him, she pulled a move I’ve never seen before and I want to stop it next time.”

Ukai nodded and turned to the door where you were about to leave, “Hey Y/n!” You stopped and looked over at the huddled group, “Do you mind staying for practice?”

Your eyes widened, ‘Do I mind? Wha-’ The girl blonde girl from earlier perked up, “Oh that’d be so cool to see you play. You’re really good!”

“Oh uhmm thanks, I’m not that good.” You waved your hand around, “You guys have been giving me way too much praise.” The other girl with glasses joined in, “I know this isn’t the girls practice but,” She looked over her shoulder to the group of boys who were standing there watching you. “They won’t stop unless you stay.” The stare the boys were giving you made a shiver run up your spine, “Yeah I can tell from that look.” You shook off the feeling, “You really don’t mind coach Ukai?”

He shook his head and smiled, “Come on it’ll be fun.”

Guess they didn’t mind after all.

And that’s that. There’s been so many ideas circling my brain that I needed to write something and who knows if people like it I might write a part 2 😗 Anyways thanks for reading, hoped you enjoyed it! <3

[myonechicagoworld]

CHICAGO FIRE – A COFFIN THAT SMALL (S01E19)

 [TRIGGER WARNING: kid trapped in laundry chute gif under the cut]

Matt Casey: Hey.

Heather Darden: I am so sorry. I completely zonked out.

Matt Casey: No worries. I didn’t want to wake you.

Heather Darden: What time is it?

Matt Casey: Uh, 7:00.

Heather Darden: Oops, I, uh, I have to pick up the boys from

                              grandma’s.

Matt Casey: Okay.

Heather Darden: Uh, the baking dish is still dirty, so I’m gonna

                              wash it.

Matt Casey: I’ll clean it.

Heather Darden: Matt.

Matt Casey: I saw this swing set fort type thing at True Value.

                      I’ve been meaning to build it for Griffin and Ben.

                      I’ll bring it and the dish by after shift. If that’s cool

                      with you.

Heather Darden: Thank you, you’re… that’s very sweet.

Matt Casey: Oh, come on.

Heather Darden: Mind if I use your bathroom?

Matt Casey: Of course.

                                    [knocks on door]

Kelly Severide: Hey.

Matt Casey: Hey.

Kelly Severide: My dad wanted me to drop that off. His way of

                          apologising for you catching that elbow.

Matt Casey: Thanks.

Kelly Severide: All right, well, I-I’ll see you at the house.

Heather Darden: Do you have any mouthwash?

Matt Casey: Eh… it’s not what you…

                      Hey.

                      Hey! It’s not what you think!

Kelly Severide: Yeah, I’m sure you’ve got it all figured out.

                                   [car door slams, engine starts]

                                                     cutscene

Christopher Herrmann: Hey! Any of you guys know John Pritchard,

                                         or are you all too young?

Matt Casey: He was gone before I came on, but I heard stories.

Mouch: Piece of work, that one.

Otis Zvonecek: What, he died or something?

Christopher Herrmann: Yeah! You know, Boden, Mouch and me,

                                          we all knew him back in the day. He

                                          must have been 20 years older than

                                          Boden if that tells you anything.

Otis Zvonecek: What did he die of?

Christopher Herrmann: Old man stuff. I don’t know.

Matt Casey: [chuckles]

Christopher Herrmann: Funeral is tomorrow up at Grayslake.

Otis Zvonecek: Are you guys going?

Christopher Herrmann: Yeah, I guess, you know? We should

                                         pay our respects.

Matt Casey: All right. Hydrant’s good to go.

Christopher Herrmann: [grunts]

                                         Peter Mills, you get to flush the next

                                         one.

Mouch: By the way, saikensha wa saimusha yori kioku yoshi.

Otis Zvonecek: What the hell’s that?

Mouch: You bet me I couldn’t say a sentence in Japanese. I just

              said one. You owe me 20 bucks.

Joe Cruz: [chuckles]

Otis Zvonecek: Okay. (A) I don’t remember that. And (B) how do

                           I know you’re not just speaking gibberish?

Mouch: It’s a sentence.

Otis Zvonecek: What’s it mean?

Mouch: Pay me 20 bucks, I’ll tell you.

Otis Zvonecek: Ridiculous. You tell me and…

Boy 1: Help! Help!

            He fell!

            We were playing hide and seek upstairs.

Victim 1 (Little boy): [groans]

Matt Casey: Hang on. We’re coming.

Victim 1 (Little boy): [strangled grunts]

                                                 - title -

Joe Cruz: (into radio) This is 81. I need a paramedic across from

                  our firehouse.

Dispatcher: (over radio) What’s the address?

Joe Cruz: (into radio) Look for our lights!

                  Let’s go, bro!

Peter Mills: Hit it!

                                        [siren wailing]

Victim 1 (Little boy): [strangled grunts/breathing]

Matt Casey: His neck’s twisted. He can’t breathe.

Boy 1: I told Taye not to go in that chute. He knows better.

Matt Casey: Come with me.

                      All right, we have to get through this block.

                                             [buzzing]

Boy 1: [crying]

                                         [sirens wailing]

Matt Casey: (over radio) 61, we need you on the second floor.

                      It’s a child.

Gabby Dawson: What’s going on?

Otis Zvonecek: Kid hid in the laundry chute.

Joe Cruz: Mills, get in here.

Peter Mills: Yeah!

                                             [drilling]

Lady 1 (Mom): Dougie?

Boy 1 (Dougie): [cries] I told him infinity times not to hide in

                           there [cries]

                                 [indistinct chatter]

Matt Casey: Okay let’s peel back the front.

Lady 1 (Mom): Taye?

Chief Boden: Ma’am. Ma’am, don’t look.

Lady 1 (Mom): [gasps]

Chief Boden: We’ll get him out. Let them work.

Matt Casey: Get his head.

Lady 1 (Mom): Dougie… Honey, go upstairs.

Chief Boden: Okay.

Lady 1 (Mom): Oh God. Oh Lord.

Matt Casey: Let’s back him out.

Chief Boden: Don’t look.

Lady 1 (Mom): [cries]

Joe Cruz: [grunts]

                 Grab his legs.

Otis Zvonecek: He’s conscious but barely.

Lady 1 (Mom): Taye! [cries]

Chief Boden: Okay, okay. Okay.

Lady 1 (Mom): [cries]

Joe Cruz: Grab his legs.

Lady 1 (Mom): Taye.

Leslie Shay: Let’s board him quickly.

Chief Boden: Hold on to me.

Lady 1 (Mom): [sobs]

Gabby Dawson: One, two, three.

                                                  [grunting]

Gabby Dawson: You the mother?

Lady 1 (Mom): Yes.

Gabby Dawson: You can ride in the back with me. Let’s go.

Chief Boden: Go on.

                                                cutscene

Gabby Dawson: I’ll be right back.

                            What have you heard?

Lady 1 (Mom): Um… the doctor says it looks bad. It’s a

                          damaged windpipe, so his brain was…

                          without oxygen.

