#in my defense my mac is old and i don’t have money for a new computer

[oblivioustoast]

man, i’ve been trying to find alternatives to Scrivener because I don’t have money - but both Manuskript and Quoll Writer won’t open on my computer 😔 they just keep crashing

does anyone know any good (free) writing programs that offer a lot of organization

(and i have a mac i’m sorry 🙈)

[joe9cool]

Collide-Justin Herbert-21

A/N:I do not know Justin, or anyone associated with the LA Chargers. This is just fanfiction

The rest of the week was a Rollercoaster.

AnnSophie didn't go to workout with Sara at the practice facility, always playing it off like she had somewhere to be, something to do. She claimed it was due to helping her friend get ready for her calendar shoot but she could put money on it being the 6 foot 5 defense end. Who by the way, was asking if she was coming back and how long she was in town for. Not that he cared or anything.

She was on Justin to find out what happened. Sure she got some details from AnnSophie, but she was nosy. All of her girlfriends shared this trait. They were all like sisters. 

Speaking of, there was some communication from the ones from Pittsburgh and Missouri. They all had a three way chat on the phone. Their dad was being stubborn, which led to an explosive fight between him and mom. Aunt Willa was shooting her mouth off to anyone who would listen about what an ungrateful Hollywood brat Sara became. It didn't make any headlines that she knew of. But Heidi was still checking.

Then Christine McVie died, which devastated Sara. She had met her a handful of times through Stevie, and they had developed a close relationship. One of her favorite moments was introducing her father to the band, in which he raved about the backstory behind his youngest  name that he picked out personally. Fleetwood mac was something she and her dad bonded over.

That night when she got the news she stared at her phone, wondering if she should reach out to her dad. After a couple of hours of debate she sent a simple text.

Christine died. 

She knew her dad would know by the first name. He responded an hour later 

I know. Thanks.

That was it. No I'm sorry no I love you. Justin walked into her house to find his girlfriend sobbing on the couch, holding Nova . Setting down his bags, he rushed over to her and pulled her close. He was silent, letting her cry it out before she told him everything that transpired. Justin shook his head when she explained what had happened with her dad.

"He's a fool Sara, I don't want to trash him because I never met him, but what kinda man doesn't choose his own child." He shook his head. She sniffled and looked up at him. "Thank you, I just don't understand. We were so close growing up and now it's like we are so far apart."

He rubbed her back. "Wanna have pizza and wine tonight?"

"Justin, that's not in your diet." He got up and grabbed his phone. "Two slices and a glass of wine won't kill me." He dialed the place. "What do you want?"

She smiled. "Deep dish, with spinach and mushrooms." She laughed at the face he made before turning to social media to post a picture of Christine and her. She wrote her tribute on Instagram before sharing pictures of her that they took together. She was scrolling through the tributes and saw Harry liked her post, as well as posted a tribute of his own.

Scrolling through everyone's tributes got her thinking. Fleetwood Mac has many fans, they're career spanned through decades. They had tons of fans young and old.

What if they put on a tribute concert?

She jumped up from the couch, having a sense of clarity since yesterday. She ran outside to Justin's backyard. She dialed Steve's number.

"Hello?"

Then she realized Stevie's time zone was a few hours ahead of her. "Oh my god I'm so sorry I can call back later "

"It's fine hun, I know you are calling to discuss Christine." Sara smiled. "How are you doing? How's John doing?"

"We are all doing as well as can be. It was very unexpected. We didn't know she was sick." 

"Stevie, I had an idea. What if we did a memorial tribute concert for her memory? Any money we make can go to her favorite charity?"

It was silent, Sara was afraid it was going to get shut down. Finally, "I think it's a wonderful idea. I can get some of the band to perform her songs and ours." Things were still tense with Lindsey Buckingham and Sara had never met him. "I mean we could do other bands as well. "I don't know if we would sell tickets to fans or have an event sponsored. I have some connections, but I don't know."

"I have faith in you Sara, you were always an ambitious woman. I'm proud of you, you are like the daughter I never had." Sara smiled at that, tears in her eyes. She played with the moon necklace that Stevie gifted her and Harry one Christmas. It was for close friends. "Well I got named Sara for a reason."

They spoke a little regarding the details. Obviously it would take a lot of time and effort, but she was dedicated to this. It would be an amazing tribute to an amazing woman who made a tremendous mark on the music industry.

Feeling better, she headed back inside. A lot of time must have passed. Because the pizza was set up at the table. Justin served the slices. "Who was that?"

"Stevie. I was thinking about putting on a tribute concert for Christine ." Justin stopped what he was doing.

"As in Stevie Nicks?" She nodded. "Wow." Sometimes it was easy to forget how famous his girlfriend truly was. "My parents listen to them all the time."

"My dad is a huge fan."

They both sat down to eat. Nova took her spot on the coach to overlook the gathering. "So you never told me the full story on how you got your name." Justin took a swig of his wine. Sara smiled. "I'm surprised you didn't look it up."

Justin grabbed her hand. "I wanted to hear it from you."

She squeezed his hand. "Well, my older sisters are nine, six, and four years older than me. My parents always say they didn't have a fourth to try for a boy but I call it crap." She laughed. "Well when they were at the ultrasound the tech told my mom I was a boy. It was a national celebration in my family. But my dad wasn't sold. He even told me 'I had a feeling you were a girl, it didn't matter how much blue stuff your mother bought.' "

Justin smiled. "What did your mom say?"

Sara laughed. She always told him he was crazy. But he maintained his stance. My mom went into labor early morning June 29th and when they were on the way to the hospital they were still arguing about my sex. My mom told my dad if he was right he would get to name me since she had no names picked out for a girl.

"What was your name supposed to be if you were a boy?"

"Derek Michael Wozniak. Michael after my dad, Derek after her brother and my grandfather."

Justin smiled. "So where did the name Sara come in?"

"Well my dad is a huge Fleetwood mac fan. He was flipping the radio while they were en route to the hospital and the song 'Sara' came on. Well he thought about it and his favorite band member was Christine McVie. So he thought 'Sara Christine'."

"It's a beautiful name, it suits you. What did your mom think of it?"

She laughed. "My mom is trendy, she wanted me to be Jessica. My dad always points out though that Sara was popular but with an 'h'. I hated it when teachers and classmates automatically assumed I spelled it with an H. My aunt Willa would purposely spell it with an H just to piss me off. She said it was prettier when it was spelled how the Bible spells it.

Justin smiled. "Your name suits you."

"How did your mom come up with your names?"

"Well Mitch is actually Mark Mitchell Herbert after My dad, but they called him Mitch so he has his own identity. She liked my name and my brother's." Sara nodded, her phone buzzing with a message interrupted them. She looked. "It's Joey." 

Justin's face hardened. "What does he want?"

"AnnSophie's number." She turned her phone around to show him the text. Sure enough it was Bosa straight to the point. Justin relaxed. "So what exactly happened between them?"

Sara shook her head. "Annie told me she had a 'fling' with him in high school. Don't know the backstory or nothing."

Justin was confused. "Well that's odd. His last girlfriend Jackie he was with since high school up to a few years ago. So I don't know when that thing went down."

Now it was his girlfriend's turn to be baffled. "I want to ask but it seemed like a sore subject. I don't know if she would like me giving him her number."

Justin shrugged. "Just don't reply to him. Eventually he will get the hint to leave you alone." He said that part with a little bitterness. She gave him a look. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to upset you by texting him. I do consider him and your teammates friends. Since I'm around you I'm going to be around them."

Justin looked down. "You're right. I don't need to be upset." She grabbed his hand. "Hey if you're upset talk to me okay? I want us to have open communication." He smiled and rubbed his thumb over her wrist. "Same goes for you."

—-----------------------------------------------------------

December. No matter how many years Sara had resided in California it was weird not to be bundled up with hot chocolate as you're running errands.

She was out and about on rodeo drive, trying to do some quick shopping before the photoshoot AnnSophie had set up for her. They had to do it fast as her friend was only in town for a few more days before heading back to Florida to retrieve her daughter. 

Luckily no one had seemed to recognize her. The cameramen weren't even around to take photos. She had her hood up, hair in a bun with sunglasses and a mask.

Justin was at practice before leaving for the game against the Raiders. He was clingy for the rest of the week, which was nice, and unusual for him but she remembered that she had told him when she was leaving for overseas.

January 5th

Everyday the date was getting closer. It was a countdown. She wouldn't be back in Los Angeles til March 12th, missing his birthday by a couple of days. Sara had already begun packing for the three months away. Erika was back in town with a few plates of cookies that her mother sent from the cookie day that was a part of the Thanksgiving fiasco. Erika had said that her trailer and hotel were all set up for her arrival on the Dune 2 set. 

It was funny, because Sara liked going to different places for filming, and if had asked her six months ago, she would tell you she was looking forward to being away from everything, to get lost in her character. But now things have changed due to a freakishly tall quarterback that had stolen her heart.

Once her shopping haul was done she went back to her house where the scene was set. The only thing she had to go back to Justin's house was for his jersey that she had to take out of his closet for one of the months. She had texted him asking him if he had left yet. He responded with a yes and a question mark. She played it off as it had something to do with Nova. 

As quick as traffic would allow she ran in, made sure Nova had enough food in her automatic feeder, grabbed the jersey and went back to her house.

She had to admit, her best friend did an excellent job with making her basement look like a professional photo shoot. "Annie, how did you get all of this together?"

She shrugged as she was testing out the lens. "You don't work in fashion and don't crossover behind the scenes. I called Bella and she gave me some tips and connections. Speaking of." She grabbed her phone and called the other model on facetime. When Sara looked at her funny she smiled. "Bella wanted to see the shoot"

All three of them went over how Sara should pose. Some pictures had a theme such as February was red lighting with her posed nude, a teddy bear hiding all the good parts. She did flash some boob, but only one in March, cake smeared on her body with the icing reading 'Happy Birthday baby'

They went through many poses and lighting. Sara made sure to have good angles of her ass since Justin was lowkey an ass man (he always says it didn't matter but she knew by the amount of bruises on her tush)

After a touch up of her makeup she slipped on his Oregon jersey. Turning towards the camera she lifted it up to reveal her bare ass, green body paint spelling out ‘Go Ducks!’ she laughed as she heard the click of the camera. "Did you think when we met on the Victoria Secret red carpet five years ago you'd be doing this?"

Her friend and Bella laughed.

The shoot in total took over six hours, and they still weren't done. They did need a break, and they promised to pick back up the next day while watching the Chargers hopefully beat the Raiders

—-----------------------------------------------------

They did not beat the Raiders.

They had the big screen television as they resumed the shoot. AnnSophie was making it obvious that she was looking for Joey's number on the field.

Sara rolled her eyes as she changed outfits. "You know he's injured? So he won't be out there."

Her friend tried to play dumb. "Who?"

"You know who. You're Joseph Bosa.” She mocked. AnnSophie rolled her eyes.  “Please. He likes you Sara."

"No he doesn't. We are just friends, he has friendly mannerisms with everybody. You know that." AnnSophie shut up. She knew Joey longer than anyone.

"So tell me did you guys date or was it just sex?" Sara was probing, not expecting any real answer. 

It was quiet for a moment, Sara was going back to the set to pose for another photo before her friend answered.

"It was just sex, for him at least. He had a girlfriend that was on and off. When it was off I was his comfort person.”

Sara was stunned. She didn’t think her friend was that type of person.  “Well you must have left an impression, he keeps messaging me asking for your contact information.” AnnSophie whipped her head towards the brunette so fast. “Sara please tell me-”

“I didn’t give him anything. I told him I wasn’t comfortable giving out personal information like that unless it was okay with you. I guess I have my answer then.” They dropped the sore subject after that.

They finished the shoot to see  a few minutes in the 4th quarter. However, they couldn't get it done. 

Shit. 

Shit.

Sara checked the standings. Chargers were still in the hunt, but their chances were looking slim. They now had to win all of their upcoming games, which Justin would never admit but Sara and everyone else saw that their defense is trash.

While she and AnnSophie ate the pizza they ordered and went to edit the photos, she decided to stay at her house for the first time in a while. She didn't want to ditch her friend.

She had messaged Justin that there were leftovers in the fridge from when she made stuffed shells and a Ceasar salad.

Like the last time the team lost she expected extreme silence. And for a moment she thought that was what she was going to get

Until a text came in late

Where are you?

She was on the couch with AnnSophie, she was doing some last minute retouching while Sara was ordering Christmas gifts for her family.  She was confused when she read the message

S:I am at home with Annie, why?

J: Since when do you go to your place?

S: I was busy with work, plus I thought you needed space after the loss

J: I don't need space, I need you

Sara felt bad, because she didn't want to leave her friend hanging. As much as she hated to realize it, she was losing herself in the relationship, which she swore she would never do again. Well that was what was happening. Also she made so many sacrifices for him.

S: I'm available on facetime if you want to talk.

He read it quick, and then the text bubble

J: I'm coming over.

Her eyes widened, and she looked over at her friend. Who was unaware of the situation at hand. She swallowed thickly.

S: Justin, that's too far to go at this time. Plus you still have to be at the facility in less than a few hours.

J: I don't care, your place is a bit closer, so it will work out.

She looked over. "Hey, so I guess Justin is coming over." AnnSophie was surprised. "I thought he wanted to be left alone."

Sara shrugged. "That's what I thought as well. He's not taking no for an answer. I'm sorry."

"Sara I don't give a shit. I like Justin, I just don't wanna hear you two fucking."

"Please, I don't think he's in the mood. Also he wouldn't do it while you were here."

Sara had another thought. "Shit I hope he doesn't go into the basement." She ran into her room which was messier than usual. It had outfits everywhere. Justin's Oregon jersey was laying on the bed. With a quickness she didn't know was possible she threw all of her 'props' underneath the bed. Going around the room, she fine toothed, and combed everything so it was pristine. 

It had been almost an half an hour after their last exchange before she heard the key in the lock. She came out to the living room to see Justin walk in and say hi to her friend. As soon as he saw her he dropped his bag and wrapped his arms around her. She rubbed his back as he held her in his arms. "I'm sorry baby." She murmured as she felt him plant a kiss on top of her head.

He was silent, the room was silent. Until she heard his stomach growl. "Did you eat the leftovers?" She felt him shake his head. "No, I didn't even check. I just saw you weren't there and I came here."

That was sweet, but he needed food. "I have some leftover pizza in the fridge. It's not healthy but." He headed towards the fridge and began to take out the plastic bag. He moved around like he knew the place pretty well considering they didn't spend much time at her place. Which was funny, cause the first month of their relationship he was over at her place all of the time.

AnnSophie looked over at Justin. "Your teammate Joey, is he injured?"

 Justin nodded with pizza in his mouth. Once he swallowed he spoke. "Yes. He has a tear in his groin. Hopefully he will be back before the playoffs. If we even make it." He muttered that last part.

AnnSophie excused herself to go to the bathroom. She made the mistake of leaving her laptop open with a couple of the photos. Justin sat down on the couch and looked at the blown up photo that was being edited. 

Sara was finishing brushing her teeth and came in and saw that. "Shit!" He turned to look at her. "What's this for?"

The photo on the screen was her in scantily clad lingerie on a red plush beanie bag. It was for the month of February and the bra was revealing. It was see through, as well as the panties, so you could see her waxed mound.

She had to think of a lie so she didn't blow her gift. "It's for the fenty shoot, promotional shots."

"So everyone is going to be seeing this?" She almost wanted to laugh as she saw his jaw clenching. "Well it's still being edited. It might not make the final cut. But it might."

She saw his hand go on the laptop and click another one. The one where her left boob was out. "They would allow this? Your whole tit is out!"

Luckily he was so absorbed in what was on the screen he couldn't see the smile on her face. "I mean it's whatever they chose. Why what's wrong?"

Justin shook his head. "I just don't know if I'm comfortable with everyone seeing you like this."

"I've had sexy photoshoots. Esquire magazine had me nude."

"Yeah but you were covered by a coat." She was surprised that he knew that. She didn't think he would pay attention to past shoots. "This is you practically nude! Everyone is going to see this!" He finally turned towards her. He noticed her laughing.

"You think it's funny that everyone gets to see you the way I see you?" She was taking steps backwards as he stepped towards her. Finally her back was against the counter. She was trapped by his hands on both sides of her. "Well if this was published. It wouldn't be in a magazine - it would be online."

He groaned. "And that's supposed to make me feel better?" She laughed. "Well what do you want me to do about it?"

Sara was loving this. Justin didn't come off as a jealous type. Or at least someone that expresses it. "Can you tell someone you don't want to use any of those photos where you're practically nude?"

She shrugged. "I think it's too late, plus it's not up to me. Just tell your teammates not to look."

Justin growled. Before she knew it she was being picked up and in a flash, thrown on her bed. She laughed as her oversized tee-shirt (courtesy of his closet) was thrown somewhere. She opened her legs but instead she was thrown on her knees. Before she could say anything he slapped her ass hard enough to where she fell forward on the bed. She felt his fingers hit her spot between her legs.

She moaned as she felt his tongue combine with his hands. "Baby please I need you inside of me." He moved and she heard him undress. Justin was inside her and found a rhythm quickly, not having the patience either.

Sara forgot they weren't alone. Justin was rough and fast and she loved it. "Uh uh uh." Along with skin slapping was sound throughout her room. She heard Justin's soft moans behind her. Oh how much she loved the noises Justin made, he wasn't the most vocal, but the noises he did make were so hot. It let her know he was enjoying it as much as she was. Eventually she found herself getting close, which she knew he could tell based on his movements and noises. "Oh fuck Sara."

Her front collapsed on the bed as the orgasm washed over her, Justin right behind her. Moaning, he filled her up before putting his weight on her. Eventually he rolled off and onto his stomach. Taking the opportunity of him exposing his backside, she slapped his ass. He flinched. "What the hell was that for?" She laughed. "Oh so Crosby and Carr get to do it. But with me that's different.?"

"It's part of the game. I do it with my teammates all the time. With you it's different." She saw him raise his hand out of the corner of her eye and quickly tried to roll on her back but he was faster. "OWW!" She cried out and glared at him. "My hit wasn't that hard asshole." His hand rubbed the spot he hit with also a couple squeeze thrown in. They cuddled together and Sara ran her fingers through his hair. His breathing evened out and she had thought he'd fallen asleep. "I love you," She whispered.

He mumbled. "I love you too"

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sara woke up late, he was gone. Which was to be expected. She decided not to go to the facility today. Instead she had more runway practice and she was going to attempt kickboxing with her friend.

Speaking of, she found her in the kitchen drinking a breakfast smoothie. She was on the phone speaking in a low voice so Sara couldn't hear. AnnSophie was giggling, when she looked up and saw Sara standing in the doorway with a questioning look on her face, she quickly said bye and hung up. "I didn't know you were up. Well get ready,we are meeting Stephanie in an hour."

"And just who was that?" The blonde shook her head. "It was nobody, come on let's go."

They got ready and headed to West Hollywood. They did a couple hours of training. In which Sara looked and felt more confident. Granted, she wasn't supermodel material like Bella and AnnSophie, but she wouldn't be made fun of out there.

The paparazzi was out in full force, they did keep their distance while snapping pictures of the two of them. Sara was appreciative and gave them a big smile. 

She went about her day, not thinking anything of the photos. But people were talking

Tiktok

User video : *Sara smiling at camera* "You cannot tell me she isn't in a relationship. Look at that smile. 

Comments:

User 1: ooh maybe her and Harry are back together!

User 2: doubt it. He's been all over the place touring its not going to happen

 User3: My 2023 predictions have them reuniting. I would love that!

Twitter:

User 1: she's in a relationship. Girl is getting dick on the regular. She's is glowing!

User 2: who you think she's seeing? People would have figured it out by now.

User 1: I don't know but whoever it is is a lucky motherfucker.

User 3: there's rumors of her seeing Dylan O' Brian. They were flirty on the tonight show a few months ago!

User 4: oh my god what if her and Harry are back together! #Hara 

The hashtag #Hara trends on twitter 

FANS HOPE SARA WOZNIAK AND HARRY STYLES REUNITE.

Ever since Director Olivia Wilde and Harry Styles split. Fans have been excited to have the possibility of Harry and Sara Wozniak's reunion. Fans, who dubbed them the couple name Hara, shared how thrilled they would be if the couple were to reunite.

To be fair, it wouldn't be a far off reach. Sara and Harry have been liking each other's Instagram posts. Sara was spotted at Harry's concert in New York before Olivia and Harry's split.

—----------------------------------------------------------------*----

Jack wasn’t making any progress, anytime he thought he had a lead it would end up a dead end, and he would tread elsewhere, vowing to go back to Sara’s relationship.

He was browsing through Instagram, a bottle of wine next to him. His boyfriend was working late, and he had his cat to keep him company. He was mindlessly scrolling through the recommended pages of celebrity gossip. His account was on lockdown, after exposing a number of celebs personal lives and being hit and threatened with lawsuits it was a good idea to keep things on the down low.

He clicked on a paparazzi picture of Sara. She was at what looked to be a dunkin donuts. In colorful sweatshirt and jeans. She had a  mask on and a baseball cap, but you could tell it was her. The account was @whatsarawears, dedicated to finding details on her wardrobe, and where to find dupes for the designer items. 

There were two pictures side by side. One of the coffee place, the other at a grocery store. Caption read Sara spotted at the Dunkin Donuts at the Oregon/California border. Also later that day in the same Louis Vuitton sweatshirt. November 6th.

Jack's eye furrowed, what would she be doing in Oregon? He typed her name in the IMBD and saw no upcoming projects announced to wear she would be in Oregon?

He grabbed his laptop off the coffee table and opened google chrome. Typing in 'Oregon'

All the basic information about the state came up. He tried to click through things but to no avail. He tried 'Things to do in Oregon' 

He scrolled to find nothing a celebrity like her would be interested in. Granted, Oregon was beautiful from the photos, but nothing that would catch the attention of a mega celebrity like her. Maybe she had a getaway home like most celebs did in another state. But then again, who would choose Oregon?

He thought about it. Well it was close to Cali. Maybe he should try a different approach

'Best neighborhoods for young people to live' 

It was stupid, but he was desperate. He clicked and clicked and looked up neighborhoods closest to her home base in Los Angeles. Nothing, not a single fucking thing. Frustrated, he was ready to throw his laptop.

Sara Wozniak was in a relationship and he was going to find out every detail.

A/N: Thought I would get this one out before tomorrow nights game. Y’all remember Jack? Well we are slowly setting the scene for next month

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

Dog Tags

Billy Russo x Female!Reader

Request by @nebulastarr​ : Hey! Whenever requests open up again, could you do a Billy Russo x Reader where the reader liked Billy but doesn’t want to tell him because she thinks he won’t feel the same way

A/N: I was going to wait and get down to writing this once I was finished with my series... But this one has simply hit a little too close to home. I couldn’t stop thinking about it when I saw it and I ended up putting a lot of personal stuff in it so I’m sorry if it feels chaotic at times. Thank you for requesting, love, I hope it lives up to your expectations.    The Only Living Thing series will be back with its third part next week.  The song: Isak Danielson - Power

All you heard was an excited scream, that raised above all of the New York’s past-6-pm commotion, as a slender tall body smashed into you, locking you in a bone-crushing hug. You laughed happily, albeit feeling a little bit uncomfortable in Karen’s strong hold. You knew it didn’t seem that way, but Karen packed a wicked punch in those elegant arms of hers. Those self-defense sessions with Frankie boy that she’s been gushing about over the phone must have been finally paying off.

“Once I am done hugging you, I am so kicking your ass,” she breathed out into your hair as she squeezed you harder, as if reading your thoughts. “You’ve been ghosting me for what, a month now?”

You sighed guiltily as Karen pushed you slightly away, keeping her hands on your shoulders. You watched her as she studied your face, a creeping smile stinging at the corners of her mouth.

Grabbing one of her elbows, you groaned dramatically, pulling her towards the busy road. With your hands locked, you finally admitted:

“I did suck at communicating these past couple of weeks. Work’s been…. hectic”, the lie tasted bitter on your tongue, but this was the best explanation you’ve been able to come up with so far. “Please don’t kill me”.

Trying to keep up with your power walk, Karen let a bubbling laughter leave her lips.

“You’re not the one who should be worried then,” she gave you one of those bright trademark smiles of hers. “Next time I’m going to interview Russo, I’ll…”

You stuttered at her tirade as you walked, and of course it didn’t go by unnoticed. Karen was the best journalist you have ever met during your prominent career. She just sensed that sort of thing.

“I’m getting this ‘I-meant-to-tell-you-Karen-but-I-didn’t-and-now-you’ll-need-to-fight-it-out-of-me’ vibe”, she gave you a scrutinising look. “Want to maybe share whatever it is you’ve been not telling me before I go full interrogation mode on your plump backside?”

You rolled your eyes as you led her to a terrace-ringed Upper East Side high-rise, waving to the doorman through the glass doors. Jackson, a thirty-five year old ex-military with three kids and a labrador, gave you a brilliant smile as he hurried to open them for you.

“Good evening, Mrs Y/L/N!” He bowed his head in a stiff, very army-like manner. “A package arrived this afternoon for you, should I bring it up?”

From the corner of your eye, you caught Karen looking around, confusion written all over her face. You had a lot to catch up on.

“Don’t worry about it, Jax, just give it to me,” you didn’t mean to urge him, but you couldn’t wait to change out of your corporate attire into some comfortable old pyjamas and crack open a bottle of whiskey - that’s right, some habits did die hard. And to think you were a bubbles-kind of girl a year ago when you met him.

You could feel Karen’s blue eyes drill a hole in the back of your head as you took a small, envelope-sized package from Jackson’s hands.

It wasn’t until you both stepped into the elevator that Karen cleared her throat.

“When you said you’d rather have a girls’ night in, I asked Frank to pick me up from Queens, not from…here,” she spoke, her eyes skimming expensive red wood and mirrors. “Did you finally sleep with Russo and moved in with him?”

Whatever it was that Karen expected you to say to that, it definitely didn’t include you spitting out a roaring laugh, as you nearly dropped the package on the floor.

“Quite the opposite, actually,” you informed her after you finally restored your breath. “I left Anvil. And, well, Russo. At the end of last month”.

—

A half-bottle of whiskey for you and a bottle of white wine for Karen later, both of you were sprawled out on the lambskins thrown over the hardwood floor in your living room. Jazz music was seeping out of the speakers by the TV, a couple of Diptyque candles emitting a soft yellow glow.

You stared at the ceiling of your new living quarters, your mind a blur. As you folded your hands on your stomach, you felt Karen twitch as she bent her elbow and leaned her blond head on the palm of her hand, facing you.

“So let me get this straight,” she paused, narrowing her eyes. “After becoming the Forbes’ hottest CSO, concluding what can easily be described as deals of the century - especially the one with Anthony Stark aka Iron Man and his magnificent goatee…”

Involuntary, you giggled at this. This talk brought out some very dear memories that you wouldn’t trade for the world - the way Billy’s dark eyes shimmered in the dim lights of the opera house as he gave you a look that said you did it, ever the perfect team… Or the way he threw his arms around your frame, his long fingers sliding down your back… You knew you looked good in that dress, but the moment Billy saw you wearing it… You felt like the only girl in the world, the way his jaw dropped a tad, his lips opening up in awe…

Oookay, Y/N, can’t go there, your mind screamed at you as you wiped that dreamy smile off your face. Sitting down, you took your whiskey glass, and washed those memories away with a gulp of amber liquid.

Meanwhile, Karen ranted on.

“…you just quit?!”

She jumped to her feet all of the sudden, brushing her blond hair away from her face as she watched you excitedly.

“Jesus Christ, did Billy make a move?! He made a move on you, didn’t he?”

The urge to facepalm was fierce, almost overpowering, but you managed to resist. Slamming your empty glass against the floor harder than you intended, you gave her a bored look.

“No, Karen, why… Why in the world would you think that?” You sounded just a little short of desperate, so you cleared your throat. “I was his second-in-command, that wouldn’t have been appropriate…”

When you were done studying the flame, dancing within the glass walls of one of the nearby candles, you raised your eyes to meet Karen’s. She wore quite possibly the most blatant look of ‘you are shitting me’ on her face.  

“So you just quit?” she stared at you in disbelief, unblinking. “No explanations provided?”

“This wasn’t how it happened,” you said, hating the fact that you felt like you had to justify yourself. You brought your knees closer, hugging them tightly. “I…”

—

“…I’m here to see William Russo”. 


With a nonchalant gesture, you unbuttoned your Burberry coat, looking at a red-head secretary behind a desk that screamed power and status with every inch of its epic proportions.

Anvil was certainly new money. With all of those hedge funds injecting their cash into emerging companies, there was no shortage of these - entrepreneurial endeavours that didn’t last long.

You didn’t know that at the time, but you were going to make sure this one would.

“My name is Y/N Y/N/L,” you added, perching your sunglasses on top of your head. “He’s expecting me.”

The red-head gave you a polite smile before checking something on her Mac.

“Welcome, Miss Y/N/L,” she almost seemed shy, as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before standing up. “Mr Russo is indeed waiting for you. If you would like to follow me, please”.

As the redhead led you through the training grounds, packed with fit men and women that looked like they walked straight outta Gym Shark ad, you did notice a couple of vagrant stares in your direction. You couldn’t blame them. You looked slightly out of place; more Vogue than the setting allowed for.

You quit your job as the COO of a global FinTech company just weeks ago, looking for a new challenge. It was an adventure of a lifetime, and while your ex-executive board had literally begged you to stay, once you’d decided something, no promise of a generous promotion could make you change your mind. While you absolutely loved your job, working for one of the most prominent online payment giants in the world, it felt like it was time for you to step down. Due to all the processes and wise investments you’d initiated, the company could make millions of profits without their CEO having so much as to lift a finger.

And you, well, you lived for the hustle. And that’s exactly what you were here for.

You still had your doubts about Anvil’s owner and acting CEO, though. William “Billy” Russo had already become a household name in the financial circles, albeit the company he was spearheading had little to do with the FinTech space. Some said he had the potential to succeed; others badmouthed him for being ruthless and balancing on the very edge of legal limits.

In short, the man had you intrigued. So the very moment he called and invited you to drop by Anvil to talk strategy, you knew you had to meet him.

See the beast for yourself, so to speak.

The first thing you noticed about William Russo as you walked into his office, spacious and entirely transparent, with its glass walls overlooking the training grounds, was experience, for the lack of a better word. It was etched into his every handsome feature, especially into his scruff strong-willed jaw. As he raised his gaze to meet yours upon the red-head’s announcement, his black eyes swallowing you whole, you realized no light reflected on their surface. There was a certain confidence to him as he raised from his chair, his white shirt straining some over his chest, long dark strands of hair falling onto his long eyelashes. This man meant business, as those black impenetrable eyes zeroed in on yours. He almost seemed too flawless - to spotless to be an ex-marine, stained with blood and murder.

All that Hallmark handsomeness was nothing but a cover.

Before William Russo had even got a chance to open his mouth, you were determined to find out what was lurking underneath.

“Mrs Y/L/N”, the hot-shot gave you a polite smile. “Thank you for coming”.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Russo”, you didn’t move an inch. He may have invited you for interview, but he wasn’t the only one with a long set of demands.

You briefly wondered if he knew that.

Before your thoughts could take you further, William Russo made his way to you, composed and calculated. He stopped by your side, albeit for a moment; rolling the sleeves of his shirt further up, he shot the red-head a charming smile (nothing like the one he gave you).

“Olivia, would you please bring a fresh pot of coffee to the conference room? Mrs Y/L/N and I have a lot to discuss”.

When he turned back to face you, you noted unconsciously that he was taller than you expected, the top of your head barely reaching his shoulders. The cool and composed look was back on his face as he motioned towards the doors.

“Would you like to follow me, Mrs…”

“Y/N”, you cut in with a slight raise of your chin. “I’d also prefer to call you William while I tear Anvil’s strategy down”.

His reaction didn’t disappoint. Some tension left his arms, his stung-up body relaxing just enough for a spark of mischief and curiosity flicker its way to his eyes’ surface.

A twinkle of a smile danced across his lips as he bit on the inside of his cheek, nodding ever so slightly in approval.

“It’s Billy”, he said, amusement echoing in his every word. "I don’t expect any leniency, Y/N”.

“Good”, you replied instantly, looking him straight into his eyes. “That’s not what I came here for”.

He nodded again.

And this time, there was liveliness in the quirk of his brow and a touch of insecurity in the corners of his mouth.

Now that was the man you could potentially work with.

—

Working with William Russo was anything but predictable. There were, however, certain patterns to his way of handling things. Whatever the trouble was, Billy was good at seeing the bigger picture - he was usually able to put things into perspective, but there were occasions when he refused to. You dare say that sometimes, you felt like he thought that money didn’t matter - like Anvil’s financial prosperity didn’t matter - as long as his team got not to risk their lives one extra time. You watched him turn down several lucrative deals that you’d busted your ass to put on his table, because it involved sending his men a little too far from home, in a place where he had no strings to pull whatsoever should anything go south. A part of you (the part that wasn’t frustrated as hell) admired him for that - it didn’t, however, stop you from disagreeing with him, time and again.

You may have never been to Iraq, and may have never known the horrors of sleeping with the bombs exploding a mere kilometer away, but you knew a game-changer when you saw it. There were risks involved, there was no arguing about that, but those were calculated, and those kind of deals could make Anvil jump straight to the top of the private military sector overnight.

William and you disagreed.

When William and you disagreed, no voice was raised, no blood was spilt, but Billy usually became distant, cold and just short of snappy when those conversations took place.


He only crossed the line once. 



You were three months into your job as Anvil’s Chief Strategy Officer when Mayhew happened.

The clock on your desk showed midnight as you paced in your office, on the phone with Rex Mayhew, the U.S. Ambassador in Cairo. A cat-and-mouse game between the Egyptian Armed Forces and the nefarious arms dealer group had become common knowledge since a week or so; the U.S. special forces got involved in the conflict when it’d been discovered that the arms were being transported onto American soil. Rex, an old friend from your Yale days, had let you in on the fact that General Richard Ravelin, in charge of the operation, was looking to reinforce his rangs with private military before “neutralising the threat”. This was a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity, with a potential governmental recognition in play… and Billy wanted to hear nothing of it.

You were exhausted and barely hanging in there; Billy was categorical and stubborn.

You’ve dropped the phone on your table promising Rex you were going to give him an answer in two hours, tops. Taking a deep breath, you walked out of your office, your bare feet thudding on the parquet floors of the corridor. When you reached Billy’s hideout, you found the man leaning against his desk with a glass of whiskey in his unnerved hand.

“Billy…” you spoke firmly, barely stepping through the doorway. “Rex…”

“Can go fuck himself”.

Oh, okay. No sugarcoating this. Alright.

You saw his lips barely touch the amber liquid as he slammed the glass against the surface of his desk.

“I said no, Y/N,” he wasn’t facing you anymore, leaning on his desk with his hands digging into the wood, his back tense. “Please just go home. Have a good night sleep. We will talk about this tomorrow.”

You could have sworn you felt your head starting to fume. This was the third time Billy Russo was shutting you down. For the third time he was making you feel like an incompetent fool when you were trying to do your goddamn job.

Why in hell would he hire you if whatever vision you had for Anvil didn’t match with his own?!

“You could at least say this to my face, Billy,” you spoke a bit harshly before you could stop yourself. “You know, to my tired and disappointed face, with a mouth that you have been shutting up every time it offers you a deal of the century”.