Gabby Dawson: Well, they’ve got great surgeons here. They’ll

                             do everything they can.

Lady 1 (Mom): You know… Taye has been to your firehouse.

Gabby Dawson: Oh yeah?

Lady 1 (Mom): Yeah. His whole class went on a field trip last fall

                          when the school year started. It was all he could

                          talk about for days [chuckles] [sniffs]

                          He said he wants to be a fireman, help people.

Gabby Dawson: That’s… that’s sweet.

Lady 1 (Mom): [sniffs] Gangs are always calling, but he won’t bite.

                         He’s gonna be straight and narrow, and I believe

                         that.

Gabby Dawson: I’m sure he will.

Lady 1 (Mom): [sniffles] Thank you.

                                               cutscene

Matt Casey: You gotta be kidding me.

Mouch: I don’t know if I can handle another season like the

              last one.

Christopher Herrmann: Hope springs eternal.

Mouch: Hope never met a Sox September.

Otis Zvonecek: Yeah, well at least you guys have a series win

                           in the last century. Try being a Cubs fan.

Christopher Herrmann: There’s plenty of room on the

                                         bandwagon if you want to move to

                                         the south side.

Otis Zvonecek: Yeah. What are you, Pouch? You Cubs or Sox,

                           huh?

Christopher Herrmann: Look at her feet. She’s definitely a

                                         White Sox fan.

Joe Cruz: Guys, put a cork in it. I’m trying to listen to the

                 Hawk.

Mouch: Saikensha wa saimusha yori kioku yoshi.

Otis Zvonecek: What does that mean?

Matt Casey: Hey, if they score, come get me.

Otis Zvonecek: [muttering] Saikensha… Sai…

Chief Boden: Hey Lieutenant. I want to bring you up to speed

                       on what Kelly’s just filled me in on.

Kelly Severide: I’m gonna push to fast-track Peter Mills to

                          Squad. The youngest anyone’s every made

                          it was 23.

Matt Casey: You.

Kelly Severide: I think Mills can break the record. And I talked

                          to Chief Walker over at District, and he thinks it

                          would be great for CFD morale.

Matt Casey: Is that what you think, Chief? Great for morale?

Chief Boden: As long as he qualifies.

Matt Casey: Well, sounds like you guys have all the answers.

                                              cutscene

Peter Mills: You wanted to see me, Chief?

Chief Boden: As you’re aware, Lieutenant Severide thinks

                       that you’ll make a strong addition to Rescue

                       Squad.

                                          [door closes]

Peter Mills: Yes.

Chief Boden: I just want to hear your take on it.

Peter Mills: I’m gonna bust my ass to make it happen.

Chief Boden: Why?

Peter Mills: I’m sorry?

Chief Boden: Why’s it so important to you?

Peter Mills: ‘Cause I want to be an elite firefighter, sir.

Chief Boden: And this has got nothing to do with your

                       father?

Peter Mills: No, sir.

                    This has nothing to do with what my father did

                     or did not do with his time at the CFD. This is

                     about me

Chief Boden: Well, since you’ve been here you’ve put on ten

                        pounds. Which, from where I sit, doesn’t look

                        like a candidate willing to bust his ass.

                        [slurps]

                                             [door closes]

Gabby Dawson: Hey, how’s it going?

Peter Mills: Been better.

Gabby Dawson: You need me to take care of someone? Give

                             me a name.

Peter Mills: Not now.

                                               cutscene

Matt Casey: Heather Darden and me, we’re just friends. She

                      came over to talk and fell asleep on my couch.

Kelly Severide: Right. Got it.

Matt Casey: I don’t know what you want me to say here.

Kelly Severide: I saw what I saw, Casey. Sell your clean whistle

                          act to someone else, ‘cause I ain’t buying.

Matt Casey: You can’t imagine you might be wrong about

                      something, can you?

Kelly Severide: I can imagine a lot of things, just not the idea

                          of you rolling around with Andy’s widow.

Matt Casey: Come on.

Kelly Severide: Explain to me why Heather barely talks to me,

                          but she’ll sleep with you, even though you’re

                          the guy who put her husband through that

                          window?

                                            [gunshots]

                                            [shouting]

                                       [glass shattering]

Firefighter: Get down!

                    Get down!

                                            [gunshots]

Christopher Herrmann: What the hell is going on in here?

                                        [tires squealing]

Chief Boden: You okay?

Kelly Severide: Yeah.

Chief Boden: Casey, are you okay?

Matt Casey: Yeah.

Chief Boden: What the hell is going on here, Detective? This

                        has always been a neighbourhood house.

Man 1 (Det. Ben Vikan): You tell me. No run-ins recently? No

                                         fires where one of your guys tried to

                                         pop off to the local…

Chief Boden: No.

Christopher Herrmann: We’re not cops. People are happy to

                                         see a firefighter show up.

Man 1 (Det. Ben Vikan): Could this be Voight related?

Matt Casey: Voight?

Man 1 (Det. Ben Vikan): When it comes to gang violence, the

                                         man has a long reach. He’s got a

                                         dismissal hearing soon.

Matt Casey: Not like Voight to stir up the nest if he’s trying to

                      free himself.

Joe Cruz: Man, why don’t you pick up one of these bangers

                  for something small and trade the bust for what

                  they know about the shooters?

Man 1 (Det. Ben Vikan): Corner boys in this neighbourhood

                                         are good. We can’t catch them with

                                         the drugs and make the bust stick.

                                         We’ll keep our ears to the ground.

                                         In the meantime, I’ll make sure we

                                         have a conspicuous police presence

                                         around the station.

Chief Boden: Meaning what?

Man 1 (Det. Ben Vikan): Put a special detail on it. Squad

                                         outside. Officer posted in the 

                                         house.

Firefighters: [muttering in disagreement]

Chief Boden: Well, that’s fine. So long as the men are safe.

Otis Zvonecek: [sighs]

Chief Boden: What?

Christopher Herrmann: Cops in the house is a bad precedent.

                                        Sends a message to the good residents

                                        around here that… we’re not a safe

                                        haven.

Mouch: You rather have one of us be killed?

Christopher Herrmann: Of course not.

Chief Boden: We will let the police handle their business, and

                        we… will handle ours.

Joe Cruz: [sighs]

                                          cutscene

                                [police radio chatter]

Otis Zvonecek: Never seen anything like this before.

Joe Cruz: So much for being the neighbourhood’s house.

                                     [engine starts]

                                   [dramatic music]

                                         cutscene

Lady 2 (Barista): Here you go.

Leslie Shay: Thanks.

Kelly Severide: Thanks.

Leslie Shay: Yeah.

Kelly Severide: Hey, any word on that kid pulled out of the

                           laundry chute?

Leslie Shay: I haven’t heard anything yet.

                      Hey, what’s going on with you and Casey? It

                      seemed like…

Kelly Severide: Oh, I don’t… I don’t want to talk about Casey.

Leslie Shay: Okay, fine. We’ll just enjoy watching you two

                      mark your territory.

Kelly Severide: Ah…

Leslie Shay: So what do you want to talk about?