This sounded so much better in your head.  

“Why did you hire me?” you asked almost immediately, trying to soften the impact of the words that had already escaped. “If this isn’t the direction in which you want to take your company, maybe I should just…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Y/N, just fucking leave already!” Billy snapped like a branch that’s been holding too much weight, the sound of it dry and final.

…maybe I should just rethink the entire plan.  

There was no point in finishing that sentence now, was there?

“I was there long before you came along, so I’d think I know a shitstorm in the making when I see one!” Billy was looking at you alright, brushing his hair back, his eyes black and void.

You had wished It would have been new to you - looking in William Russo’s eyes and not seeing him there. But it wasn’t. He was back to his Hallmark version of a man, but instead of playing a hero, he was now putting on his villain guise.

“Let’s get something straight here,” he leaned back on his desk, crossing his arms on his chest, his black eyes narrowed. “While you were making your way to the top of a rich-ass cookie-cutter FinTech company, I was crawling in the dirt in Iraq under a downpour of the Trident D5LE missiles. While the closest thing you’ve come to havin’ your hands dirty was bribing an investor or two, I was fucking beheadin’ people under the direction of the CIA,” his words were cold, measured and rhythmic, like a round of bullets being fired on a range. “You know nothing of what’s it like to be in the middle of that kind of shit show, princess, so when I fucking say no, you listen. Is that clear?”

Bark. Sit. Roll over.

“Crystal. Sir.”, you finally broke the heavy silence hanging in the air, just barely resisting the urge to salute him. “I’ll see myself out.”

Biting the inside of your cheek like your life depended on it, once you turned your back on him, your first thought was don’t you dare cry on his account, bitch and then almost right away wait at least until you’re home.

You could have sworn you heard William call your name in a stranded voice, but you made sure to slam the door somewhat hard as you left his office so you could pretend you didn’t hear him.

If you were to face him now, with all that power and toughness he exuded… You would never admit it, even to yourself, but you’d just end up on the floor, huddled into a shivering little ball.

—

You were grateful that the next day after the shit went down with Mayhew fell on a Friday. When you stumbled into your apartment in Queens at almost one in the morning, you immediately shot an email to the HR department asking for a day off. Once that’d been done, you dialled Rex to decline his offer to introduce Anvil to general Ravelin, washed the makeup off your face and crawled into bed, hugging the second pillow close to your chest.

You didn’t cry, if that’s what you’re wondering.

As you rolled out of bed in the morning at around 8 am, you took a shower and grabbed a coffee from the kitchen before settling behind your home office desk with a heavy head. When you opened up the Keynote presentation with your strategy outlined for the H1, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at the iPhone you left on your couch last night.

You weren’t going to check if you had any missing calls.

There was nothing you had left to say to each other.

…with your chest hollow, you powered up the screen. There were no missed calls and no new messages.

It all looked like you had another strategy to build now. If Billy Russo thought that calling you a rich-ass princess that knew nothing of the world, all butterflies and rainbows, was going to make you resign, then man, was he in for a surprise.

You once heard one of his men compare you to a military convoy, when the guy thought you weren’t listening.

He had no idea.

You spent the morning refilling you coffee cup and rebuilding your H1 plan from scratch. After about eleven calls with the people you knew could get you a foot in the door of the offices of some government officials, billionaires and generals, after typing, deleting and typing again for 5 hours straight, by 2pm you had a solid game plan. You were pretty sure it would still need some tweaking from Castle, who essentially held the role of the Chief Operating Officer, dispatching men and women on missions and planning operations, and, well, from Billy Russo.

The Badass-ex-Sniper-turned-CEO himself.    

You kept the email short and to-the-point, sending the document over to Russo with Castle on copy, saying you’d be in the office to debrief on Monday. 

Refusing to check whether your email’d been opened, you slammed your MacBook shut.

The rest of the day rolled on uneventfully. You grabbed a coffee with the People Culture Officer from your previous company, who also happened to be one of your dearest friends; then you picked up your dry cleaners and did some shopping, cracking for a pair of new shoes in Saks Fifth Avenue.

Shoes were, indeed, your weakness.

By the time you got home, the tired sun was yawning, stretching its rays in one last effort before rolling into bed. Humming a Dua Lipa song under your breath, you were putting your new Jimmy Choo’s away when you suddenly heard your phone ring.

You didn’t even have to look at it to know who it was. 

You checked the time, however, noticing is was two minutes after the official end of the working day.

“Hi, Y/N”, Billy spoke, clearing his throat. “Are you… Um… Any chance you’re available to meet tonight? I would really appreciate it if you could give me fifteen minutes of your time. Please.”

It sounded like the real Billy Russo was back around. Insecure. Rugged. Imperfect.

“Can you pick me up?” you asked softly, “I’ll text you my address. There’s a pizza place just around the corner, I could use a free slice”, you circled the cold coffee cup you left on the counter with your finger. “Free as in you’re paying, Russo”.

A laugh that came somewhere from within caressed your ear.

“Uh, yes, I’m actually… Yeah, thanks. I’m leaving the office now,” even if he tried to hide it, a shocked surprise still seeped through the cracks in between the vowels.

You chuckled silently at his reaction.

“Just one more thing,” you ventured, placing the cup in the sink and making your way to the balcony - your small piece of heaven with a wooden chair, pillows and lavender. As you stepped outside, you put oyour free hand on the railing, just to feel the coolness of it, the evening air and the gentle flower smell stroking your skin. “What kind of car should I be on the lookout for?”

Billy hesitated, biting his bottom lip, running his nervous fingers through the thick strands of dark hair. The setting sun was hitting him just from the right angle, making his sculpted cheeks look like they were made of marble.

“A Rolls Royce Wraith”, he squirmed, rubbing his forehead, probably realising how lame and pretentious it sounded. “I’ll call you once I’m downstairs”.

“Uh-huh”, you smirked, leaning on the railing with your forearms.

You saw Russo pinch the bridge of his nose, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip again. 

Your small balcony provided quite a view, when you really thought about it.

“Don’t take too long”, you couldn’t help it, it really was stronger than you. “I’m starving”.

With a wide grin, you dropped the call and went back into your apartment.

You were planning to make him wait for ten extra minutes when he would finally “arrive”.

Just for the hell of it.

—

“That’s a lot of hot sauce for one pizza”, Billy commented, watching you spray your truffles and cheese generously with the piquant olive oil.

You gave him a mischievous smile.

“What can I say,” you shrugged, leaning back in your chair and licking the tip of your finger after you swept a drop of it from the top of the bottle. “I like them hot”.

That startled a laugh out of Billy as he eyed you with something in his irises looking a lot like awe.

Just when he was about to speak, a servant brought a glass of red wine for him and bottle of sparkling water for you.

You thanked the guy with a sweet smile, while Billy eyed him a bit coldly, obviously waiting for him to leave.

When the waiter had finally made himself scarce, Billy softly called your name.

You raised your eyes to meet him, struggling as hell to keep your stare vacant. (Which was hard to do with some foreign tightness in your throat).

“Before we dig in and I hope spend a nice evening as two friends, getting together on a Friday night”, he didn’t even blink? Was he blinking? You couldn’t tell, his black eyes swallowing you whole, again. “I want to apologise. I was completely out of line… It was unacceptable. You don’t need my validation, of course, but I still want you to know that you are doing a terrific job at Anvil, taking us to the heights I never even thought existed. It’s just… It’s hard for me sometimes to be a good CEO and someone who promised to take care of my men at the same time… Everything is happening so fast, I’m afraid to lose my footing.”

You reached out for his hand across the table before you could stop yourself. You didn’t take it, but your fingers brushed his ever so slightly before you realized what you were just about to do. Your eyes widened as you looked at him, searching for a reaction. 

Billy remained perfectly still, not taking his eyes off you.

You grabbed a napkin next to his wrist, pretending this was what you had meant to do all along. 

“We’ll get there, Billy”, you said, a small encouraging smile blooming on your lips. “We just need some tweaking”.

You weren’t sure if you were talking about strategy at this point anymore.

—

You had a great time at dinner.

(And a whole-hearted laugh as Billy finished your remainders of the truffle pizza, downing a litre of water to numb down the burning sensation in his throat afterwards).  

You talked about your respective lives, your ex-colleagues, your hopes for the future… You dared think this who the real Billy Russo was.

And he was incredible.

After the two of you were done with dinner, you offered him to come upstairs to your place and go through the new strategy together. He didn’t hesitate, although you could swear you’d seen something ambiguous flash in the depths of his dark eyes before he nodded.

(You must have imagined it.)

The two of you ended up sprawled out on your soft faux fur carpet talking game plan, bouncing ideas off each other. You watched Billy frown, as he rubbed his mouth with his long fingers, smile in excitement and shake his head in awe when you voiced your ideas - you felt proud and appreciated, and you wouldn’t trade the sensation for anything in the world.

A couple of hours later the two of you had finally decided that it was enough brainstorming for one night, and you rose to your feet to go and make Billy a coffee before he got behind the wheel. As you pushed the start button on your coffee machine, you heard him speak over the noise.

“You know I’ve done four tours - three in Iraq and one in Afghanistan”, you popped your head up, only to see him play absentmindedly with something on his chest. “And every time I’m considering a mission for Anvil, I find myself back in there again… A part of a death squad.”

You carefully picked up his cup of coffee and made your way back to him. You didn’t say a word as you leaned lower to hand it over to him, encouraging him to go on. 

Billy thanked you in a whisper before clearing his throat.

“Every time I have to send them somewhere, especially overseas, I force myself to stop and think… Is this really worth it? Is a fat check really worth putting the lives of my men and women in danger? And most importantly - you may think it’s stupid…” he avoided your gaze, staring into his coffee cup, a miserable smile on his lips. “I think, will it make a difference? If one of them dies on a mission, I have to at least know they made a difference… it’s selfish and it’s more about the peace of my own mind, but it is what it is, you know?”

When he looked up at you, his eyes were full, full to the brim. There was so much emotion in them, hatred, misery, hope, adoration, all whipped in a wild mix that was Billy Russo’s dark, velvet eyes.

“I carry these at all times,” the fingers of his free hand dropped to his chest, as he got a hold of something hanging around his neck. A necklace? “When in doubt, I just look at them - they help me remember where I’ve been and what I’ve done - and I just know if it’s worth it or not. The answer is usually no, by the way”.

He smiled again, the curve of his lips looking less haunted this time, as he sipped on his coffee.

Dog tags. Those were Russo’s dog tags.

“So they’re your reminder that, even being a badass CEO of a private military company”, you couldn’t help but feel some kind of zero gravity settling in your lower stomach as you saw him chuckle at your words. “…you still have a heart”.  

“How poetic”, Billy teased you without missing a beat, putting the empty cup on the floor next to him. “But yeah. Sort of, I guess”.

As you fell asleep that night, you dreamed about explosions, piquant olive oil and holding Billy Russo’s dog tags in your hand.

—

The time flew by after that. In 8-month time (after some tweaking) Billy Russo and you became a team. It sometimes felt like nothing could stop you, as long as you were together.

It should not have come as a surprise that the two of you earned yourselves a catchy nickname - at first, it was spoken solely behind your backs, but soon enough it became some kind of a title, more powerful than that of the CEO or the CSO.

Anvil’s men and women (and especially Frank - the fact that he invented the nickname secretly tickled him pink) - were now calling you Bonnie and Clyde. The ultimate partners in crime, against all odds, doing the impossible.

The two of you also settled in an almost homely kind of routine. Ever since that Mayhew fiasco and the day that followed, Friday had become the non-spoken partners in crime day. What it meant in practice was exchanging Friday jokes on Anvil’s internal communications suite…

(Billy once attacked you with a “would you look at this, just found the actual footage of your interview @ Anvil”. Before you even got a chance to answer, he forwarded you a cheesy meme with two old women speaking to each other, one of them saying “We need someone who can do the job of two men”, and the other responding “oh, so it’s only a part-time job then”. When you shot him back a message asking whether he really considered himself an arthritic old woman, that seemed to have shut him up).

…grabbing a beer in a bar nearby…

(you sometimes invited your colleagues to join you, plus it was an unspoken rule that Frank and Karen were to be there as well)  

…you making fun of Billy Russo’s eating habits…

(It was honestly a nuisance to have a lunch with him. The list of things he refused to eat went on and on: no asian food, no food chain restaurants (even high-rated), no soups, no cheesecakes… He sure was settling well in that peaceful life he earned after spending all those tours living off canned food).

…and just overall enjoying each other’s company.

By the time the ninth month of your being Anvil’s CSO had rolled in, you couldn’t imagine not seeing Billy Russo every day. Not noticing him rolling his eyes at a smart-ass comment you or Frank made, or his orbs lighting up every time you told him the deal with that or this decision maker had gone through. You simply could not understand how you managed to live day in and day out, and think you were genuinely happy, before you actually met Billy. Everything before him just faded away somehow, your memories lost their colour and spike in comparison to the life you were living now. You kicked ass at your job, your career thrived, but most importantly, you were feeling like this was exactly where you were meant to be, braving the obstacles by Billy Russo’s side, knowing he would catch you should you fall.

He would, wouldn’t he?

It was your usual Friday night outing, the seven of you - Billy, Frank, Karen, Curtis, James from legal, Ashley from mine clearance and yourself - occupying your usual table at Whimsy, the bar that must have made 90% or their revenus off of Anvil’s folk. It was just around the corner from the headquarters, after all.  

The overall mood of the evening was rather nostalgic. It’d been four weeks since you’d lost a team member in a crossfire in Falluja, Iraq. After everything was said and done, his loss still hung heavy in the air, and it felt right to get one more drink in Jasper’s honour. The conversation flowed easily, even though the topics you’d spoken about were anything but.

“I remember how I felt when I lost Andy”, Ashley nursed her beer as she stared into the distance. “I just literally had the weight of the entire world on my shoulders, pinning me to the ground, I just couldn’t move on”, she finished her bottle in one go and motioned for the bartender to bring her another one. “Sometimes, I just ask myself, what would have I done if I’d known he was going to die the next day? Would I have stopped him from going? I think I would,” she thanked the bartender as he put the beer in front of her, her eyes a bit foggy. “Yeah, I definitely would have.”

Frank grasped Ashley’s shoulder and squeezed it hard in a comforting gesture; Karen gave her a tender look.

You didn’t know why your mind had gone there, but all of the sudden a memory of Billy sitting in his office chair, laughing his ass off at some offhand comment you’d made flashed before your eyes; it quickly got replaced by the recollection of his hand brushing against yours during the Zoom meeting you’ve had with general Warren Singer; then you remembered him putting his hand on the small of your back, staring daggers at some army brat wanting to join Anvil, eyeing you like a piece of meat (you learned later that day that the man’d been thrown out before having a chance to introduce himself); until finally, your brain stopped dead at the picture of Billy running his nervous fingers through his hair as he called you from his car, telling you he was only leaving the office.

What would you do if you knew he was going to die tomorrow?  

Your heart sunk at the thought as you gulped hard, ducking your head and staring at your hands folded in your lap.

A soft touch enveloping your elbow had you facing the man of the hour, his black eyes shimmering with concern.

“Are you okay?” he half-whispered, half-mouthed, not letting go of your hand.

No.

Nothing is okay, Billy.

I’m so happy that I met you, but you’re scaring the hell out of me.

I never wanted any form of eternity until now, I never saw the point…

So stay. Please, stay forever, and feel something for me, too.

“Yes. I’m fine,” you whispered back, staring into his eyes, hypnotised and helpless. You watched him turn away from you as if in slow motion, the warmth of his hand leaving nothing behind but emptiness in your bones.

“Here is to always telling the things that matter to the people who matter”, Billy spoke firmly, raising his beer. “Here’s to never missing a chance to open up to the people we love”.

Well, if this was his way of crossing the t's and putting the dots to the i’s regarding his feelings for you, he couldn’t have been clearer. 


As far as confessions of love went, this one was non-existent.

—

You tried, time and again, to convince yourself you had to go. You learned the hard way that your unrequited feelings were feeding on a sort of inadvertent parasitic relationship where every moment of your day depended on the level of Billy’s unintentional emotional indifference. Your days were spent questioning his every move - every look and every touch; until, the grown-ass woman that you were, you’d commanded yourself to stop second-guessing everything - stop feeling - and decided your best course of action would be… to work yourself into the ground.

If Billy ever noticed anything, he didn’t show it - your were still you, after all, working hard, laughing when he said something funny, calling him out on his bullshit when needed. He didn’t notice slight change in your eyes, when their icy surface cracked at every other compliment he threw in your direction (and there was no shortage of those). He didn’t realize the smile you gave him was different from those tightlipped signs of appreciation you gave to Anvil’s potential clients, he didn’t think twice about the reason for which you glowed around him, your every move softening, your every gesture emanating warmth.

Because Billy hadn’t really known you until you started to have feelings for him.

You knew this couldn’t go on forever. This entire situation was bound to result in some explosion of nuclear proportions, and then all hell would break loose. You needed to get yourself out of this situations, but you just… couldn’t. You couldn’t imagine your life without Billy Russo. You couldn’t leave him.

Even if being friends with him meant tearing yourself apart and suffering in silence. 



Long story short, you waited with fear in your bones for someone to walk into your life and to get you out. You’ve had no fight left in you to do it yourself.

Your salvation came in the form of a phone call on a Friday evening, when Billy was on a recruiting mission in California.

You were typing back a response to his cheeky message when the call cut in half-sentence.

Billy Russo: Please remind me to take you with me instead of Frank next time? He’s driving me insane trying to set me up with the ladies from the Organising Committee. Any ideas on how I can calm him the fuck down?

You: Sorry, Billy, but recruiting is out of my mission scope. As for the calm down part, try bondage maybe? :)

Billy Russo: I’m going to pretend you did not just suggest I engage in sexual practices with Frankie. Karen will have my balls.  