Kelly Severide: So how would this work? With the, um…

                           insemination?

Leslie Shay: Well… basically, you know, I’d get a hormone

                      injection once a day for 12 days to boost

                      ovulation, then we’d go to a clinic where they

                      have rooms set aside for collection. Meaning

                      you know, they give you magazines or

                      whatever and you go in and do your business.

Kelly Severide: I mean, I get that part

                                         [chuckling]

Kelly Severide: How much does it cost?

Leslie Shay: Uh, all-in, 10 grandish.

Kelly Severide: 10 grand, are you serious?

Leslie Shay: Yeah.

Kelly Severide: You have that kind of cash?

Leslie Shay: I’m gonna stretch some card limits and cobble

                      it together.

Kelly Severide: I’m in.

                                            [laughter]

                                            cutscene

Christopher Herrmann: What?

Mouch: You picked him up first?

Christopher Herrmann: Just get in.

Mouch: Now I gotta stare at the back of your head for an

              hour?

Christopher Herrmann: Yeah.

Mouch: Guess it’s better than getting shot at at the

              firehouse.

Boden & Herrmann: [laughs]

                                               [laughter]

Chief Boden: So I come home, try to climb in through the

                        window, but it’s shut. It’s locked.Oh, okay. I

                        thought I got a clean getaway, but no. Now

                        I gotta go around and ring on the damn

                        doorbell.

                                                [laughter]

Chief Boden: My old man, he’s just sitting in his chair.

                       Waiting for me. For hours.

Mouch: 3 o’clock in the morning.

Chief Boden: Alcohol on my breath

Mouch: Ooh! [laughs]

Chief Boden: He just stares at me, hard as nails. He says,

                       “boy, you got four choices where you’re going

                        to college… Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines…

                        pick one.”

Mouch: Wow.

Chief Boden: [scoffs]

Christopher Herrmann: At least your old man gave a damn.

Mouch: Oh, Bill Herrmann wasn’t so bad. I’m friends with

              Chris’s older brother, Larry. Your dad would throw

               the ball with us when he was home.

Christopher Herrmann: Larry did not disappoint him the way

                                         that I did.

Chief Boden: You never told me about your dad.

Christopher Herrmann: Aw, sold luggage to department

                                        stores all over the Midwest. He

                                        was on the road more than he

                                         was home.

Chief Boden: Is that right?

Christopher Herrmann: He wanted me to chase him into

                                         the business like my brother

                                         Larry did, so naturally I took the

                                         fireman’s test.

                                               [chuckling]

Christopher Herrmann: They got this whole thing…

                                         Larry and my dad.

                                         I don’t talk to him that much

                                         anymore.

Mouch: You should call him.

Christopher Herrmann: I should. It’d be that much worse

                                         when he didn’t call me back.

                                            cutscene

Gabby Dawson: [panting]

Peter Mills: What are you doing here?

Gabby Dawson: Maybe being quiet and keeping to

                            yourself is how it works in the Mills

                            family, but that’s not how the Dawsons

                             Dawsons do it.

Peter Mills: Is that so?

Gabby Dawson: Look, if you want to fly solo, you better do it

                             in bed with your eyes closed, okay? But if

                             you want to train for Squad, you better get

                             ready to talk while you run, ‘cause I’m

                             coming with you.

                             Hey. I want to be a part of whatever comes your

                             way.

Peter Mills: Well, then you better tie your shoes first.

Gabby Dawson: Oh!

Peter Mills: [laughs]

Gabby Dawson: [laughs] Oh I’m gonna get you!

                                          cutscene

Chief Boden: This is the right time, right?

Christopher Herrmann: Paper said 3:30.

                             [organ playing in background]

Christopher Herrmann: Excuse me, is this the Pritchard

                                         funeral?

Man 2 (Mortician): Yes. Yes, we’re about to get underway.

Christopher Herrmann: Oh.

Man 2 (Mortician): Have a seat.

Mouch: Thanks.

Chief Boden: Thanks.

Christopher Herrmann: Are you kidding me with this? Didn’t

                                         he have, like, five sons?

Mouch: Yeah.

Christopher Herrmann: Where’s his family?

Man 3 (Preacher): Welcome, friends. We’re all here today not

                                to grieve but to celebrate the life of…

                                John Aaron Pritchard. Matthew 5:4 says,

                                “Blessed are they who mourn for they

                                shall be comforted.”

Mouch: Let’s get outta here.

Chief Boden: Amen.

Christopher Herrmann: So, like, I mean, that’s it? I mean

                                         what… half a dozen people, and

                                         no family, and a preacher who

                                         doesn’t even know his name

                                         without looking at the program?

                                         And where’s the truck with a half-

                                         raised ladder and salute to a fallen

                                         firefighter?

Chief Boden: Chris…

Christopher Herrmann: No, I’m serious. What’s my funeral

                                         gonna be like when I kick it? Or

                                         yours, Mouch, huh?

Mouch: Doubt I’ll care.

Christopher Herrmann: All the same, he deserved a funeral

                                         with respect for all of his service.

                                         And just because he waited a dozen

                                         years to die and moved out to the

                                         sticks doesn’t mean that he wasn’t a

                                         hero.

Chief Boden: Let’s go.

Mouch: Shotgun!

Christopher Herrmann: This… this ain’t right! Grr!

                                               cutscene

                               [indistinct police radio chatter]

Matt Casey: Any word on the shooters?

Uniformed Cop: Nada.

Matt Casey: How was the funeral?

Christopher Herrmann: What’s worse than terrible? It

                                         was that.

Peter Mills: [groans]

Otis Zvonecek: What?

Peter Mills: Oven’s busted.

Christopher Herrmann: What? Blender is too.

                                                [buzzing]

Joe Cruz: Bad news. Remember that kid from last shift?

                  Trapped in the laundry chute?

Otis Zvonecek: Yeah?

Joe Cruz: Didn’t make it.

Gabby Dawson: He came here, this kid. He was here on a

                            class field trip.

                            He told his mom he wanted to be a fireman

                            when he got home.

Peter Mills: Wow, I recognise him. It was my first day. You

                    guys had me give the tour.

Otis Zvonecek: [exhales] Man I remember that.

Joe Cruz: Funeral’s on Friday.

Christopher Herrmann: Hey pop, it’s Christopher. Just…

                                         checking in. I know it’s been a

                                         while, and… anyway just call

                                         me back.

                                                 cutscene

Kelly Severide: You know what the worst part is?

Matt Casey: What is the worst part, Kelly?

Kelly Severide: That you don’t have enough sack to

                           admit you’re sleeping with Heather.

                           At least come clean.

Matt Casey: Keep walking. I’m done explaining myself.

Kelly Severide: You haven’t explained a damn thing!

                           That’s the point!

Matt Casey: ‘Cause you’re wrong!

                      Don’t come up on me again like this.

Kelly Severide: Really?

Chief Boden: What the hell is going on here?

                        In my office, now.

                                           [object clatters]

Chief Boden: We’ve been here before. Almost tore

                        this house apart.

Kelly Severide: This time, it’s different.

Chief Boden: Tell me about it.