Billy Russo: But perhaps you’re right. Taking you with me is probably not a good idea. Wouldn’t want my new recruits’ brains to turn into mush because of how beautiful you are.

You: The flattery will….

“Hello? Y/N speaking”, you brought your phone close to your ear, your cheeks still a lovely shade of pink. If you were going to feel miserable when Billy came back, acting like nothing happened, you were sure going to make the best of that fuzzy feeling in your chest right now.

“Miss Y/N/L”, a smooth deep voice greeted you, and you could have sworn you’d heard it many times before. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

Frowning in an attempt to remember, you urged:

“No, not at all. How can I help you?” you stared into the screen of your Mac, wheels turning in your head as you silently catalogued all the men you were in discussions with regarding a deal. “I didn’t catch your name…”

“Oh, how rude of me”, the man chuckled but there was no mockery in his voice, more like self-depreciation. “Tony Stark, from Stark Industries”.

Your mind went blank. Did you hear his last words correctly?

“Uh… Mr. Stark”, you quickly got a hold of yourself - well, as quickly as you could. “I appreciate you reaching out to me directly. What can Anvil do for you?”

You did a pretty bang-up job trying to mask your amazement with polite cheerfulness, and Stark had caught on that.

Tony Stark just called your cellphone number. What in the world?…

“We don’t really do alien invasions”.

Ohyourgod, did you just say it out loud?!

His uproarious laughter took you by surprise, reverberating through your entire body. It took every ounce of your self-control not to giggle in response.

“That’s a good one, I love it”, Stark finally said, restoring his breath. “And the better question would be, Y/N - can I call you Y/N? - what you can do for me”.

Before your brain could take you into some naughty direction, freaking Iron Man cleared his throat.

“Okay, this came out wrong,” he admitted with a sense of self-irony. “I um… I’m looking for the Co-Chief Executive Officer for Stark Industries. Well, Virginia Potts is actually looking for a Co-CEO, I’m just her errand boy. And my missions apparently include recruiting…. Anyway,” it was a bit of a challenge to follow Anthony Stark’s train of thought, but you were also still shocked, so that could explain it. “…I think you are the perfect fit for the job”.

You just stared into the screen front of you, your breathing barely audible.

“Mrs Potts and I would love it if you could swing by the A-Tower, let’s say, on Thursday? You’ll be surprised, but I can also whip up a mean cup of coffee…”

Say something.

Fucking hell.

Say something!…

“Thursday sounds great,” you blurted out without thinking. “Let me just shuffle my schedule around… I could stop by after lunch?”

 Your hands were slightly shaking as you clicked on your mouse, opening your schedule window.

“Whatever works for you, Y/N”, you could hear Stark smile. “Not to sound like a creep, but I’ve been following your career for quite a while now, and I think that the work you've done in such a short span of time for Anvil is outstanding, even though you still don’t offer protection from alien invasions”.

That made you chuckle, pushing you halfway out of your stupor.

“I’ll put that on the list of things for us to consider”, you promised.

"Tell Mr. Russo I sent my best,” Stark added, and you felt your heart drop to your stomach. “I actually might have some ideas for how we could collaborate. Let's discuss this on Thursday, too, shall we?”

After you said your goodbyes, you fell back in your chair, dropping your iPhone on the table.

You: The flattery will….

...get you nowhere.

You never finished that message, leaving Russo on Read.

—

Starting with that evening, things were moving fast - too fast for you to keep track.

After a three-hour long coffee and the tour of the A-Tower, Virginia Potts, the acting CEO of the Stark Industries, had offered you the job - just like that - and asked you to come back to her executive assistant should you wish to take the job, with your salary expectations and the information about your notice period. You thanked her for her time and promised to get back to her as soon as you made your decision.

Virginia Potts was a brilliant woman; but running a company like Stark Industries while being equipped with a vagina was certainly no walk in the park. Sexism was still very much present within the Boards of the Tech Businesses. You understood perfectly well why she wanted a woman in her corner - it would have been a massive slap in the Board’s face, but it was also about having someone to lean on, who just understood.

In any other circumstances you would have peed your pants in excitement. It was an opportunity to work for Stark Industries - no, scratch that - it was an opportunity to step in as a Stark Industries co-CEO. The idea of it still made you dizzy.

…but as you looked at Virginia’s email sent to your personal address thanking you for stopping by, your eyes were swimming with tears.

You weren’t ready to leave Billy. 
You just couldn’t. 
You couldn’t leave him. 

There was no epic finale to your story. There was no big revelation, no closure, no moment of relief, no acceptance, nothing. Only a fat-ass what if.

And you didn’t know how to let go of a what if with Billy Russo.

And that was exactly why you had to do it.

You heard Billy come in the next Monday earlier than usual. He was positively humming Usher’s Yeah! quietly as he made his way past your office’s doors straight into his own.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes. You’ve been psyching yourself up during the entire weekend, telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal, we wouldn’t even flinch when you were going to tell him.

You had to tell him.

As you stood up from your chair, straightening you skirt with the palms of your hands, you suddenly heard the footsteps coming back in your direction. You froze in place like a deer in headlights when Billy swung open the door to your office, a box of Pierre Hermé macarons in his hands.

Your goddamn favorite Pierre Hermé macarons.

“You’re here!” Billy’s warm smile illuminated the room. “So much for a surprise, huh?”

He shook the box carefully in the air. You stared at it, dumbfounded, every single thought leaving you.

You couldn’t breathe.

In the hazy morning light seeping through the windows of your office, Billy looked beautiful and dissolute, shirt open at the collar, longer strands of dark hair falling into his eyes.

He was going to be the death of you. It really wasn’t fair.

“Billy, I have to tell you something.”

Was it you who spoke those words? They seemed distant and cold, so uncharacteristically detached.

Blood roared in your ears.

“What’s wrong?”

Billy’s reaction was instant. In three decisive steps he closed the distance that separated you, leaving the macarons on your desk. He stood still just mere inches away, and just like during your very first meeting, you had a fleeting thought cross your mind: you really were tiny next to him, the top of your head barely reaching his shoulders.

You bit the inside of your bottom lip, trying to keep your composure. He stared at you unblinking. He wasn’t touching you, but it felt like his eyes were looking straight into your soul, undressing you, blowing that wall you built around yourself into dust. They were taking you down, piece by piece, determined to see what you’d been keeping from him. 

Because, of course, he knew. He should have known something was going on. Hence the surprise this morning.

He had no idea what it was though.

“Maybe you should sit,” you said, making a physical effort to tear your eyes away from him, feigning sudden interest in the buttons of his shirt.



That chest…



…was going to be just fine. He didn’t feel the same way you did. He would just find someone else to fill your position. With brilliant women stalking him - in cooperative packs - that would not be a problem.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you”.

You squeezed your eyes shut as soon as his words reached your ears.

Fucking hell, you should have done that by phone. Or with other people around. You should have…

“You’re leaving”, you heard Billy repeat as his voice broke a little. He stepped away, burying his face in his hands as he dragged them down his jaw and neck, staring into the ceiling.

“Billy, listen, I…”

You were the one to close the space between the two of you this time, and before you could think too much into it… You threw your hands around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck.

The sensation struck you like a bolt of lightening when you felt his hands cross behind you back and pull you closer.

He smelled heavenly. Like a forest fire, a hint of smoke with oud and pine. You inhaled deep, deeper still, losing yourself in his comforting touch.

In his arms, just for a second there, you felt home.

“You… The company doesn’t need me anymore”, you nearly choked on words, screaming internally at yourself to keep the waterworks at bay. “It’s thriving, there’s not much else I can give you. My job here is done.”

I need to leave because your indifference is destroying me, and when I think I’m ready to let go, all it takes is one look from you, and I’m back to wanting you, to settling for anything you give me, like a goddamn fool.

“What the hell are you talking about, Y/N?!” Billy exclaimed, his hands grasping your shoulders as he distanced your bodies just enough for him to look into your eyes. “I nee- The company needs you! I was… You know, I was planning to make you the CEO of Anvil in a couple months time,” his smile, as earnest as it was, did not reach his eyes. “Yeah”, noticing your eyes go wide in shock,  he let his hands slide down your sides. “You’re so much better at it than I ever was. I was going to join Frank and just manage operations… under you”.

You just stared at him, dumbfounded, not feeling a stray tear escape your eye and rolling down your cheekbone.

“These are the tears of happiness, I hope”, Billy added, and you barely registered his touch as his thumb wiped the salty drop off. “Well, I guess Anvil will have to settle for the little old me. With my best girl going places."

You gave him a strained smile before you carefully wiped your cheeks, just taking a moment to look at him. To try and read him.

Billy Russo was a goddamn ceiling. Plain white, cool and unattainable. In all of your time working for him, you have never seen this Hallmark version of him before. Which one was it? 


Oh wait, you guessed you knew. The happy-for-you friend.

“So where are you going?” Billy asked, his eyes empty. “Who snatched you away from m- Anvil?”

The stutter was so subtle you barely noticed. You were finally tired of reading into shit.

“Stark Industries. I’ll be their co-CEO”.

—

Before you left Anvil you promised yourself you’d get the deal with Stark Industries up and running. There was no one in the world you trusted more in terms of security than Billy.

(The fact that you couldn’t keep your heart safe from him didn’t really count, did it?)

As a matter of fact, Billy and you were going to shake hands with Anthony Stark on the deal on your last night of being Anvil’s CSO. It was happening in The Metropolitan Opera and required both Billy and yourself to dress for the occasion. 

He promised to come pick you up at 6pm sharp; you were putting on the Jimmy Choo’s you’d bought a coulee months ago in Saks Fifth Avenue when you heard a low knock on your door.

Straightening up, you threw a quick glance at your reflection in the mirror. You decided to go with a long Marchesa black velvet gown with a rather deep V-line, a pair of long diamond earrings and an elegant half-up half-down hairdo, soft curls in the front framing your face.

“I’m coming”, you yelled out, picking up your leather jacket (because why the hell not) and your purse from the kitchen counter. Sharply opening the entrance door, you realized moments later that you didn’t even take time to prepare yourself for seeing William Russo in a tux.

If you weren’t already half in love with him, the sight before your eyes would have sealed the deal.

God-fucking-damn, like he needed any help being unforgettable.

With a black jacket thrown on a crisp white shirt with a couple of buttons undone and the tie hanging loosely around his neck, Billy was here to make a statement, to leave a mark. His hair was coiffed back in his usual style; honest to God, he looked like he just stepped out of the Man of the Year special GQ edition…

Just when your thoughts were about to switch to the way you must have looked next to him, ridiculous in your simplicity, like you refused to make an effort…

…Your eyes met his.

And the way he looked at you was so intense, his big black eyes with galaxies in them probing into yours, his strong jaw slack. There was beauty and tragedy reflecting in those orbs, but only just for a second - just for a second, he looked at you the way he probably looked at the sky he could never reach. Just for a second, he looked at you the way that made your heart beat twice as fast, like the world could crumble all around him and he still would not have blinked.

Would not have taken his eyes off you.

“Wow, Y/N, you look… You look beautiful”, he finally said. “I just can't spot a part of you that beats the other.”

Something in your chest exploded silently.

“Thank you, Billy,” you smiled at him - a genuine and happy smile, because you felt on top of the world with his adoring eyes on you. “You’re quite a catch yourself”.

Before you could scold yourself for your choice of words, you stepped out of your apartment and locked the door behind you.

“Shall we?” Billy offered his hand to you, without hesitation it seemed.

“We shall”, you replied instantly, slowly sliding your hand into the crook of his elbow.

And, just like always, you were going to enjoy it while it lasted.

��

The crowd in the opera was so posh, the looks all the women had been throwing you first made you question your choice of outfit. It’s after overhearing their conversations that you realized, the reason they stared daggers at you was the man that kept by your side no matter where you went.

Virginia and Anthony welcomed you at the buffet with sun-stained sincere smiles. After a short small talk, Anthony Stark informed you both that he had signed the contract earlier today, thus officially giving Anvil an exclusive security deal with Stark Industries. As of now, Anvil was the only company allowed on the Stark Industries’ premises in the quality of guards and protection officers.

The look Billy and you exchanged spoke volumes; while your eyes were sparkling with excitement though, screaming “we did it!!”, his bottomless black eyes were whispering “thanks to you”.

The four of you then shook hands and went through rounds of gratitude and appreciation; when a pleasant woman’s voice announced the imminent start of Onegin, inviting the guests to go to their seats. Virginia immediately took you hand, leading you straight into the Opera house, saying something about leaving men to finish their drinks. You threw Billy a laughing look over your shoulder, mouthing “come join me” before disappearing out of his sight.

“So on the scale of one to ten, how pissed at me are you, Mr. Russo?”

Billy turned his head sharply to a side, leaning on the high table, and spotted Anthony Stark himself, nursing a glass of whiskey. “For taking your queen away from you? Excuse the chess metaphor, but that woman”, Stark took a sip of his whiskey and savoured it before swallowing it down. “Is a goddamn queen.”

Billy chuckled, straightening up, digging his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“That, she is,” he whispered, his eyes still piercing the spot in the crowd where your smiling face was mere minutes ago.

—

When the opera ended, both Billy and you couldn’t be more relieved - because both of you hated it with passion.

Exchanging meaningful glances in the dark during the singers’ performances now and then, you had to bite your tongue in order to not just ask Billy if you could maybe sneak out. Russo proved to be more stoic than you, carefully covering your hand with his in what was meant to be a comforting gesture.

You didn’t look at him once after that, afraid to say or do something that would make him remove his hand.

How much more pathetic could you get?  

When the performance was over, Billy led you out of the opera house without saying a word, his hand hugging carefully the small of your back.

His silence was unnerving. You didn’t know what to make of it. Should you have shaken his hand off back in the darkness of the concert hall? Or should you have caressed it with your thumb?

Your mind was spinning in circles by the time he opened the door for you and you slid into the front passenger seat of his Rolls goddamn Royce.

When he got in the car and gripped his steering wheel, you reached out and placed your hand on his whitening knuckles.

“Billy,” you spoke softly, barely audibly. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” he whispered back, turning his head to a side to face you. His black eyes stared into yours, looking hypnotised and helpless. “Everything is fine.”

It didn’t take a degree in Psychology to see that he was lying. You could feel his gaze on you as you turned away from him, taking your hand away at the same time.

Billy started the car. The revving engine filled the silence, loaded with the unsaid words.

—

“…he then walked me to my door, we exchanged our goodbyes. And that was it,” you finished lightly, looking back at Karen.

Her eyes were red as she stared at you, unblinking.

“Unbelievable…” she whispered. “So you never told him?…” her lips barely moved.

You sighed.

“Have you ever felt like you’re potentially in love with someone? Like, you don’t actually love him, you know you don’t, but one day you realise that you could? You realise just how easy it would be for you to fall in love with him? With all the teasing and the banter, the play hitting each other, calling each other names, just…. You start to pick up on little things - like if you listen closely, in every shut up, there’s a barely-there ring of I could love you.”

You shifted on the floor a little, and Karen watched your memories transport you somewhere else again. While physically your were here, in your apartment - with your fluttering eye-lashes, uneven breathing and loaded expression - mentally, you were somewhere else.

“….You probably don’t notice it at first, but your body is drawn to him. Every accidental or absentminded touch…” you continued quietly. “And there’s that twinkle in his eyes when he looks at you and it messes you up, because - what’s going on with you? What the hell does it even mean? Are you imagining shit? You’re trying to make sense.”



Karen didn’t interrupt, still staring at you as if she were seeing you for the first time

“I mean, he didn’t ask for any of it, you know?” you finally raised your foggy stare at Karen, as if searching for confirmation. “Maybe he just did something dumb one day, smiled at you or said something that seemed important and then all of the sudden you’re full on Looney Tunes, seeing stuff that isn’t there?”

Your words barely audible, you swallowed hard, before continuing.

“…I just kept looking at him with what ifs, and could haves, seeing all that goddamn potential. It’s so fucking twisted. Over-analyzing everything? Waiting for a sign?…” you chuckled bitterly all of the sudden. “…I was so fucking scared of reading too much into it, of crossing that line, because… It would be so easy!… Falling in love with him would have been so easy.”

Oh sweetheart, Karen’s eyes glowed with comfort as she reached out for your hand and squeezed it softly. But you already are in love with him. 



A loaded silence ripped through the air in your living room. The sound of an engine revving somewhere close squeezed its way through the slit of an opened window, and it seemed to break the trance.

Both Karen and you shuddered, and as you took in the realisation Karen’s eyes just bestowed upon you, you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“It’s pretty late,” Karen spoke up, reading you like an open book. She knew it was her cue to leave the stage. You needed time to process. “Frank is in a bar nearby with Curtis, let me just give him a call, okay, sweetheart?” she gave your hand one last reassuring squeeze. “You know where to find me when you need me”.

“Yes”, you responded, blinking tiredly. “Thank you so much for coming, Karen. I didn’t mean to unload on you like that…”

“Shut the hell up,” the blonde advised, raising her eyebrows. “But honestly, Y/N, please call me once you… come to terms with things, okay?”

You nodded.

When Karen left, leaving the sweet and pleasant smell of her perfume behind, you closed the door behind her and turned around, leaning on the cold wood and metal with your eyes closed.  

It’s been a month. This was supposed to pass by now. Billy was supposed to stop inviting himself into your dreams. You were supposed to heal.

You may have just realized you were in love with the man instead.

Letting out half a moan, half a groan, you peeled yourself from the door slowly, and brushed your hair back, wanting nothing more than to fall face-first into bed.

After you at least cleaned up a bit and put out the Dyptique candles, that is.

As your eyes scanned your living room in an attempt to asses the size of the job at hand, you stopped mid-way, zeroing in on the box Jax gave you earlier in the evening. It rested silently on the kitchen table.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you made your way to the kitchen area. Grabbing the package, you turned it around, looking for any indication of the sender.