Kelly Severide: Yeah, Casey, tell him about it.

Matt Casey: No offense, Chief.

                                          [door shuts]

                                            cutscene

Leslie Shay: So what do you think about the whole

                      Casey/Heather thing?

Gabby Dawson: Uh… I don’t know.

Leslie Shay: Hmm. You haven’t asked him?

Gabby Dawson: We’ve said like two sentences to each

                            other in a month.

                            Hey, what’s your name?

Man 4: Phillip.

Gabby Dawson: [laughs] All right, let’s get you up, Phillip.

                            Come on.

                            Here we go [groans]

Leslie Shay: Whoa!

Gabby Dawson: [chuckles]

Leslie Shay: Phillip, that is not the kind of full moon I was

                      expecting to see today.

Gabby Dawson: [laughs]

Leslie Shay: Come on.

Gabby Dawson: Here we go.

Leslie Shay: All right, keep your pants up.

Gabby Dawson: Whew! So Severide’s, uh, little swimmers,

                             huh?

Leslie Shay: Yeah.

Gabby Dawson: And who’s paying for this?

Leslie Shay: [sighs] I don’t know.

Gabby Dawson: You know, there’s another, cheaper alternative.

Leslie Shay: Oh, come on.

Gabby Dawson: What? I’m just saying.

Leslie Shay: Oh boy.

Gabby Dawson: Nature has already worked out a lot of these

                            details.

                            Come on. Oh!

                                      [engine revving]

                                      [tires squealing]

                                       [horn beeping]

Leslie Shay: (into radio) I need a 10-1 to East Van Buren, now!

Dispatcher: (over radio) What’s the nature of the call?

Leslie Shay: (into radio) Someone’s stealing our ambulance!

                                       [horn beeping]

                                     [tires screeching]

Gabby Dawson: Hey!

Man 5 (Thief): What the hell?

Gabby Dawson: Pull over!

Man 5 (Thief): Shut up!

Gabby Dawson: You can’t steal an ambulance!

Man 5 (Thief): I said shut up!

Gabby Dawson: Listen to me, moron!

Man 5 (Thief): Quit talking to me!

                                     [horn honking]

Gabby Dawson: This ambulance has GPS. They can track us in

                             the city so they know where we’re at at all

                             times. When you hear the beep that means

                             that they’re about to shut down the engine!

Man 5 (Thief): What are you talking about?

Gabby Dawson: They’re gonna turn off the engine, lock up the

                             tires, and send your face flying through the

                             windshield.

                                       [sirens approaching]

Man 5 (Thief): That ain’t true!

                                      [police sirens wailing]

Gabby Dawson: Here it comes!

                                               [beeping]

Gabby Dawson: You should buckle up!

                                       [beeping continues]

Man 5 (Thief): Damn it!

                                         [tires screeching]

Gabby Dawson: [heavy breathing]

Man 5 (Thief): [groans]

                                            [siren whoops]

Gabby Dawson: Somebody call for an ambulance?

Leslie Shay: Come on, Philip.

                                                 cutscene

Leslie Shay: Hey.

Kelly Severide: Hey.

                                             [door closes]

Leslie Shay: [clears throat] I know this may not be the best time,

                      um, but I have a new proposal. So please don’t

                      say anything or make any funny faces.

Kelly Severide: Okay.

Leslie Shay: Okay. Uh… I can’t afford the insemination. So I’ve

                      been thinking about Plan B. And I propose…

                      when the time is right, you go into your room with

                      magazines or Skinemax or whatever you need to

                      get yourself ready. And then with the lights out,

                      you signal me by calling out my name once. You’ll

                      hear your door open, footsteps. And… and then

                      you’ll be mounted. You will finish your business

                      inside of me as quickly and efficiently as possible.

                      And then I’ll be out the door, so you can clean up

                      or whatever you need to do. At which point, I will

                      need to be alone. Most likely to cry. And we will

                      never speak of this to anyone ever [chuckles] for

                      the rest of our lives. And… I thank you for

                      listening. Just think about it.

                                         [door shuts]

                                           cutscene

Gabby Dawson: [sighs]

                                      [phone buzzing]

Gabby Dawson: Here we go. Here we go.

                            Sit. Sit.

Mouch: What the hell are you doing?

Christopher Herrmann: I’m not standing near any windows.

Mouch: Well, it ain’t exactly easy to watch the ballgame with

              you staring back at me.

              You think the shooters are going to text you before

               they open fire?

Christopher Herrmann: I broke down and called my old

                                         man. I got nothing back.

Otis Zvonecek: [sighs] Mills, what’s for lunch?

Peter Mills: Oh, um, I was bringing in some beef tips but I

                     don’t think they’re gonna taste that good raw,

                     so, uh, we can do some pimento cheese

                     sandwiches…

Joe Cruz: How about Al’s beef?

Peter Mills: Okay, all right. We’ll do Al’s beef.

Matt Casey: Call it in.

Peter Mills: I will. All right.

Mouch: Oh Otis!

Otis Zvonecek: Yeah?

Mouch: Uh, saikensha wa saimusha yori kioku yoshi.

Otis Zvonecek: Seriously, up yours, Mouch.

Mouch: [chuckles] Hey, you know who knows how to

              translate that? Andrew Jackson [laughs]

Chief Boden: Dawson, where’s Shay?

Gabby Dawson: Uh, I don’t know.

Chief Boden: This is Tara Little. She’s a candidate. She’s

                       gonna be riding along with you guys for the

                       next few shifts for evaluation.

Gabby Dawson: Cool.

Lady 3 (Tara Little): Hey, so nice to meet you. I’ve heard

                                 a lot about you.

Gabby Dawson: Oh, don’t pay any attention to what these

                            guys have to say. Especially Frick and

                            Frack over here.

Lady 3 (Tara Little): Oh, which one’s Frick?

Gabby Dawson: [chuckles] Come on.

Matt Casey: What’s that?

Peter Mills: Oh, it’s… yeah I keep the cooking club cash

                     hidden here. That-that’s cool, right?

Matt Casey: Yeah. Yeah it-it’s fine. I’ll get the food.

Peter Mills: No, I don’t mind. I’ll grab it.

Matt Casey: I got it.

                                      [car door shuts]

Matt Casey: I want to talk to whoever’s in charge.

Young Man 1 (Dealer): Nah, get back in your truck.

Matt Casey: Not a cop. Not armed.

Young Man 1 (Dealer): Nah man, get back in your truck.

Matt Casey: I just want to talk.

                                 [game sounds on TV]

Young Man 1 (Dealer): [clears throat]

                                         [door closes]

Matt Casey: You in charge?

Young Man 2 (Greshawn): Who wants to know?

Matt Casey: My name’s Casey. I’m the Lieutenant at

                      Firehouse 51 down the street.

Young Man 2 (Greshawn): So?

Matt Casey: Someone tried to pop a couple shots into our

                      house in broad daylight. Could have killed

                      someone. Someone who works to protect

                      this neighbourhood every single day. Now I

                      know why. You guys hide your drugs in the

                      hydrants, don’t you?

                      Look, we have to flush those hydrants twice

                      a year. Otherwise one of these buildings is

                      on fire… yours maybe. It burns down

                      because there’s no water in our hoses. You

                      know, I’m not stupid enough to think that

                       you’re gonna give up selling your junk

                       because I come in here, but I’m telling you,

                       you hide it in the hydrants, it’s gonna get

                       flushed.

Young Man 2 (Greshawn): You done?

Matt Casey: No. Like it or not, we all gotta coexist here,

                      right? This is our neighbourhood. You

                      don’t own it.

                                          [door closes]

                                             cutscene

Leslie Shay: Hey. Guess what?

Kelly Severide: What’s up?

Leslie Shay: Well, my dad just called. He’s gonna pay

                      for the insemination. Says he was

                      worried that he’d never be a grandpa.

Kelly Severide: That’s great.

Leslie Shay: Yeah. So you know, back to Plan A.

                                           cutscene

                                [indistinct radio chatter]

Otis Zvonecek: You know what? Fine.

Mouch: Saikensha wa saimusha yori kioku yoshi.

              Creditors have better memories than

              debtors.

                                        [train passing]

Mouch: Hey, Lieutenant, okay if we make a quick

              stop. Won’t take long, I promise.

Matt Casey: Sure.

Mouch: Cruz, take a right here.

Matt Casey: This is the right place?

Mouch: This is it.

Christopher Herrmann: Aw, come on Mouch. What

                                        is this?

Mouch: Just wait. I want you to see this.

Christopher Herrmann: Yeah.

Man 6: Randy! How are you?

Mouch: What do you say, Larry?

Man 6 (Larry Herrmann): Good to see you man. Hey.

                                           Chris.

Christopher Herrmann: Hey, Larry, how you been?

Man 6 (Larry Herrmann): You’re not getting away with

                                           a handshake. Come here,

                                           little brother.

Christopher Herrmann: Yeah, good to see you.

Man 6 (Larry Herrmann): [chuckles] All right.

                                           Hey.

Christopher Herrmann: Hey. Wow you guys have grown.

Man 6 (Larry Herrmann): Yeah. How long has it been since

                                           you’ve been here?

Christopher Herrmann: I… don’t remember. Uh, dad around?

Man 6 (Larry Herrmann): No, he’s in Boston. He’s supposed

                                           to be selling socks to Filene’s

                                           basement, but he’s probably

                                           already in line for bleacher seats at

                                           Fenway. Randy called and said you

                                           were down about dad. So come on.

                                           There’s something you should see.

Man 6 (Larry Herrmann): You should hear him talk about his

                                           son the firefighter. I can’t get him

                                           to shut up about it.

                                                  cutscene

                                          [dishes clattering]

Chief Boden: Okay.

                        Mrs Leppert.

Lady 1 (Mom/Mrs Leppert): Chief.

                                                Hello. I’m sorry to bother you.

Chief Boden: No, not at all. We’re all very sorry about your

                       son.

Lady 1 (Mom/Mrs Leppert): Thank you. You may know he was

                                                here once. And… he wanted to

                                                be a fireman ever since. Anyway,

                                                he would have been happy to

                                                know you guys were there at the

                                                end. And he would have wanted

                                                you to have this. Thank you for

                                                what you do in this

                                                neighbourhood.

Chief Boden: Thank you.

                        We owe this kid. We owe Taye better than this.

                         We are better than this.

                                              [somber music]

Christopher Herrmann: I have an idea.

Chief Boden: Ten-hut!

Chief Boden: Present arms!

                                               - end -

Definitions:

Saikensha wa saimusha yori kioku yoshi = Creditors have better memories than debtors

Hope springs eternal = Said when you continue to hope that something will happen, although it seems unlikely

10-1 = Fireman/firemen needs emergency help

Frick and Frack = English slang term used to refer to two people so closely associated as to be indistinguishable

Filene’s Basement = Department store company

Ten-hut = Come to attention!

[frangipanilove]

Beth’s Knife vs Leah’s Knife - update

Last week I wrote about upcoming parallels between Beth’s knife and Leah’s knife. I theorized that we in Diverged will see Daryl give Leah’s knife to Carol in a parallel to the scene in season 5 episode 10 when Carol gave Beth’s knife to Daryl. Beth’s knife is of huge importance, and a callback to the scene from season 5 would mean that the writers are still concerned with Beth’s knife. They remember it! It’s still relevant and it’s still important!

Well, since I wrote that, TPTB have released trailers, teasers and opening minutes from Diverged. And I’m pleased to inform y��all that everything I hoped for has already happened in the opening minutes of Diverged. Me and my fellow over-analysts have found multiple references to various key Beth-scenes, and that's just from teasers and trailers. We haven't even watched the full episode yet, and we have still discovered so much awesome stuff! I will probably have a lot to say about this after I’ve watched the episode, but I wanted to touch on a few things first because it got fulfilled already in the opening minutes.

Let's take a look at the knife scene from 5x10 Them. TF are on a desperate search for water. They are in bad shape after having lost not just Beth, but also Tyreese. Daryl and Carol go out searching for water together. Carol asks if he sees anything, he says «no it's too dry». So no water.

The equivalent scene in Diverged is Darol and Carol walking along the road. This is the day after their argument from Find Me, and that is super significant because of the ridiculous amounts of Beth references in that episode. Carol tries to open her flask, but struggles to open the screw cork, it’s stuck. So no water.

So there we have our first parallel, right? In Them, they were searching for water. In Diverged, Carol has water but can't get to it.

In Them, Carol gives Daryl Beth’s knife.

In Diverged, Daryl gives Carol Leah’s knife.

She uses it to pry the cork open. And then she drinks the water. Also, note how she also gives the flask to Daryl , who in turn gives water to Dog. Remember Dog = Sirius = Beth.

In Diverged:

Carol: You’re not coming back with me? Daryl: I’m gonna stay out a little while longer.

In Them:

Carol: Maybe we should start back.

Daryl: You go.

See how that’s another parallel? They split up at this point in both episodes.

I hope everyone can see how there is no chance in hell the writers didn't think of the scene in Them when they wrote the scene from Diverged. This is a word by word, scene by scene parallel to that time we saw Daryl absolutely shattered and heartbroken over losing Beth. And guys, if you're not on board with how glorious Find Me was from a TD standpoint, I don't know what to tell you! Literally almost every single word of dialogue in Find Me was a callback to a Beth/Bethyl moment. And now, we get this word by word reference to Beth’s knife from season 5, the knife that Daryl carried on him for more than a season. Leah’s knife is a direct parallel to Beth’s knife. Oh, and also, Leah is a hallucination, at least large portions of what we saw in Find Me were.

But guys, I hope y'all realize there's more. A long, long time ago, when I originally started to research the Sirius theory, I read a lot of Robert Frost’s poetry, because his poems Canis Major and One More Brevity basically described the events of Alone. I’ve always seen the Frosty Cola from the white trash brunch as a Robert Frost reference, and the one eyed dog as Sirius. The Sirius symbolism tells the story about returns, because Sirius the dog star disappears from the night sky (it’s «just gone»), and returns one day right before dawn.