The package wasn’t even stamped.

Curiosity getting the best of you, you took a moment to grab a knife from one of the drawers, and carefully swished it between the two cardboard sheets.

Flipping over the envelop, you heard something fall out of it before you could actually see it. A small sheet of paper floated in the air before falling on the surface, partially covering whatever fell out of the package.

Your heart squeezed the second your brain identified the object, attached to a worn silver chain.

With trembling fingers, you slid two metal pieces from under the paper, covering your mouth.

Finding their home in the palm of your hand, Billy’s dog tags shimmered in the dim candlelight.

Squeezing them in between your fingers, you grabbed the paper with your free hand, your eyes staring at one single sentence scribbled on its surface.

“You took my heart with you”.

[peralta-guaranteed]

After that Jake-Mac-Rosa fic, you dropped this queen: 👑 Next time, a Jake-Mac-Holt piece?

Oh dang, THAT's where I left it. Thank you for that. 🤪

Grandpa Holt is always a pleasure to write, but let's try for some Dad Holt too...

"Is everything alright, Peralta?"

Jake has been sitting off to the side of the group for a while now, so Holt finds it necessary to inquire. He's not used to the eager detective being so closed off and quiet unless something is wrong, and nothing he can think of right now strikes him as 'wrong': they have been celebrating the end of a rather arduous case for Diaz and Boyle, and Peralta had been as helpful as he could be as a tertiary, which was not his preferred position at all. The first round at Shaw's had been paid by himself as Captain, obviously, and the next by Diaz, so Boyle has promised to shoulder the third, were it to happen. Ergo Peralta could not be thinking about his usual money problems, which have lessened anyway ever since Santiago took over his budgeting.

That means something else entirely must be 'wrong' in order for Jake to keep out of the conversation, only reply when he is mentioned by name, and drift off to a corner of the bar while the other congregate around the various game options of the room.

"I'm good, Captain, thanks." Jake answers with a smile and an obvious lie, so Holt doesn't even bother replying, just raises one of his eyebrows a quarter of an inch, which he knows usually gets him results with Peralta. The ensuing sigh shows that it is still working.

"It's just..." Jake shrugs and rubs the back of his neck, another tell of his discomfort. "This is my first night out alone since the baby."

"Indeed." Holt replies. "I remember your phone call to Amy to inform her you would be back late today."

"Yeah." His hand is still on his neck, the other one clutched around his half empty beer bottle. "She told me to have fun. But..uh... I still kinda feel like I shouldn't be here."

"Do you think having a child robs you of autonomity? I know I am not speaking from experience, here, but it does seem to me like you are allowed to enjoy time away from your family, especially if your spouse insists you do."

"Getting drunk at a bar while my kid might be crying at home doesn't feel like the responsible thing to do, is all."

"Ah, I see." Holt nods, and he does see - he actually sees a lot more than what Jake might be trying to imply in his statement. He remembers how he used to self-medicate with alcohol in the past, after ending his relationship with that defense attorney, or even before, while feeling heartbroken over Santiago. He also remembers anecdotes about his father's drinking, not from Peralta himself, obviously, but from the rest of the squad, whenever Jake would cancel on a promised night out after Roger Peralta's visits. As much as Holt hates idioms, one of his most despised is probably 'the apple doesn't fall far from the tree', and Jake seems to fear it as well.

"Here is my solution, then, if you are willing to listen." Jake looks up at Holt as he's standing in front of him, and his hand drops from his neck. "You make the beer you are currently drinking your last for the night, and spend some quality time with your colleagues instead, enjoying a few parlour games, and then you head home at an agreeable time and still see your child before he falls asleep."

Jake grins and takes a sip of his beer.

"Sounds like a plan, Cap." He nods, and Holt doesn't ignore the fact that Jake has been using this shortened nickname for him a lot lately, and how eerily similar it sounds to 'Dad' in his voice.

(An hour later, he receives a picture on his cellphone from Peralta: The man himself, asleep on his couch, with his infant son equally asleep on his chest. Santiago must have commandeered his phone, and Holt is glad for it.)

-*-

"Grampa!"

The sound of that little voice echoes through the hallway as loudly as the ensuing footsteps, and Holt feels something warm and solid wrap around his legs.

"Hello, McClane." He smiles down at the little boy currently clutching his knees, and he smiles back before raising his arms in an obvious demand to be lifted up. Holt obeys it immediately.

He notices Mac looks surprisingly tired for an otherwise very energetic two year old, and Amy, who's now following him to Holt's side, looks equally exhausted.

"Good afternoon, Captain. I'm so sorry, I should've messaged you that I have to bring Mac in for an hour, the babysitter cancelled and the day care couldn't keep him longer than-"

"It is quite alright, Santiago. McClane knows how to behave himself at the precinct, right?" He gives the little boy in his arms a look, and receives a strong and eager nod in reply, the curls on his head bouncing back and forth. If anyone were ever to question Peralta's parentage, that alone would classify them as an imbecile. "I can watch him for the time being, if you have paperwork you need to get in order before leaving for the day."

"God, Captain Holt, would you- that would be so- I was going to ask Rosa, because I know she's at her desk-"

Amy seems far more frazzled than usual, and Holt realises that her regular schedule must be in quite a disarray, considering she has been a single parent for about a week now. Mac must not have been making it easy for her, either, nor must the baby currently growing in her stomach, which has started to show about a month ago, at which point they finally informed the squad about it (when everyone had already figured it out just like last time).

"RoRo!" Mac yells, happily, almost leaning out of Holt's arms, but he quickly hugs him tighter.

"Your aunt Rosa is working, McClane, and we should not interrupt her. We can spend the time in my office, and you can draw if you would like."

"Roro working." He echoes like a little parrot. "Like Daddy."

"That's right." Holt has learned from the parenting homepages he's visited that you are to encourage a child trying to talk and string together a coherent topic, no matter how long it might take.

"Daddy's working away." Mac continues, and out of the corner of his eye Holt sees Amy's forehead wrinkle in worry.

"Yes, your father is in New Jersey for the week to work on a special case." It's not a dangerous case at all, rather a boring standard task that happened to involve some out-of-state suspects, but Jake had still been trying to hand off that trip to anyone who might be willing to help him out. Seeing his son with bags under his eyes and his wife with stresslines around her mouth and her hand on her belly, Holt understands why.

"He comes back." Mac says next, and it is a statement, but the look in his eyes makes it a question, and Holt is quick to answer. He's glad that he has a definite answer to that, instead of the empty promises and assurances he sometimes has to make as the head of a police department.

"Yes, your father will be back soon. In two days, in fact."

Mac holds up two grubby little fingers, and Holt nods with so much fervor it surprises himself.

"Very good, that is two. Only two days and two nights until your father is back home." The worry in Mac's eyes seems to dimish a little at that as he stares at his own fingers. "If we go to my office, we can check on the calendar exactly how long that is." He barely waits for another nod before taking the diaper bag out of Santiago's hands, who whispers a quiet, but relieved "Thank you" to him. He understands again that it means far more than to thank him for taking care of the child for an hour so.

(If he uses that hour to assure Mac several times that no matter what, his father will always find a way back to him with far more emotion in his voice than he'd usually use, well, no one needs to know. Peralta certainly seems happy about the picture he sends him of Mac with his captain's hat behind his desk.)

-*-

"Congratulations." Holt's hand on his shoulder is heavy, but not uncomfortably so, and it gives a quick squeeze before dropping.

They've done the whole customary introduction to the newborn baby, the apparently necessary picture round, and now Kevin is having an amicable chat with Amy in her hospital bed. They've waited two days for their official visit, to give the new parents a chance to get at least a few of their bearings. (Holt was there merely an hour after the birth, of course, with the rest of the squad, but that was a moment of joyful chaos and many voices.) Now the room is filled with an almost serene quiet, Amy's and Kevin's voices low and comfortable in the background as Holt watches the man he truly considers a son hold up his new granddaughter.

"Do you want to hold her again? I know you already did for the photos but-"

Holt only nods and takes the infant out of his hands with perfect ease. He's more used to a wriggling toddler now, but he still clearly remembers the days when Mac was equally quiet and frail in his arms. The little one in them now is asleep amidst all that is happening, her tiny mouth open just a fraction, and he feels her arm bump against his chest while she seems to be having a dream.

"She is as perfect as her older brother, Jake."

"Yeah." Jake smiles, and there's nothing of that boisterous, loud, cocky detective grin left in it that he used to know. It is soft and kind and full of love, and it might be one of Holt's favourite expressions. "Amy did a superb job again."

"As did you."

"I'm sure I don't gotta explain this to you, Cap, but I didn't really do much." Jake jokes, and Holt can tell he's trying to divert the attention to a simpler topic, but sometimes things must be said.

"You do a lot, Jacob." He continues, then. "Far more than a lot of fathers do. Far more than many would expect of you. And you do it all perfectly right, with heart and determination."

Jake nods, swallowing down a lump in his throat, it seems, and it might be a step too far for his already emotional state, but Holt feels like it needs to accompany his accolades.

"I am very proud of you, son."

Jake is very obviously fighting back tears as he replies.

"Thanks, dad."

The little girl in Holt's arms stirs right at this moment, and Jake seems to want to interject immediately in fear that she'll start crying, but she simply stares up at Holt with impossibly big, brown eyes for the first time. And he realises, just as he did two years ago when Mac's little hand tightened around his finger for the first time, that there is a child in this world that he would literally do anything for. There are four of them now, even if two of them have not fallen under the category of a child for several decades.

"Hello, Maya." He says to the little face that seems to be inspecting him. "I'm Captain Raymond Holt. Your grandfather."

He looks up at Kevin and Amy, who've stopped their conversation while Amy is lifting her phone in their direction, and then at Jake, who's looking at Maya as well with shining eyes. Then he looks back down at Maya, stretching her arms out of her swaddle as if she's reaching for him.

"You are a very lucky little girl."

[soundsof71]

Hey! Album: 'Fleetwood Mac' (1975) - Fleetwood Mac

Hey! Great to hear from you! You (and your previous blog) were my original inspiration for trying to raise my tumblr game to something intentionally curated, and more than that, personally creative. Sorry to have let you down. LOL

What a pleasure to talk about this one, though, an album I think is -- strangely enough -- one of the most underrated albums in the classic rock pantheon!

What’s that you say? An album with “Rhiannon” and “Landslide” underrated?!?! Well it’s true, seriously underrated, at least partly because those two stellar, nay, legendary songs are the first ones that most people think of. There's so much more! It's definitely my favorite Fleetwood Mac album!

My perspective is a little different than the standard rap that Fleetwood Mac didn't properly begin until those two California kids joined the band in 1975, because to me, they started taking off when their first American joined the band, Bob Welch in 1971 for Future Games, which I wrote about at some length here. 

(For the record, Future Games is my second favorite Fleetwood Mac album. Anyone who hasn't checked it out really needs to.)

I’ll leave it at that for now, except to observe that to most of my music nerd friends at the time, I was a latecomer to Fleetwood Mac the band, having completely missed their earlier, bluesier lineups. Indeed, the 1971 lineup was their 8th! And they'd come to #9 in 1972, before landing on lineup #10 in 1975.

They had a bunch of hits on the five albums in this 71-74 range (”Hypnotized” is one that still slays me) that I think hold up as among their best ever. While the album before Fleetwood Mac, Heroes Are Hard to Find didn’t have a hit single, it rose to #34 on the US charts, and got plenty of attention. 

My point is that Fleetwood Mac didn’t spring into existence out of nowhere in 1975. Nor was 1975 necessarily ground zero for the millions of people who bought the album Fleetwood Mac. It came out in the summer of ‘75, but took 15 months to hit #1 in the US! (It peaked at #11 in the UK.) This was a far bigger album in 1976 when all the singles came out, and the band was touring like crazy to support it.

They basically dragged the album to the top of the charts kicking and screaming by the end of THAT year with relentless touring, setting the stage for their true commercial breakthrough with Rumours in 1977, but artistically? I prefer everything about 1975′s Fleetwood Mac.

btw, the music nerds know that Fleetwood Mac was recorded at Sound City Studios, which makes all the difference in the telling of the tale. In 1974, the band had located to Los Angeles, and following the departure of Bob Welch in December, Mick Fleetwood went looking for both a recording studio and a guitarist. 

While getting to know producer Keith Olsen at Sound City (a studio legendary for its drum sound, among other things), Keith played Mick some tracks from an album he’d recorded here a couple of years earlier with a local guitarist and his girlfriend singer, both of whom were also songwriters.

Mick said, I’ll book the studio to record my next album, I’ll book you to produce, and I’ll hire the guitarist....who famously informed Mick that he and his girlfriend were a package deal. All of this happened because of Sound City Studios.

(Here's Mick recording this very album in this very studio.)

Your friend and mine Dave Grohl directed a FANTASTIC documentary about Sound City Studios, a kind of a dump to be honest, but where tons of phenomenal records were made, from After The Gold Rush to Caribou, Damn The Torpedoes, Nevermind, Rage Against The Machine, and most recently, Phoebe Bridgers’ Punisher. Lots and lots of stories about the making of Fleetwood Mac in this movie, and much more. 

Here’s the trailer. The whole movie is available on YT, too! And Amazon Prime, and a bunch of other places. HIGHLY recommended!

So here we go taking directly about Fleetwood Mac.....

the first song from the album i heard: "Over My Head". This was the first single released in the US, remarkably, four months after the album was released! I dunno, did the label not want to sell any albums? Or did they just not get how catchy these tunes were? I have no idea.

And ironically, the band didn't like the choice of "Over My Head" at all, ranking it dead-last in their own considerations of likely singles! I think that this is evidence that they were using heavy drugs much earlier than we thought. LOL

"Over My Head" peaked at #20 in the US, their highest to date by far, although, in some defense of the band's reservations, didn't chart at all in the UK. Saying that it rose to "only" 20 in the charts doesn't begin to describe how heavily it was played, though. A LOT.

do i own the album: Did then, Spotify now. The answer for most of the albums in this round of Asks. :-)

my favorite song: "Over My Head". Look, I admit that this is insane when Fleetwood Mac also includes "Landslide" and "Rhiannon." "Landslide" in particular is maybe one of the greatest songs anyone has ever written, and every single person reading this knows somebody named Rhiannon because of that song. (I've met two.) And hey, "Say You Love Me" was a MUCH bigger hit at the time too... but I'm tellin' ya, "Over My Head" fucks. 

It's the single version that fucks hardest, though, no doubt about it. I was disappointed when I finally bought the album that the version there fades in (NO! THIS IS WRONG) and has a wide mix that diffuses the impact. The radio version is so tight that it's practically mono, and it punches you right upside the head. 

One of my favorite things about listening to "Over My Head" in the past couple of weeks for this Ask is that it's Old School Fleetwood Mac. Chris on piano, Mick on drums, and John McVie with what might be the best bassline that anyone stroked out in 1975. My god, it's a fucking monster, and it just gets hotter as the song progresses. By the end, it's on fire, and you hear it so much better in this tight single mix.

The new guy adds a nice little solo on top of a nice rhythm lick, and he and Stevie add background vocals, but they're not front and center. "Over My Head" is really Christine McVie's showcase, although Fleetwood and Mac really shine too. This would have been a monster hit without the new kids, as indeed it pretty much was. You could say the same thing about "Say You Love Me", which is also all about Christine's songcraft, and a voice like no other, then or now.

Here's my edit of a lovely Mick Putland photo of Christine McVie from a couple of years earlier.

I guarantee that it's been way too long since you heard the in-your-face single version of "Over My Head". On Spotify, you can find it on the couple of Deluxe Editions of Fleetwood Mac (here's one), and it's also on the anthology, The Very Best of Fleetwood Mac, which I've embedded here. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gw-lIt1ILzk

least favorite song: "I'm So Afraid." I'm so afraid not. LOL

a song I didn’t like at first, but now do: Hmm, I might put "Sugar Daddy" in that category, but honestly, the main thing I don't like about this song is the title. LOL But it's the 4th best Christine McVie song on an album where the best three of hers were all released as singles, so I guess it all works out.

a song I used to like, but now don’t: Anything by the new guy. I'm not going to go into detail here because what I love about this album, I still love. At the time, I dug two of his songs here (you can guess which two, surely), but I started to really despise this guy a few years later. Now, I can't listen to anything where he's prominent at all, on any Fleetwood Mac records.

Fortunately there are more than enough Christine and Stevie songs, and Mick and John's playing, plus all those earlier albums like Future Games, to keep Fleetwood Mac in the rock good pantheon. I'd have fired the new guy 30 years earlier than he was. 

favorite lyric:

Mirror in the sky

What is love?

Can the child within my heart rise above?

Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?

Can I handle the seasons of my life?

Well, I've been afraid of changin'

'Cause I've built my life around you

But time makes you bolder

Even children get older

And I'm getting older too

Like I said, the two Stevie Nicks tracks on Fleetwood Mac deserve every bit of the love they've gotten over the years. You can also see with just a quick glance around my blog that she's one of my most-posted artists. Please don't take me repping Christine as any disrespect for Stevie!

Do I like "Landslide" a little more than I otherwise might because it's specifically about outgrowing the aforementioned new guy? Maybe.  Or do I like it a little less than I otherwise might because I can't hear it without thinking of him? Maybe that too.

overall rating out of 10: Then: 9.4. Now: 9. The new guy went 2-for-4 for my money at the time, and the two that he whiffed on are genuinely terrible...but as bad as those two clunkers were, the rest of the album seemed perfect to me. Certainly among my most-played mainstream rock records into the early 80s. I was perfectly fine skipping one song on each side.

Even though nowadays I can't stand any of the songs he sings lead on, you take those off, and you STILL have "Landslide", "Rhiannon", "Say You Love Me", "Over My Head", and "Warm Ways". No album with ALL THOSE on them gets less than an 8.5, right?