Well, in Alone, Daryl suggests they «stick around for a while, and if the others come back, we’ll make it work». And wouldn't you know, TPTB managed to squeeze in a reference to that scene as well in the opening minutes! In the opening minutes of Diverged, Carol mentions that she’s sad they don’t have more to show for, as their original purpose for going out in the first place was to hunt. Daryl replies “you’ll make it work, you always do”

In the Sirius and North Star master post from a couple of years ago I included a picture of Daryl having packed his bike after he agreed to look after Henry at Hilltop. The actual image was never used in the episode, but was released as a promo picture. The book on his bike is House Made Of Dawn, and we know Daryl brought it with him because TPTB made sure to release the pic even if the scene wasn’t in the episode. It must have been real important, right?

In one of the promo pics from Diverged, we see Carol going through Daryl’s stuff, I assume she intends to clean up after the Whisperer war. We see her pick up a book, and study its cover.

I’m 99% sure the book in this picture is House Made Of Dawn.

Remember what I said about Sirius returning before dawn?

It sure looks like it will be dawn pretty soon.

But guys, there’s more!

The Sirius symbolism comes from the Robert Frost poems Canis Major and One More Brevity. It’s a long story, I wrote a bunch of posts about it many years ago, I should probably do an update soon. I also touched on it in the Sirius and North Star masterpost. Anyway. We’ve actually had a couple of other Robert Frost references recently, such as when Siddiq said «Miles To Go Before I Sleep» in 10x7.

But guess what! One of Robert Frost’s most famous poems is one called «The Road Not Taken» but it’s commonly referred to as “Diverged”, because of the line «Two Roads Diverged In A Yellow Wood» in the first and the last verse.

The Sirius symbolism was born from Alone, is this when we get to see it fulfilled? I don’t think it’s an accident at all that Diverged comes when it does. I think Sirius is about to return, just in time for dawn.

[burlesque-articulation]

So I recently went a little... Red-string-cork-board-wild for a very minuscule reason. Namely, I wanted to try and figure out if there was any evidence to back up the fanon of whether or not Graham Folger & Oliver Banks had ever been in a relationship for... Reasons.

To start with, I decided to relisten to MAG 003 just for a lil refresher on who the hell Graham even was (emphasis on the was, lmao). Now, the statement was first catalogued in 2007, but the actual events of the statement take place on 2005; first possible hole in the theory, because, in MAG 011, Oliver, under the alias of Antonio Blake, states that his relationship with "Graham" ended 8 years previous to when he gave his statement to the Magnus Institute, which was given in 2015; which means Oliver's relationship would've ended in 2007.

Why do I point this out though?

Mostly because during MAG 003, when Amy Patel has to chill in Graham Folger's flat due to being concussed, and in an attempt to reassure her, all Graham Folger says is "no worries, I'm gay ✌️" which, okay, that's reassuring, sure... But wouldn't it have been more reassuring to say, "Not only am I hella gay, but I'm also seeing someone." Now, sure, maybe because this is '05 and they don't really know each other that well, he probably thought that would be a little TMI, but then again I feel like "oh I'm seeing someone" is significantly less TMI then just flat-out coming out to someone. Either way, later Amy spends essentially weeks or months watching this dude, and he's always. Alone.

And when she described Graham Folger's flat, it didn't sound like a place TWO (2) people were sharing, it barely sounded like there was one person living there. (And Oliver mentions that he'd been in a SIX (6) YEAR relationship, with a shared living space). A little sus, but... Amy does also say that Mr. Folger spends an awful lot of time outside of his apartment so... Double life maybe? Perhaps.

-- Impromptu read more because this got longer than I intended! So the rest is under the cut --

But now let's take a long look at MAG 011, where Oliver, or Antonio if that's easier for anyone? Nah, let's keep it as Oliver— anyways, MAG 011 takes place in 2015, 8 years prior is 2007; but then.. 6 years prior to that, when Oliver's relationship with "Graham" would’ve started... That would've been in 2001 🤔 now why does that particular year ring a bell? Well, that's because in 2001 is when Graham Folger's parents passed away; which would MEAN THAT, if these two had ever dated, then either it would've been just after Graham Folger had lost his parents, OR, the accident would have happened during the start of their relationship. And I do hear that stuff like that either makes or breaks a relationship, so; hey, maybe they would've had problems from the start. Doomed to end before it began, y'know.

But this is what actually made me go back and relisten in MAG 003, again; because I wasn't 100% on that because for whatever reason I had the year 2003 stuck in my head, IDK. Anyways, it was while I was relistening to MAG 003, again, that I realized my timeline... Wasn't entirely correct. Because Amy Patel, yes she first met Graham Folger in 2005; but it was in September 2005; and the real meat of the statement doesn't start until about 4 months after that initial encounter— which means Amy would've started Graham-watching in Dec. 2005 or Jan. 2006.

You know what else I found rather interesting? In the closing comments for this statement that the Archivist gives us, the apartment under Graham Folger's name was sold in... Early 2007. I wonder... How closely that might actually line up with whenever Oliver Banks apparently ended his relationship with "Graham".

But let's loop back to the "Dec. 2005 or Jan. 2006" bit, because in the supposed timeline given to us in Oliver's statement (MAG 011), he and his "Graham" started having issues a year prior to the official break-up. Maybe that's why Amy never would've seen Graham Folger's partner, in the assumption that he had one, because they was havin' issues, so if Graham Folger had a partner, maybe they weren't hanging about too much.

Alternatively, maybe the real kicker, the Real end to this, alleged, relationship, was because things just started being Different around the start of 2006; say maybe around April? April 7th of 2006 if we want to get real specific. Maybe it was after that day that the relationship got just a bit too much.

Maybe, in the last year of this alleged relationship between Oliver Banks and Graham Folger, maybe Oliver tried to make things work, but there was just something so off about "Graham" so... Not-him, and yet this is still the man that Oliver looks at and remembers spending almost 6 years of his life with. But maybe things get just weird enough that, Oliver just does some digging, maybe he's looking for some excuse some reason for why Graham seems so different but so familiar. Maybe there was an update on the accident that happened (either before or after they got together) and it's having an affect on "Graham". Let's say he does this little research deep-dive while at work too. So he's just sitting at his desk, scrolling through old news, etc. etc, maybe checking new stuff, who knows. (And assuming that even digital scans of polaroids are also untampered) He comes across an old picture that, sure enough those are the Folger Parents, but who the hell is that dark haired teenager in the picture?

Now why would this be happening why Oliver is at work? Well, because in MAG 011, Oliver states that he had a breakdown at work that required him to take leave and supposedly helped to fuel his breakup which then left him on a friend's couch. Obviously it could actually be the other way around; that the break-up was the catalyst for the breakdown at work, but this is no longer a post about why Graham Folger and Oliver Banks weren't a thing, but rather a post on why it would hurt so much if they had been.

Because we're gonna switch gears now and take a peek from Not-Graham's perspective. Because what does Not-Graham, the Not-Them, want? Well, we know they like scaring and upsetting people, but Graham Folger isn't exactly a socialite and apparently didn't have enough of an outstanding presence that made him particularly rememberable. But you know what he did have? The table. The same table that the Not-Them really wanted to have smashed up in... MAG 039, I think (IDK main plot is just an entrée for me right now, not super important y'know). So, sure Graham Folger doesn't have a lot of people in his life, but he's got this partner that he was already having a rocky relationship with, so why not make that relationship even more unbearable on the other party? Just make it absolutely intolerable, in the hopes that the partner might just get fed up enough to do something irrational, like smash a table that apparently means just so, so much to "Graham". But in the end that doesn't work, because the partner just ends up dippin' out (side note: love the idea that Oliver is petty in the way that instead of destroying something that he knows his partner is fond of, he just like, sells the fucking table off instead, send the Not-Them on another wild goose chase to find it again, because that would be funny as fuck).

Regardless, around the beginning of 2007, the two will have broken up, and Not-Graham no longer has a reason to keep that flat so it gets sold, because the Not-Them either has the table and fucks off after that, or they gotta start all over again trying to find it, and Oliver cuts ties and starts crashing on a friend's couch.

It's circumstantial, sure. But when you really look at it... The timeline does actually match up pretty well, and I think that's pretty cool.

Anyways, that's all for now. Whether or not Graham Folger & Oliver Banks ever actually had a relationship in canon, who can say.

But if Oliver's "Graham" isn't Graham Folger, then who is it? Well, not to mix podcasts, but anyone here ever listen to The White Vault?

[ill-skillsgard]

Hello my love, I just saw you said you hadn't gotten any requests for Mateo. I feel like I'm being unethical by sending you a request but do you have any thoughts on an AU where the soulmate test matched him with Jonah but here he's waylaid by Adrian or a Modern Ivar? I'm sorry I was compelled to share the thought. Feel free to ignore me.

Hello, dear, sweet love of mine! I would never ignore thee. Send all the requests you want! Anything for you <3

+

It was hard to miss the tall white man in a Hawaiian shirt glancing at his phone every five seconds, the enormous grin that split the concentration on his face into one part giddiness, one part lust, his sharp bone-structure absorbing the smile shortly after. Ivar sat across the bar watching him teeter from excitable to neutral over and over until his curiosity got the better of him. Ivar had to know what the man was waiting for. Since the tower of a tourist had come into his sightline, he’d thrown back two shots of rum and two beers—a safe amount of alcohol for someone his height. Ivar wondered if he could make him go three for three. 

He pressed his palms on the table and pushed himself up, notching his arms into his crutches and turning once he had them firmly planted in the sand. The tall man with the innocent eyes noticed him immediately and cracked another one of his lopsided grins. It was hard for anyone to gloss Ivar over. At his full height, he stood almost at odds with the lanky tourist, though his chest and shoulders were bulkier and his tanned skin shone in the setting sun. Ivar caught eyes from around the bar, including the green ones for which he aimed.

Ivar sidled up to the bar and purchased two beers corked with lime wedges. He breathed in deeply and turned around before setting his crutches off to the side. He could stand upright when he had something solid to lean on. The man in his sights turned to him and flashed a customary tourist smile, all courtesy and trying not to notice the condition that set him apart from every other person dancing in the bar that day.

“How’s it going? Enjoying yourself?” Ivar asked.

The man glanced over to verify it was him the broad-chested man with the braided hair spoke to, and his smile grew. Ivar’s eyebrows hopped when he saw all the straight white teeth in his face, the twinkle in his peculiar eyes. He then took in all the other parts he’d missed while spying from across the room: the huge, veiny hands, the length of his thighs, his sandaled feet, his soft brown hair and the flecks of gold in the green irises.

He raised his near-empty beer. “Sure.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to intrude. This is just the best place to stand when you want service.”

The lanky man realized how much of the bar’s real estate he took up and stepped away. Ivar raised one beer bottle. “No need to move. It’s safer for me to have someone to fall on if I tip over.”

“Oh,” the tourist giggled.

“I’m kidding. Don’t worry, I promise I won’t fall and break a hip then make you call me an ambulance. There’s plenty of sand to cushion me.”

The traveller met Ivar’s blue intensity, then pocketed the phone he’d been checking so adamantly for the last forty-five minutes. The look on his face told of amusement and impending small-talk. Ivar crooked his elbows against the bar and waited.

“Do you live here?” The man asked.

“Yeah. When it’s Winter in my home country.”

“Where’s your home country?”

“Very far North.”

“What like, Alaska?”

“Denmark.”

The traveller smiled ever wider. “We’re practically neighbours.”

“Ah, yes,” Ivar chose then to slide the second beer over to the tourist. “You have that Scandinavian look about you. Name’s Ivar, like the Viking.”

“Mateo,” he said, grabbing the beer by the neck. “Skol!”

Ivar raised his drink, and they clinked bottles. “Skol.”

After another half hour, Mateo had that third shot, courtesy of Ivar, his newfound friend and Viking descendant. The conversation progressed at a casual rate until Ivar grew bored with asking innocent questions. He waited until Mateo looked at his phone one last time before zeroing in for the hopeful kill.

“Are you waiting on somebody?” Ivar asked.

Mateo chuckled. “Oh, no. Not really. I’m on a layover. Going to Brazil to meet my soulmate.”

“Just to meet? You mean, you haven’t met them yet?”

Mateo clicked something on the clear screen and showed Ivar a photo of a handsome black man with kind eyes and a lively smile. Ivar sweated, not because of the competition, but because he’d pegged Mateo right.

“We haven’t met. But we don’t need to, right? That’s kind of the whole point of the test. Once we’re together, it will click.”

“Yeah, but... What if it doesn’t? Don’t get me wrong, I support everyone finding their true love, but that’s just one photo. What happens if you meet him and the lower half of him is horribly disfigured?”

Mateo scoffed. “That wouldn’t stop me. We’re matched. It means no matter what, we’re compatible. Plus, he’s gorgeous. Even if he was horribly disfigured from the waist down, it wouldn’t make a difference. Not to me.”

Ivar tasted his confidence rising from his stomach and piping, all the way to his mouth where it manifested as carefully plucked words.

“But you haven’t met yet, right? You’re not officially tied down?”

“No. Not officially.”

“How much time do you have until your flight to meet him?”

“I leave tomorrow.”

“That’s plenty of time,” Ivar said, moving his head to the rhythm of the live music.

Mateo leaned over. “Plenty of time for what?”

Ivar closed the space between them, touching Mateo’s jaw as he whispered in his ear. “Plenty of time to get one last fuck out of your system before you’re shacked up for life. What do you say?”

Mateo’s cheeks turned sunburn-red, his smile a new, shy version of the one Ivar had been studying. He laughed uneasily, scratched the back of his head and laughed again. Ivar didn’t let Mateo rest from the blazing blue-eyed stare. Not until they were in his apartment, undressing each other and kissing feverishly. Ivar grabbed Mateo by the collar of his bright floral shirt and bade him sit on the foot of his bed. Using his crutches to climb down, Ivar went to his knees and wrestled Mateo’s shorts down his thighs. When an erection sprung up between them, they both chuckled.