I'm adding a few tenths each for how tightly Fleetwood and Mac are locked into each other and these songs on rythm (easily the most underrated duo of the era, sez me), and Keith Olsen's immaculate production. The score of 9 is therefore objectively correct and mathematically unassailable. LOL

I'm going to end where I began, by talking about Christine McVie. Instead of listening to this first and foremost as an album with a couple of giant Stevie Nicks songs, listen again to Fleetwood Mac as Christine McVie really lighting things up. She deserves so much more credit for the band's success than she gets, and seriously, "Over My Head" fucks. 

Now looky here, @aluacrescente . I know that YOU have strong feelings about this record, so spill! And the rest of you, too! I don't intend to have the last word on the albums in any of these Asks! Just the first one. :-) So lemme know what YOU think!

PS. Apologies for any formatting weirdness! I started this on desktop, where I do all my writing, saved the first few paragraphs to come back to later, only to be told by tumblr that I'd stated this on the app (DID NOT) and could only edit there. Grrr. Not cool, @staff. I've spent another day just tweaking to make it somewhat readable and wondering how these people can be so bad at their jobs. LOL

My crackpot opinions and wobbly writing are my own of course, and I'm aware that they have a larger negative impact on readability than tumblr's incompetence by far. LOL

[snowdice]

Road Trips and Missing Persons (Part 1)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Patton & Virgil (more to be added)

Characters: Patton, Virgil (more to be added: probably everyone)

Summary: Patton was just getting groceries. The next thing he knew, there was a knife at his throat and he was an unwilling uber driver. Virgil’s on the run after the murder of his dad, and it’s not just his paranoia that’s telling him he’s being chased down. He has to get somewhere safe, somewhere he can trust, and all he has is a couple of stories from his dad and a name: “Green Bellow Foods and Dispensary.”

Notes: Secret Agents AU, knives, carjacking, kidnapping (more to be added)

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve affectionately named it the Goblin Brain Fic because it’s helping my brain actually get motivated for studying. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined!

Patton had just been getting himself groceries. He was planning on making homemade macaroni and cheese for himself this weekend and went around the store grabbing all kinds of different cheeses (some which he did not recognize the names of and might not actually make good Macaroni and Cheese, but how could he resist the cute little goats on it) and little mini shell pasta. He also picked up some heavy cream and then headed to the cash registers with his spoils.

He’d been a bit distracted with his plans for cooking when he’d gotten into his car to drive home and hadn’t been paying as much attention as he probably should have.

The next thing he knew, there was a knife at his throat. He paused. “Hi?” he said tentatively.

“Put your keys into the ignition and drive,” a dark voice said into his ear.

Patton took a deep breath. “Sure,” he said, reaching forward to slowly do as the man asked. “Any particular direction we’re going in?”

“Fucking, I don’t know. Just drive,” he said. “I’ll decide later.”

“Alright,” Patton agreed and put the car into reverse. “Can I turn my head to make sure I’m not backing into anything?” he asked.

The knife retreated a bit in answer. Patton turned his head slowly and looked back while letting his foot off the break and quickly scanned his new friend out of the corner of his eye. There wasn’t much to be seen. He had a dark hoodie covering most of his frame, but a few tuffs of dark hair stuck out of it, framing a pale face with a streak of blood down his cheek and a purpling bruise near his eye.

Patton didn’t indicate that he’d seen any of this, instead choosing to turn back to face front and drive out of the grocery store parking lot.

The knife returned after that, though it didn’t touch him this time. It just hovered. Patton chose to drive towards the interstate, careful to keep his hands on the steering wheel and make no sudden movements.

“Why are you getting on the interstate?” the man behind him asked. There was caution in his tone, but he didn’t seem too suspicious of the move.

“You wanted me to drive and I don’t know where or how long. There’s a lot more driving to do out here than in town,” Patton explained. “Is that okay?”

“I…” he responded. “Yeah, sure.”

So, Patton continued to drive.

 Eventually the knife started to retreat a bit, though it was still there. About 30 minutes into the ride, Patton decided it was okay to speak. “Would you like to come sit in the passenger seat?” he asked softly. “You can lean the knife across the console at my side. It’d probably be a bit more comfortable.”

The knife returned to Patton’s neck. “No,” he said firmly.

“Okay,” Patton agreed calmly.

Yet, despite his initial reaction, it was less than 5 minutes later that the knife dropped a bit again. “… I’m moving to the front seat,” he grumbled. Patton suppressed a smile.

There was shifting around in the back and then a body threw itself up into the passenger seat. He scrambled into a sitting position and rushed to point the knife back at Patton. Patton just kept driving. After a few minutes he relaxed a bit again.

Patton bit back the words ‘Put your seatbelt on,’ and instead said. “Figured out where we’re going yet?”

“Uh…” he replied. “Do you know any places associated with Green Bellow Foods?”

Hmmm... “There’s an abandoned factory near Livington. Would that work?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Let’s go there.”

“Okay, but fair warning, it is about a 3-hour drive from here.”

“Great,” he hissed.

Patton glanced over at him. He was still just a blob of black fabric for the most part as the hoodie still covered most of his body, but when he looked over at Patton, he revealed a bit more of his face. Patton was surprised by how young it looked. He looked like a teenager, likely not even a legal adult. “Since we’re going to be driving for a while,” Patton broached after a few more minutes to let him settle in the front seat. “Can we get something to eat? I have a lot of cheese in the back, but I’m lactose intolerant so that’s probably not a good idea for a closed car.”

“You…” the boy started. “If your lactose intolerant why do you have an entire bag full of just cheese?”

“And heavy cream and shell pasta! I was going to make mac and cheese when I got home!”

“That doesn’t answer the question.” Patton noticed that the knife had drifted away from him as they spoke.

“I like cheese,” Patton said with a shrug. “Anyway, I can go through a drive through,” he tempted.

“I…” Patton saw him bite his lip nervously out of the corner of his eye. “Fine, sure. I guess. Just… just you’re going to have to use cash so no one can track your credit card.”

“Okay then,” Patton agreed with a small smile in his direction. “We’ll get off at the next exit!”

“Uh, yeah, okay,” he said. “Er… Don’t… try any funny business?”

Oh goodness. He was a baby. “Of course not.”

Signs for the next exist started popping up a few minutes later. They passed a blue sign with a couple of restaurant emblems on it.

“Looks like your options are Wendy’s, Chick-fil-A, Hardees, or Freddy’s. What’re you thinking?”

“Uh I don’t know? I don’t care.”

“You have to have some preference,” Patton said. “Go ahead and pick.”

He hesitated. “Maybe Freddy’s? I don’t think I’ve tried that before.”

“Sounds good!” Patton chirped. He pulled off at the exit into a medium sized town. The exit dumped them straight onto the town’s main street and Patton could see the sign for Freddy’s a bit down the road. “So…” Patton fished while they were stuck at a red light. “Why Green Bellow Foods?”

“No reason! Why do you care?” he asked, suddenly intense and defensive.

“Woah,” Patton placated. “I’m just curious. I’m the one driving you over three hours to get there after all. I just wondered why.”

“Right,” the boy said, curling in a bit on himself. After a moment he mumbled. “My dad knew the owner.”

Did he now? Patton thought. He didn’t comment on the use of the word “knew.” The light turned green and Patton glanced over at him. “How old are you?” he asked.

“You don’t need to know.”

Patton hummed as the light turned green. “What if I guess and you tell me if I’m right?” He didn’t respond, instead crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “Let’s see,” Patton said anyway, glancing over at him. “Twelve?”

“What?! No! I’m 15!” Then he paused. “Hey!”

“Fifteen, huh?” Patton asked. “Is that why you didn’t just steal a car? You don’t know how to drive?” His new friend gave him a wounded look that edged on a pout. “What do you want to eat?” Patton asked.

He bit his lip. “What type of food is there?”

“Mostly burgers and fries, but also chicken sandwiches and hot dogs. And ice cream! Well frozen custard, but ice cream!”

“Er… just order me a cheeseburger and fries.”

“And ice cream!”

“I don’t need ice cream,” he mumbled.

“Well, I’m getting ice cream.”

“Do whatever you want,” he grumbled.

Patton narrowed his eyes at him. The kid wanted, no he needed ice cream, Patton decided.

Patton pulled into Freddy’s drive through and ordered two burgers with fries and drinks and a Dirt ‘N Worms concrete. Patton reached for his wallet and the boy startled, but he didn’t instinctually reach for the knife, Patton noted.

“Just getting my wallet,” Patton soothed, continuing to move slowly to take it out. He flipped open his wallet and took out a $20 bill. The boy relaxed again.

Patton greeted the drive-through worker with a cheery “hello” and exchanged the money for their food before thanking the employee and driving off. He pulled into a parking space in the Freddy’s parking lot.

“Do you mind if we eat real quick before hitting the road?”

He hesitated. “No funny business?”

“No funny business,” Patton swore.

“Then, fine.”

Patton put the car into park, and they started to eat their food. “So, what’s your name?” He got a suspicious look in return. “My name’s Patton,” he offered. “You can just tell me a nickname.”

“…You can call me Anxiety.”

Patton frowned a bit at the name but accepted it for the moment. He balled up the burger wrapper and stuck it in the bag. ‘Anxiety’ who had been just holding his awkwardly, followed his lead.

“Now for dessert!” Patton enthused and then made a show of freezing. “Wait. I forgot. I’m lactose intolerant.”

“How do you forget-?”

“And I forgot my lactaid pill. Guess you’ll have to eat it while I drive.”

‘Anxiety’ glared at him but took the ice cream. If Patton caught him smiling just a bit as Patton started to drive again, he didn’t mention it.

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 2 My Master Post (since it won’t show up on mobile. AHH.)

[tarhalindur]

2021 NFL Predictions

Man, as someone who occasionally spends too much time thinking about the NFL (football: the closest thing American sports have to a turn-based strategy game) and trying to predict how its season will go it occurs to me: why do all this work in my head and not write it up?  So, here goes nothing:

(Terminology note: “true talent” = estimate of how many games I would expect the team to win given average luck and schedule.  The categories are derived off the old 16-game schedule because that’s what I was drawing off of and I’ll need to see how the new schedule plays to calibrate the break points now: as it is, “Super Bowl contender”: true-talent 12-13 wins or better (in 16 games); “division contender”: 10-12 wins; “wild card contender": 7-10 wins, with 9-10 being “upper end” and 7-8 being “low end”; everyone below that is bad.)

- The AFC South got fucked by the scheduling gods (they drew the AFC East and NFC West, likely the two deepest divisions in the NFL), and I will be quite surprised if any team in it gets a wild card. (Let’s take an upper-case outcome and assume the second-place team in the division sweeps two terrible teams and splits with the division champ.  That’s five wins.  Assume the Jets are terrible too and that’s six.  And then... what?  Barring a Kliff implosion and/or the Rams rolling injuries to the stars on their stars-and-scrubs roster the worst team in the NFC West should be at least true-talent seven wins.  New England could be trash if Mac is bad or gets injured now that Hoyer is their best backup, but otherwise every non-Jets team in the AFC East is true-talent nine wins or better.  Cross-divisional?  Not likely unless the Colts implode due to injuries and Jacksonville does massively better than expected - they get the Bengals and Broncos, and the Falcons might also count depending on whether that team hits its fail states.  The AFC South would even have a hard time benefiting if both the Browns and Chargers implode, because the third place team last year is the one team basically guaranteed to be terrible in Houston.  A wild card isn’t impossible, but it needs a whole lot of dice rolls to go in a team’s favor either on the field or between games - which is by definition not likely.)

- The NFC North also gets an uphill climb to a wild card. They rolled the NFC West, the AFC North, and the new cross-conference against the AFC West, an absolutely brutal set.  Getting a wild card out of that probably needs at least 4-2 in the division (probably needs exactly one of CHI/MIN to implode, though sniping a game off Green Bay also works) and some good fortune either in games that should be close in true talent or in events elsewhere (the easy road involves at least two implosions in CLE/PIT/ARI).

- The AFC East probably gets a wild card.  They rolled the AFC South (likely 2-3 games where you’re heavily favored if you’re even a wild card contender) and the NFC South (admittedly not free, but NO and CAR are both probably winnable and while I’m high on the Falcons they have significant downside risk - there’s also the possibility that Father Time finally gets to the far side of his near-Brady experience), plus the Jets and the new cross-conference game against the NFC East.  Worlds where the AFC East doesn’t get a wild card probably involve both multiple implosions in the AFC North and West and at least one of Coach of the Year Robert Saleh and OROY Zach Wilson.

- The AFC West probably gets a wild card?  They rolled the other likely weak division in the NFC East, which goes a long way, and frankly there’s enough teams with implosion risk in the AFC North and West (CLE, DEN, maybe LAR, maybe PIT) that it’s probably going to happen to someone.

- The NFC East... they’re probably exporting a whole bunch of wins as well?  Not a guarantee, though, I could actually see them get a wild card if there’s enough implosions in either the NFC South or the AFC West.

- The AFC North might be the highest-variance division in football.  If they hit the high end they’re absolutely stacked, but there’s a real risk the Browns are fool’s gold (I think they were a true-talent 8-8 team last year that lucked into one of the easiest schedules in years, the question is how much they improved) and that Father Time gets The Older Rapist enough to knock the Steelers down to a true-talent 8 win team (have a hard time seeing them go further down with Mike Tomlin’s team-building, though admittedly they might underperform that given Tomlin’s occasional issues with not covering certain receivers and looking past bad teams on the road).  One thing’s for sure: I don’t think there’s enough wins for all of the AFC North, AFC West, and NFC North to get wild cars.

- The NFC South has one good team (barring Father Time finally getting Brady, one that should be decent (Payton isn’t a bad coach), and two that could be anywhere from wild-card contenders to outright collapses.  Note that with the Easts and Souths playing each other this year, there’s too many wins for both the NFC East and NFC South to whiff wild cards unless both divisions seriously export wins to the AFC (in which case the AFC North has an uphill climb and there’s a pretty good chance that the AFC East gets two wild cards and the other goes to the AFC West).

(Bonus under the cut: individual team thoughts!)

- Bills: Should be in the playoffs and are the division favorites, but slightly more downside than they’re getting credit for. The problems are twofold: what should have been the second most favorable schedule in the division (because the likely best teams in both the AFC North and NFC East did not finish first last year) is salted by the schedule gods taking away: they draw Pittsburgh in the season opener so are the single most likely team to face a full-strength The Older Rapist, and they draw Washington in September as well maximizing the chance that they get Fitzpatrick before he inevitably turns back into a pumpkin.  (Fitzpatrick playing out of his mind and beating the Bills mostly singlehandedly and getting Team fans’ hopes up before dashing them would be peak Fitzpatrick...)  More to the point, their early schedule is PIT, @MIA, WAS, HOU, @KC, @TEN; it’s not out of the question they start 2-4 or even 1-5 going into the bye if the stars really align against them, and at that point locker room morale becomes a factor.

- Dolphins: Wild card contender (true talent roughly 10 wins), could be more if Tua really develops or the Bills stumble. Good news: they dodge KC and instead get the Raiders in a quite winnable game, on top of the common AFC East schedule, and now they get the Giants (who I suspect are the worst team in the NFC East) as well. More good news: like, the worst Miami is doing against the Pats is a split, right?  Bad news: they face Baltimore.

- Patriots: With Cam gone and Hoyer (a second-tier backup at this point) the presumptive backup the Pats are suddenly one of the highest-variance teams in the league.  If Mac Jones is good immediately they’re a division contender, and if he’s even a competent game manager they’re another true-talent 10-win wild card contender given that run game and possibly that front seven as well. If he’s bad or gets injured, however, they now might very well wind up with a top 10 pick.  Which might actually be part of the point, on top of doing a vet a solid and avoiding any locker room issues?  In a weird sense Belichick is unconstrained by job security in a way no other NFL coach is; he doesn’t have unlimited job security... but he’s also nearly 70, and if the rebuild fails then by the time his seat would really be getting hot he’s probably considering retiring anyways.  So he’s playing with house money.  It’s not likely, but don’t be shocked if the Pats pull what Arizona did a few years back and draft a first-round QB two years in a row - it’s definitely an option if Mac is terrible.

- Jets: Not out of the question as a dark horse if Zach Wilson is good, I’ve been getting good vibes off of Saleh.  Problem is the combination of their division and injury issues; I’m not sure they have the roster to overcome that yet.

- Steelers: Basically covered above.  If Big Ben aka The Older Rapist is still above average they’re a wild card contender or even an outright division contender again; if Father Time gets him and they’re stuck with Mason Rudolph or Dwayne Haskins-level play at QB they probably still win a few games because Mike Tomlin is not a bad coach but they have an uphill climb.

- Baltimore: The one obvious division contender in the AFC North, given a very good quarterback and one of the five best coaches in the league.  Admittedly their OC is potentially a question mark, but they should get back to the playoffs.

- Cleveland: Actually hard to tell.  There’s two offsetting issues here.  First, as mentioned above their schedule was soft as fuck last year and that’s unlikely to still be the case. On the other hand, I think there’s a decent chance they take a step forward this year.  Ceiling is about where their record was last year barring a massive leap, floor is a 7-8 win team unless a bunch of other teams hit their upside at Cleveland’s expense.

- Bengals: Depends on how good and/or healthy Burrow is, but they probably finish last in the division regardless.  Low-end wild card contender if everything goes right?

- Titans: The one team in the AFC South that should actually be good.  Exactly how good depends on things like “did they overuse Derrick Henry last year?” and “is the defense any good at all?”, but the fail state here is a true-talent wild card contender in a likely soft division.