“Fuck. I knew it,” Ivar moaned.

“Knew what?” Asked Mateo.

“That you had a big dick.”

Mateo scooted forward, shoving his solid manhood closer to Ivar’s mouth. The Viking wrapped his lips around the head, eyes fluttering closed as his tongue besieged the slit already leaking pre-cum. Mateo spread his hands over the sheet and gaped his legs a little more, so Ivar had all the room he needed. The kneeling man took this as a further invitation, and propped Mateo’s legs up by his knees, spreading him and forcing him back for a more thorough licking.

“And what if I didn’t have one? What then?” Mateo asked, feeling cheeky from his unexpected score.

“Then I’d have to adjust my thinking. Reevaluate the statistics that men with big feet also have big cocks.”

“I feel so... Exploited,” Mateo snickered and then melted from the feeling of a hot, determined tongue igniting the nerve-heavy spots along his shaft.

“Oh, I’ll exploit you. I’ll exploit you all night long. Right until you hop on that plane to go meet your soulmate. And I guarantee you’ll keep thinking of my mouth long after you’ve gone.”

Mateo gasped as Ivar throated him, streams of slaver dribbling down his balls. Ivar withdrew to collect the escaped saliva, then deposited the glob over the tip again. He did this several more times until Mateo’s cock glistened in the golden sunset blazing through the dirty window next to the bed. He lost himself in the tightening sensations, letting the stranger treat him with all the experience of a well-learned enthusiast.  After long, Mateo pressed his chin to his chest, grabbing the braids at the nape of Ivar’s neck to pull him off.

“I’m gonna come,” Mateo warned.

Ivar laughed. Mateo returned the merriment with slight discomfort.

“W-what? It’s true,” the gangly tourist admitted.

“Then come.”

“In your mouth?”

“If that’s where you want it, big boy.”

Mateo shivered, chills shooting down his legs into his feet, numbing his toes. “Oh, fuck.”

The next day, Mateo stood in line waiting to board his flight. His eyes locked onto his phone screen and the photo of Jonah that had made his heart twinge the last couple of weeks. He swiped over and looked at a photo of Ivar, shirtless and tan, a beer bottle in hand and stylish sunglasses perched on his nose. Mateo switched back to Jonah, then back to Ivar.

“Sir? Please keep the line moving,” the woman at the desk motioned him forward.

Mateo hesitated. He looked at the photo of Ivar one last time, then sent him a friend request, pocketed the device and put on his most charming smile as he approached the desk.

“Hello,” Mateo said, clearing his throat. “How much to reschedule my flight to Brazil?”

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

Luka and C, but specifically about her jewelry (I can also imagine her designing all of the other gokaigers jewelry aesthetics, like just leaving them little pieces that she wants them to wear, and then casually stealing pieces off of them when she decides to change things up, and like finding specific bright yellow pieces (or smth) to put on them as like a sort of claim like yes these are my idiots if you hurt them I’ll hurt you)

C is for colors, and my dear anon, your brain is huge, this is cute as hell.

Minor CW just in case--this story contains a semi-detailed description of someone getting their ears pierced. (Also, please do not take this as a guide for Trying This At Home, Luka is an amateur and I’m going off an Instructable for details.)

Gai is breathing deeply through his nose. "I always wanted to get my ears pierced, but my parents kept saying no, and then I just never had the time for it." He sounds calm, but his knuckles are white on the arms of Marvelous' chair. "Are those Ahim's embroidery needles?"

"No, they're piercing needles, Doc had some. I did my own ears with sewing needles, but you should've seen his face when he found out that was what I was going to use." Luka rolls her neck and then holds the first needle in the flame of the lighter she borrowed from Marvelous. "He looked like he was going to faint."

"...why did Don have piercing needles?"

"Because you got those emerald studs near Antares and then you kept looking at my ears," Doc had said. "I knew you were going to try to do someone's eventually."

Luka flashes Gai a smile. "No idea, probably just a Doc thing. Are you ready?"

"... it's not going to hurt a lot, right?"

"Nah, just sort of pinches."

Gai takes another deep breath and closes his eyes as Luka puts a cork up to the back of his ear and--

"Ow." Followed by, "Ok, yeah, that wasn't too bad."

"Right? We've both had way worse." Luka glances thoughtfully over at the tray of earrings she brought out with her and then picks up a little silver stud set with a gleaming piece of onyx and slides the post into the hollow piercing needle. "This part's gonna feel a little weird, hold still." She pulls the needle through his ear the rest of the way and out, and the stud is left behind, bright on his earlobe as she puts on the back.

“Oh, wow, that did feel weird.” Gai looks to the side in a futile attempt to see his own ear. “Does it look good?”

“Yeah, I’ll get a mirror in a minute.” She grabs another needle, strips the sterile packaging off, and starts to heat it up. “You want another one in this ear, or am I just doing the other one now?”

“Two in this ear would be cool--ow, ok, that one was way faster.”

“It’s easier if you’re not thinking about it, yeah?” Luka grabs another onyx stud from the tray. “And...there. Two in that ear, and then we’ll do one in the other and you’ll be all set.”

A few minutes later, there’s an amber stud in Gai’s other earlobe, and he’s turning his head back and forth to look at all three piercings in the mirror Luka’s holding up. “This is so cool. And also really nice of you, Luka, thank you for doing this for me. And for sharing some of your collection.”

Luka turns slightly pink. “Well. Well, what’s the point of having all this jewelry if I can’t show it off? I can’t wear all of it myself. And, and I have all of these silver pieces, but I don’t even wear silver. So I might as well put it on you.”

He kisses her on the cheek. “Thank you, Luka.”

She blushes harder. “Shut up. Go talk to Doc, he’s got bottles of this antiseptic stuff you can use to clean the piercing while it’s healing, I’ll show you how to do it later.”

Gai gets up and goes to find Doc, and Luka strips off her rubber gloves and turns around, only to bump directly into Joe’s chest.

He grins down at her. “Actually, I was hoping you’d do mine next.”

She gapes at him. “You? Want me to pierce your ears?”

“Well, I used to wear studs in them, but after I enlisted I couldn’t, jewelry was out of dress code, so the holes closed.”

Her eyes light up, and she gives her tray of jewelry a calculating look. “Sit down, I have a pair of little sapphire guys that’d be perfect on you.” She reaches for an alcohol swab as Joe sits in Marvelous’ chair. “You know corundums are one of the hardest gemstones in the galaxy? You could fire a bullet at these things and it’d probably just bounce off.”

“Really?”

“Well, ok, maybe not a bullet, but they’re really tough to break.” She starts to clean off his earlobe. “So if you’re here, should I be ready for one of the others to show up after you?”

“Ahim, maybe, she seemed really interested when I mentioned I was going to ask you about it.”

“Perfect.” Luka reaches for another piercing needle and the lighter. “I’ve had some pink diamond stuff set aside for her practically since she came on board.”