- Colts: Depends on two questions: can they get Wentz back to anything resembling 2018 form, and do they keep getting bit by the injury bug?  AFAICT the core roster is of the classic “quarterback away” type with good D and a decent running game (see also this year: Denver, Washington, possibly Carolina, Pats if Mac Jones doesn’t pan out).  The best case is that they can reclaim Wentz and the injury bug is done with them for the year, in which case they challenge TEN for the division.  Worst case Wentz is bad and/or injured and half their roster is on IR, in which case they get a top-10 pick and the AFC East and NFC West are even more likely to get wild cards than they were already.

- Texans: Obvious tire fire, and not just on the field at this point.  Problem is the tire fire includes both the new owner and his favorite exec, so they’re likely to remain a tire fire for a while...

- Jaguars: Probably depends on how good Trevor Lawrence is and how quickly, especially since I suspect Urban Meyer is at higher-than-usual risk of flaming out.  Best case they’re a true-talent 8 win team that might manage to take advantage of a soft-ish schedule to challenge for the seventh seed.  Otherwise look for them to export wins.

- Chiefs: Obvious Super Bowl contender is obvious, barring a Mahomes injury they’re the presumptive division favorite and near-locks for the playoffs.

- Raiders: I’m high on Carr (solid Tier 2 quarterback IMO, on par with someone like Tannehill and I’d take him over Kirk Cousins - and probably Baker Mayfield, too, though maybe not since Mayfield has less track record and thus higher upside).  I’m considerably less sold on Gruden, and have doubts about what he’s done to the roster.  Still should be a wild-card contender.

- Chargers: How much of last year’s late-season run was fool’s gold?  Not sure.  Could be all, could be none.  IIRC they replaced their head coach, so that hole is at least possibly filled.  Herbert is probably good, though I want another season of track record to be confident.  The real problem here is that they still seem to be connected to some Indian burial ground somewhere.  Upside is division contender, downside is 6 wins or so.

- Broncos: QB-away team in a bad division for it.  At least they get the NFC East, but I suspect they finish out of the playoffs again this year.

(Interlude: A general thing to note about the NFC is that due to two QB injuries and one QB retirement there is exactly one team that finished first place in their division last year that I expect to be the best true-talent team in their division this year.  Worse, due to the aforementioned injuries two teams I expect to be the best or at worst second-best in their divisions finished third and fourth in their divisions last year, respectively.  This is throwing a giant monkey wrench in the usual SOS-based scheduling balance.)

- Football Team: The Football Team has the kind of defense that’s a characteristic of the QB-away team.  There’s two differences between the Team and the usual suspect, however.  First, I’m not entirely sure how good their line and thus running game will be. Second, and more importantly, the usual QB-away team has a consistently mediocre medium-to-high floor, low-ceiling quarterback. The Football Team, by way of contrast, has Ryan Fitzpatrick, arguably the single highest-variance QB of the last two decades, a man who will absolutely win you games you should have lost… and lose you games you should have won.  Also, he’s in his upper 30s and thus at risk of Father Time coming for his NFL career.  So, the questions: how many games do you get Fitzmagic and how many do you get Fitztragic?  If the usual cycle applies, when exactly does he turn back into a pumpkin?  And is the division + the lower end of the NFC South soft enough that it doesn’t matter?

- Giants: Probably the worst team in their division, and my pick for the most likely second-worst team in the NFC.  I don’t like Daniel Jones, I don’t like most of the rest of the roster, and their coach is unimpressive.

- Cowboys: Remember those quarterback injuries I was talking about?  Right.  The ‘Boys are not without flaws – the defense is notoriously questionable (though by preseason reports they may actually have drafted a difference-maker of a linebacker this year) and Mike McCarthy may well be a downgrade compared to Jason Garrett.  But barring another injury (eyes Dak’s shoulder nervously) they have a QB (I’m a bit low on Dak relative to most people, but in this case “low” still means a Tier 2 quarterback roughly on par with Derek Carr), and they should have an offense.  Barring a Jalen Hurts breakout or Fitzpatrick rolling Fitzmagic for most of the year, with a healthy Dak this is at worst a wild-card contender in a weak division and thus the presumptive favorites for the division title.

- Eagles: Oof.  This team is hard to judge, mostly because AFAICT they’re a weird superposition of potentially very good and potentially complete trash (that’s also spelled “very high variance”).  The issues are twofold: they have a largely untested starting quarterback who was roughly average last year but might develop (the aforementioned Hurts), and they have quite a few very good but aging players on the roster.  Best case, Hurts plays like a Tier 2 or even Tier 1 quarterback, the rest of the roster holds, and they’re in contention for the division title and/or a wild card slot.  Worst case, Hurts is meh, the vets fall off or get injured… and then next year might be even worse because at that point you probably need a rebuilding year even if they hit this year’s draft picks.

- Packers: There’s risk here, mostly of the forms “simmering issues blow up the locker room” and “age and/or injury sap Aaron Rodgers and Jordan Love is meh or worse”.  But Aaron Rodgers is one of the five best quarterbacks in the NFL until proven otherwise, and both the coach and the rest of the roster are at least decent, so barring those the Packers should be at worst a division contender with Super Bowl aspirations ala the Ravens.

- Chicago: Uh.  Hmm.  I like the Fields pick, gut says he’s a pretty solid bet at a Tier 2 quarterback of some description barring catastrophic injury.  IIRC the D is still good.  But I do not like that O-line, and I do not like that schedule, and I’m not a big fan of Coach Nagy either.  In the NFC East or AFC South the Bears would have at least a decent chance at the playoffs.  Here?  Not so much. It’s not impossible the Bears do well, but I think a top-10 draft pick is more likely.

- Vikings: Hmm.  By true talent the Vikings are probably a wild-card contender in the same vein as the mid-2010s Bengals.  That’s not quite a good comparison, because I’ve got Zimmer as probably a top-10 coach and those Bengals lacked that.  But the rest fits: solid if aging roster (ala the later Dalton Bengals years), overpaid mediocre QB.  Yeah, I’m low on Cousins; IMO he’s a high-floor, low-ceiling type that gets overrated by analytics, the second coming of Matt Schaub.  He’s a solid choice if you want to win 10-12 games (maybe 13 now) and have a shot at the conference championships, but I’ll be very surprised if he ever wins a Super Bowl as a starter. The problem for the Vikes is that they’re in the NFC North and therefore their schedule sucks balls.

- Lions: They’re rebuilding and their schedule is one of the roughest in the NFL.  They might surprise someone early before the lack of talent really shows, IIRC I’ve heard about that happening once before with a Dan Campbell team, but this team is playing for a top-5 draft pick and they’re probably going to get it.

- Saints: Actually really hard for me to tell, mostly because I can’t tell how good the non-QB parts of the roster are this year relative to last.  They’ve lost a HoF quarterback, and while Jameis has seasoning and a possible QB whisperer now I suspect his ceiling is still a high variance high ceiling, low floor type in the Fitzpatrick mold (absolute peak might be Eli mk. II).  Payton is one of the better coaches in the NFL but finished 8-8 with Brees for multiple years.  That said, the Saints’ roster last year was better than it was in those years, especially on defense.  Question: is that still the same this year?  Don’t know; the Saints took non-Brees losses, but I’m not sure how much.  Peak is a true-talent wild card team if Jameis is above average and the rest of the roster is good; fail state is probably 6-7 wins by true talent.

- Buccaneers: Let’s be real, this boils down to a single question, the same one we’ve all been asking for over half a decade now: “is this the year Father Time finally comes for Tom Brady?”.  At this point I’ll believe it when I see it.  And even if yes they’re probably still a playoff team, because the rest of the Buccs roster is still the best in the division and the schedule gods once again blessed Tom Brady’s team with a weak slate of foes – the entire rest of the NFC South has issues, they get the NFC East, and by finishing second-place in the division last year the Buccs get Chicago, the Rams, and now the Colts as their SOS-dependent opponents.  The AFC East with the probable exception of the Jets will be tough (but even there the Buccs luck out – they rolled New England early, and even without a possible Mac Jones adjustment period even if he’s good the first month for the Belichick-era Patriots has often been an adjustment period as the team figures out what’s working and what isn’t) and the Rams should be as well (here the schedule gods frown, the Buccs rolled the Rams early – a lot of the Rams’ downside is injury-related volatility, drawing them early minimizes the chance of this happening prior to this game), but even then the Buccs don’t look severely disfavored in any game and everything else looks very winnable and would even if Brady declines to 2015!Peyton.

- Panthers: I’m not going to lie, I actually rather like the Darnold gamble in a vacuum.  If you’re betting on anyone in the NFL to pull another Tannehill he’s the one, because I’ve gotten the same vibe off him that I got off Tannehill on the Dolphins: possible tier-2 QB held back by coaching (and the same coach, no less).  The problem is, I think he might be better off as a backup behind a mediocre starter for a little while to regain confidence the same way Tannehill was, and instead he’s getting thrown straight into the fire again.  (Also, Fields was available, and Mac Jones too though I’m not sure the Panthers would have been a good place for him to develop.)  The rest of the roster is another QB-away team with a likely very solid defense, Christian McCaffrey, and IIRC an O-line that is at least decent.

- Falcons: Possible sleeper team.  The Falcons have one major advantage that people keep forgetting about: barring a major breakout from one of Jameis and The Darnold, they have at worst the second-best QB in the division, potentially even the best if Father Time gets Brady but not Ryan.  And that’s not damning with faint praise; at his peak I had him as the best Tier 2 quarterback and roughly sixth-best in the NFL overall, that MVP year was not a fluke. He’s just been saddled with bad coaching and bad rosters and been unable to overcome that, which I can’t blame him for given all those 8-8 years for the Brees/Payton Saints in the mid-2010s.  Good news: Dan Quinn is gone, and the schedule this year is soft (49ers game aside).  As I noted above there’s probably a wild card sloshing around for the NFC South and NFC East, and I would not be surprised in the slightest if the Falcons got it.

- Seahawks: … We know the book on the Seahawks by now, right? Top-5 quarterback in the NFL (and of the three I would take over Russ on the field itself, two are old enough for Father Time to be a real concern and the last is testing exactly how bad off-field issues have to be to make a Tier 1 quarterback unemployable in the NFL), average roster otherwise, coach who is average at worst.  That’s been a true-talent division contender for the last half-decade, and barring injury or locker room issues blowing up I see no reason why that would change this year.

- Rams: High variance, for a very specific reason.  The roster, as constructed, is a wild-card contender, or possibly more if Stafford really goes off.  The problem is that due to spending first-round draft picks like candy and not getting enough out of the later rounds to make up for it, this is (as noted above) very much a stars-and-scrubs roster.  And the thing about a stars-and-scrubs roster is that it’s vulnerable in a way that a roster with more depth isn’t; if a star gets injured, your team is facing a massive drop-off in performance.

- Cardinals: Honestly, unless Kliff hits one of his downsides (can’t adjust now that defenses figured out last year’s offense and/or loses the locker room) then by true talent this is probably a low-end wild-card contender at worst (~8 wins).  The problem is, in the NFC West that makes you the worst true-talent team in the division…

- 49ers: So, let’s just point out the obvious: last year was a case study in just how badly a possible true-talent Super Bowl contender has to get injured in order to get a top-10 pick. Admittedly part of that is that Jimmy G. sure seems to merit the injury-prone label at this point, which is why the 49ers traded up for another QB, but the rest of it is just extremely bad luck and that’s unlikely to persist year-to-year.  This is probably the best team in the NFC West, which is saying something.  (Unfortunately for them, Shanahan is in the Reid/Tomlin bucket and his weaknesses as a game coach make an actual Superb Owl an uphill climb.)

Bonus: Thoughts on the new QB class!

Trevor Lawrence: There’s obvious sample size issues, but quarterback prospects that highly rated haven’t busted in at least 30-40 years (Luck, Peyton, and Elway were all stars).  He’s probably gonna be good.

Zach Wilson: Man, I was all ready to write The Other Wilson off as another LOLJets bust after the draft and then he played well in preseason and Saleh actually looks like the first competent coach the Jets have hired in a while (which may still not help him keep his job because the AFC East is now nuts).  We’ll see if that holds during the regular season; among other things he has the misfortune of playing Belichick in week 2.

Trey Lance: So far looks to be talented as fuck and also raw as fuck.  Shanahan seems to be pretty good at developing quarterbacks?

Justin Fields: I’ve gotten future Tier 2 quarterback vibes off him ever since he was drafted; the problem is he’s on the Bears, with questionable coaching and at least this year what looks like a terrible O-line as well.  Possible next Stafford here?

Mac Jones: People don’t understand the probability curve here – the risk with Mac isn’t the ceiling, it’s the very good but not great outcomes.  He got a first-round draft grade despite  physical limitations, and he’s almost certainly not just being carried by his school – possibly even the opposite given the talent argument and Bama QBs’ track records.  To me, that says he’s a one-tool player whose tool is the mental tool.  And of all the QB tools that is by far the most important.  So, the question: does that tool play in the NFL?  If no, he’s probably a third-tier quarterback at best.  If yes?  Well, in that case there’s a very real chance he’s a Hall of Famer.

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Too Smart for Your Own Good: Part 2

Pairings: Machine Gun Kelly x Reader, (Past and Future) Henry Cavill x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, one night stand, unprotected sex

Word Count: 2,129

A/N: Doesn’t have a completed end yet, but just giving you more content to try to get myself out of a writing funk.

Part 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Your father, Negan, chuckled as you got off the golf cart in front of the trailer you’d be celebrating Christmas in again, like you had for three of the past ten years, at the Los Angeles County State Prison.

“Hi, daddy.” You breathed in relief, grateful to spend any amount of time with the only family member that you could completely trust. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry fucking Christmas to you, too, Princess. Fuck you, give ‘em.” He barked as he pulled the bags of food and your clothes off the back of the cart before you could even think to reach for them. You simply rolled your eyes and grabbed your guitar case before thanking the officer and heading inside the family visit trailer. “So what kinda trouble did you get into this week?”

“Well…” You sighed as you sat down at the small table in the kitchen. “… I went to Cleveland on Saturday and flew back yesterday morning. Pretty sure I got pregnant, too.”

“You fucking what?!” Your dad roared as he slammed a box of Mac and Cheese down on the counter. “Fucking Henry?”

“Henry is not coming back!” You shouted back, defensively. “And does it fucking matter? I made a choice, two choices actually, to sleep with some douche bag and not take Plan B after. It is what it fucking is.”

“So what, you're just gunna throw away your fucking life…” He started as he went back to throwing groceries in the cabinets, angrily. 

“No, I made the choice to not be fucking alone any more!” You interrupted as you looked over at him. You couldn't hide the hurt in your eyes when he turned around to stare at you, shocked that you were actually talking about your emotions.

“Sweetheart…” He breathed as he abandoned his task and came over to sit down in front of you. “You are not fucking alone…”

“I am alone, daddy.” You nearly whispered as you put your feet up on your chair and wrapped your arms around your legs. “Mom’s dead, and you're in here for who knows how much longer. And Henry…” You scoffed and shook your head. “Henry isn't coming back. He loves being some hit shot doc the Army more than he ever loved me. So other than my research, which I've all but abandoned anyways out of sheer boredom, I have nothing. I have no one, daddy. Just the occasional visit from Ashleigh and some of the harlots from the club. Maybe a once a month lunch date with some of the people from UCLA. But that's it. So I made a choice not to get the morning after pill after I stared at the box for over an hour and weighed out the pros and cons. And I would much rather raise a sperm donor baby than be alone in that house anymore.”

“OK.” Negan whispered with a nod as he rested his hand on your bent knee. “OK. I don't fucking like it, but I will get on that train all the fucking same.” Tears welled in your eyes as you rested your cheek on the back of his hand, and you closed your eyes to hide them. “So I'm gunna be a grandpa?”

“Maybe.” You choked the slightest bit as you opened your eyes to look at him again. “It just happened but I know I'm ovulating…”

“Eww fucking gross.” He fake gagged to get you to smile as he pulled his hand free and got up to finish putting groceries away. “I don't wanna hear that shit.”

“That's what you get for raising a daughter with no filter.” You pointed out as you propped your chin between your still bent knees.

“Fucking gross.” He repeated with a laugh. “So the fuck was in Cleveland? This fuckin guy?”

“Ashleigh’s client. He’s a rock rapper that needed someone that could learn music fast and played the guitar well. So Ash landed on me. But dude is a total self absorbed prick. B minus in… well in the broom closet.”

“I'll have Simon kill him.” He said almost 100% seriously.

“You are not going to kill this idiot for being bad at sex.”

“No, I'm gunna fucking kill him for laying a Goddamn hand on my daughter.” He responded with a smile as he balled up the last empty grocery bag and put it in the recycling bin.

“You're an idiot.” You laughed as you grabbed your guitar and got up to sit outside for a while.

“Hey, be nice to your old man.” He huffed as he grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a pack of matches off the table and followed you out front to enjoy the California sun. “And go easy on me today.”

“Yea fucking right.” You laughed as you sat down on one of the plastic lawn chairs and pulled out your guitar, which took you almost a year of bribery to be able to get it into the jail it now lived in in the first place. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Pain in my Goddamn ass.” He grumbled around his cigarette as he moved his chair out off the shade and pulled off his blue prison issue shirt for as long as he could get away with it. “Alright… rock music from the 70’s.” You nodded at the category and tuned your guitar before picking an easy AC/DC song to start with. Which is pretty much how you always spent your days when you visited your father in prison.

——

Your office hadn’t looked so chaotic since you were working on a regular basis, but as of that morning, every available surface was covered in every single medical textbook, (with a focus on pregnancy and pediatrics) and motherhood book you could get your hands on. The dry erase board that usually had your equations to see if your Milky Way black hole theory was a possibility, had been wiped clean and replaced with columns upon columns of notes, to separate the ridiculous from the actual facts you would need to go through a pregnancy and raise a child.

You were blazing through the ‘Essential Neonatal Textbook’, when your house phone rang, startling you the slightest bit and forcing you to pull your attention away from a long list of the benefits of cord blood. You sighed and snatched up your headset as you set the book down to work through all of the information and pick out the more important bits and pieces to make the best informed decision.

“Ms. (Y/L/N)? I have a Colson Baker here to see you.” Your fingers froze with the cap of the marker in one hand and the marker itself in the other.

“You can let him in.” You sighed as you took a step forward and started a new list under the newborn column in the middle of the board. You heard the line click in your ear and you wrote quickly, trying to get some of the information down so you knew where to pick up when you came back inside. You got a short start and reluctantly forced yourself away from your research  to let your guest in. You started to work out your ideas vocally as you opened up the two gates and watched his purple Lamborghini pull into your driveway. You waited just long enough for him to make it half way to you, before you turned and headed inside to add more to your cord blood list with him following behind you.

“Umm… what the fuck is this?” Kels asked as he looked at the board over your shoulder in shock.

“Did you vaccinate Casie?” You asked as you continued to write.

“You’re fucking pregnant?!” He shouted over you as you capped your marker and set it back down on the easel.

“I am pregnant.” You said evenly as you walked over to find the ‘The Umbilical Cord Blood Controversies in Medical Law’ book to cross reference the former textbook. “Did you vaccinate Casie?”

“Were you gunna fucking tell me?” He shouted as you flipped through the pages, easily reading 20,000 words a minutes despite the distraction of your visitor.

“I was neither planning on telling you, nor keeping it from you.” You said simply. “I want nothing from you, Mr. Baker. I don’t need money, and I don’t need you to step up to be a father. You were a one night stand that I chose to not take Plan B after. My choice, my child, my body, my life.” He looked at you completely lost for words as you set your finished book down and headed back to the white board to add and change notes. “I would like your family medical history, though. I could easily do a diagnostics test and an MSS while I’m pregnant but…”

“Oh, I’m gunna be fucking sick.” He groaned behind you as you finished your idea and turned to move on to the next section. You grabbed the trash can and handed it to him on the way past as you tried to keep your thoughts as straight as possible, relatively unsuccessfully.

“I don’t wanna be alone.” You sighed as you looked over at him for a moment. “And after the way you treated me that night, the way you just used me and threw me away like I didn’t mean a Goddamn thing…” You exhaled through your nose and shook your head as you looked away from him and out the back door to the ocean. 

“I don’t care that you’re not happy here, Mr. Baker. I don’t care if you want to be in this child’s life or not. I don’t care if you see me or this child as a mistake, or what you see us as at all. I just don’t care. What I care about is having a calm, healthy pregnancy, and becoming a mother. And I will not tolerate having someone come into our lives to walk in and out of it because he never wanted us in the first place. Nor will I tolerate someone treating me like I’m worthless trash in front of my child.” Kels didn’t say a single word as you shook your head and turned back around to go back to work. “Stay as long as you want. I have work to do.” 

As Colson sat and thought, you went over to find a book about banking cord blood so you could round out that column. The next column was pros and cons of breastfeeding verses formula, which was a lot more extensive than you originally expected due to the varying opinions on length and benefits, but after reading through seven different books, and writing and erasing conflicting notes, he finally spoke up.

“Breastfeed for a year.” He almost whispered as he watched you work. “That’s what we did with Casie. And yea, we vaccinated her.” You nodded your head as you erased the idea you were writing and stood up to make a note in the vaccines column. “I don’t turn my back on my kids.”

“OK.”

“I’m sorry.” He continued as you capped your marker “It’s no excuse but I was high as fuck and running on adrenaline. I used you and that was shitty as fuck.”

“Yes it was.” You agreed with a nod as you leaned against the front of your desk and crossed your arms over your chest.

“Well I’m fucking sorry.” He said a little harshly. “And I’m sorry for knocking you up.”

“Pregnancy happens, Colson.” You breathed with a shrug of your shoulders. “I’m obviously a little more prepared since I actually made the decision…”

“Yea, that’s a fucking understatement.”

“OK, you can fucking leave and I can file a restraining order.” You snapped. “What’s done is done. I’m pregnant, you’re the father, your kid and my kid have a new sibling. You’re not going to have to pay child support, I’m taking primary custody with open visitations. And no, I am not going to date you. Not now, not ever. You left a sour taste in my mouth and I want nothing to do with you or your crazy lifestyle.”

“You’re just making this super fucking easy, aren’t you?” He asked as he pushed himself out of his chair. “I’m outta here. I’ll get your number from Ash and I’ll be in touch.” You rolled your eyes and gestured toward the door behind him.

“You can see yourself out.”

“Such a fucking bitch.” He muttered as he stormed out the doors and through the atrium to leave. You let out a huff and shook your head as you went back to your research.

“Idiot fucking sperm donor.”

Part 3

[kyberled]

SENTENCE STARTERS: LET’S PLAY CYBERPUNK RED, EPISODE 1 PART 1

A collection of prompts and starters taken from the first episode of Polygon’s Cyberpunk Red campaign series: [x] 

Content warnings for death, strong language, and mentions of violence and drug use. 

Feel free to change names and pronouns as needed!

“We’re recovering from several man-made disasters, and kites are popular again.”

“Oops, that’s too much armpit.” 

“I don’t know who you know.” 

“You will be remembered.” 

“You’re not allowed to say that word on here, my dude!” 

“Boop, banned!” 

“Headshot! ... Sorry.” 

“There is maybe a job down there for us, and I could use a lift.” 

“Do you want me to come up and meet you up there, or  do you wanna come down here?”

“Doc, these guys gonna be okay?” 

“He was sliced and diced and blown apart.” 

“Saw a really sad thing today.” 

“I’m not sure how we’re going to get paid for this, actually.”

“Sometimes, you get paid in other things, like trust or friendship.” 

“Exposure!!!” 

“Let’s mop up these two dipshits and figure out who did it, then hit their head several times.”

“I just realized I called these dead people dipshits.” 

“I know all of this because he was saying it in Alf roleplay.” 

“They’re very fast, but they’re faster the wealthier you are.” 

“And they’re all like, armed, right?”

“Yeah. They’re super armed.”

“Work up a gentle demeanor, if I can.”

“This one? This one? That one? This one?”

“I’ve got a lot of cool.” 

“I promise you... You will not die.” 

“I mean, everyone dies, [NAME]. You shouldn’t promise that to someone.”

“But what I’m saying is it won’t be my fault.”

“I am so sorry for this situation.” 

“Just gonna pretend that didn’t happen.” 

“I don’t think they were looking for [NAME].”

“I think they were looking for SOMEBODY.” 

“You guys are really fuckin’ bad at this.” 

“I’ll admit, I can be a little bit bad bad at comforting folks who need it. But I’ll tell ya’, I’m really good at pounding peoples’ skulls into concrete over and over again, until they tell me exactly what I would like to know.” 

“Did you mean to threaten this guy?” 

“All I wanna know is what happened here, so we don’t have another mess to mop up. And that mess I’m talking about is potentially... You.” 

“I mean, steal from the rich, no harm done!”

“And snort what you get.” 

“It is what you said, it’s what you implied. Are you going back on your word?” 

“If I knew, I’d have blackmail, and I wouldn’t be here.” 

“Reach out if you ever need anything.”

“Reach out if you ever need anything, and I was mostly kidding about the head bouncing stuff. But I will do it! But I was mostly kidding.” 

“Call me if you need to know anyone.” 

“We’re not best friends, but I just thought it would give that parasocial relationship to people.” 

“Guys, don’t say other things.” 

“You’re making it sound like there’s more than one person-- There’s only one person in the bathroom, and it’s me, [NAME]!”

“I just needed a little bit of help in here. It’s nothing to worry about.” 

“And we WILL wash our hands.” 

“Can you wait until we’re out of the bathroom to talk about this?”

“It wasn’t even weird!”

“It was very weird.”

“And wash your hands!”

“This one’s zooted.” 

“Leaving it a little open-ended, there, [NAME].”

“Soft touch.” 

“Your eyes are so gentle.” 

“... That’s a good argument.” 

“I got some papers, don’t worry how I got ‘em.” 

“I’m sorry, that was really defensive. I came at you with all that defensive energy.” 

“I can get one, if ya’ need!” 

“I’d like you to remember that I helped you, and someday, maybe, when I need you...” 

“That’s not what I’m gonna need you for, but, thank you.” 

“What’s up everyone, I just walked into a locked room.” 

“Wow, special treat for you guys today!”

“Wow, special treat for you guys today: It’s two locked doors.”

“I guess it’s a bust for today.” 

“Your... Co-dependent.... Thing, is very strange.” 

“Is this like a riddle?” 

“Do you like to pick your own lock?”

“I sometimes pick my own lock, like, to practice.”

“Your lock’s been picked.” 

“My door’s been picked?!”

“I’m old school, what can I say.”

“If they just wanted to destroy it, why wouldn’t they just destroy it?”

“You’re blowing my mind, here.”

“We can stop it.”

“You don’t need to hate [NAME], you just need to love money.”

“I was already in the van-- I wasn’t in the van, but I got in the van because I wanted to come see you.” 

“I think you got, maybe one of those three is right.” 

“I ain’t never heard of him, no.” 

“Shit. I could’ve done this my fuckin’ self.” 

“I’ll look it up for you, you’ll owe me a favor.” 

“[NAME], this guy’s dead.”

“[NAME]’s dead, he died six years ago.” 

“You’re asking the important questions, [NAME].”

“Privacy is nonexistent.” 

“I don’t wanna meet a ghost.” 

“Forsooth! We’re here.” 

“I don’t see any problems with the plan.” 

“It is striking me as very strange, now that I’m thinking about it.” 

“We both drive. ... I also drive. It’s a-- Two-person... Driving... Car.” 

“I have trouble with the break and the gas at the same time.” 

“He just sits on my lap.” 

“And you shouldn’t! And you don’t.” 

“It was like on the news.”

“It’s really hot out in the van, can I get a CapriSun?”

“I already peed.” 

“Put your smart thoughts in my dumb head.” 

“It’s a very strange slogan.” 

“I’m so glad we’re sitting down for this drink.” 

“This was, like, a decade ago, which is like 100 years ago.” 

“You guys aren’t cops, right?” 

“We’re not cops.” 

“We split a paycheque.” 

“The ol’ waitin’ game.” 

“Let’s use our two braincells.” 

“If honesty if cool, let’s be honest.”

“Fuck yeah, come on! Shoot it into my fuckin’ veins, baby!”

“Thanks a lot, buddy. Thanks a fucking lot.”

“Welcome to this most righteous cafe.” 

“Garcon! First, I would like you to tell me what an egg cream is, and then, I would like an egg cream.” 

“I brought a juice box from the car.” 

“This fuckin’ rules!” 

“Is he super hot?”

“We did it! We heisted! We killed some people! Could we be any cooler?”

“I hope it’s the fucking cast of Friends!” 

“I’m not gonna stop you from doing that.” 

“Who the fuck is this jabroni?” 

“Name’s [NAME]. Just passing through, looking for a bit of information.” 

“I don’t wanna be too forward here, but unless you’re willing to talk with me on this particular topic, your love life ain’t gonna be the only thing that’s D.O.A.”

“That’s really good shit talk.”

“You’re gonna badmouth me and my besties?”

“You gonna come in here and sass us?”

“Well, you can bully [NAME]. He’ll just fuckin’ sit there and take it.”

“I will toss your salad and scramble your eggs.”

“You’re gonna talk right now, or you’re cancelled.” 

“This is our town!” 

“How you doin’?”

“Fuck you! Thank you.” 

“No, not that - why did you shoot people?” 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to escalate.” 

“I don’t live on the streets, I have a perfectly adequate apartment.”

“I’m sorry, that’s on me.” 

“You guys know the person you’re trying to blackmail is dead?”

“I guess it isn’t your day, your month, or your year? ... Or your week?” 

“Hey, okay! I mean, where the fuck did you come from, but yeah, this guy gets us!” 

“I did just say that your blackmail’s useless.” 

“And that’s where you should stop that sentence!” 

“In the shipping business, that’s what we call... I don’t know what we call it.”

“It’s a goof-’em-up.” 

“The problem with trucks, is, uh... Have you ever seen a bird?”

“Have you ever seen a bird that just really scared you?” 

“I’ve seen a video of a bird.” 

“If you have to steal, I don’t give a shit. Steal from somewhere else.” 

“So fuck you, I guess, fuck you.”

“I’m so sweaty, it’s so hot in here.”

“I’ll delete your accounts!” 

“You think you’re a big man.” 

“You mother fucker! I can’t believe you’d do this, to ME!”

“You just killed a man! In cold blood!” 

“I wish somebody had told you it was gonna be this way.” 

“Well, I hate to see people leave the forum.”

“I’m a moderator, this is just physical moderating.” 

“I did do that.” 

“And now we’re fighting back to back!”

“Aw, we’re the real besties.” 

“I’m very proud of all of you.”

“I’m very proud of all of you, and I’m certain that will last this whole time.” 

“I feel like I shouldn’t have a shotgun.” 

“Ba-bum bum ba-da-ba-da--” (gunshot)

“I can’t fucking follow that up!” 

“So I don’t fuckin’ care.” 

“What now?! WHAT NOW?!” 

“You guys need to leave!” 

“Way ahead of ya’, mac!”

“Way ahead of ya’, mac!” (smashes through the window)

“You did a great job of just destroying this woman.” 

“I hope these people never see me again, I don’t want to come back here.” 

“Make sure to like and subscribe!” 

“We haven’t killed anybody, have we?” 

“Let’s wrap this up right now, or I’ve got a feeling there won’t be a reunion show.” 

“Okay, okay, you guys are not cool.”

“We being chill about this?”

“I don’t know what we’re gonna do with this thing, it’s useless.”

“You keep saying that, and I keep not believing you.”

“Find somebody else to rob.”

“Find somebody else to rob. Rob somebody with money.”

“Did any of you see the thing that I did where I put the guy’s head on the counter and I hit him with a stool two or three times?” 

“[NAME], if you can promise to fight that well, I can get a lot more jobs for you.” 

“I’d also love to just hang out, if that’s a thing you would be interested in.” 

“You guys had to be there.”

“[NAME] jumped through a window.” 

“Avast! Above, I see... [NAME]!”

“Let’s just say we had to wine and dine ‘em.”

“I hit a guy in the head with a stool.”

“Let’s just say we had to wine and dine ‘em. ... I hit a guy in the head with a stool.” 

“That sounds about right, yeah.” 

“The only reason you’ve been surviving this long is because of the philanthropy of others.”

“I’m too smart for this.” 

“I think we took care of them.”

“If I were them, I wouldn’t come back around here.”

“But they are still alive.”

“If you decide that you do want them dead, you know who to call.” 

“And thanks again for everything you do. ... Oh, by the way, [NAME] died.” 

[princesssarcastia]

in any other world (aka four ways veronica mars’ life could have ended up)

because i CANNOT get these ideas out of my head, goddammit.  whatever god gave me the plot bunny gene needs to take it back now.  anyway welcome to my veronica mars kick, 2020 edition. it’s another long one, boys, and readmores are for suckers.

1. just remember me when we used to be friends

them telling other people stories about each other (gia and whats-his-face wait another four weeks to kill carrie; logan is a thousand miles away with the best alibi in the world.  a movie!canon au

Cobb’s paranoia holds out an extra five weeks, and Logan is already on deployment when he and Gia sneak into Carrie Bishop’s home and electrocute her in her bathtub.  A troubled, drugged up starlet’s death is ruled a particularly gruesome suicide, and word doesn’t reach Logan until well after it happens.

Something about it doesn’t sit right with him, no matter that he predicted she’d end up here; something about it itches in the back of his mind, makes him want to reach for a phone he didn’t take with him when he shipped out and pull up a number he hasn’t dialed in nearly ten years.

But that’s ridiculous.  He writes it off as nostalgic product of a reunion he didn’t even go to, that he’s sure she didn’t, either, and gets back to work.  He’ll go brood and break down about Carrie when he’s off duty later, and let one of his squad-mates put a hand on his shoulder, and then move on.

He lets go of, Veronica, I need your help, and ignores the bone-deep certainty that she’d drop everything for that, after years and continents spanned and blood shed.

—

Meeting The Piznarskis is a surreal glimpse into a normal upbringing; the kind no one Veronica knew growing up ever got.   They’re kind, maternal and paternal people who unreservedly love their son and live simple lives.

And they seem to really like Veronica, which is good.  Piz keeps giving her beaming looks whenever his parents turn away, and her heart crawls deeper inside her in shame because all this clearly means so much more to him than it does to her.

She is keeping polite-society smiles on her face and using her tame, Normal Veronica anecdotes to entertain them instead of really opening up.  Is this how everyone is with their in-laws?  

These people will never know me, she thinks distantly as Mrs. Piznarski lays a hand on her arm and smiles as she inquires after her years at Stanford, and it is a comfort because she doesn’t want them to.  Doesn’t want to see their normal bubble pierced by the mud smeared all over her real history.

She starts keeping her polite-society smile on face in the apartment with Piz, too.

He doesn’t seem to notice.

—

She catches the tail end of Bonnie DeVille’s funeral on Hollywood Access at her favorite deli.  The volume is cranked up, probably so the guy at the counter can hear it over the crush of customers during lunch hour.  Which means that Veronica catches every unfortunate second of their coverage, vaguely familiar faces in the crowd drawing her attention back again and again.

Mentally giving up as a way to pass the time, Veronica compares faces to ten year old memories.  

Dick, Gia Goodman, Luke Holderman...some vaguely familiar schmuck...

She doesn’t even realize who she’s looking for until the correspondent mentions that DeVille’s last boyfriend, Logan Echolls, son of the late Aaron Echolls, is not in attendance because his current tour of duty with the Navy started just days before her death.

God, Logan.  Veronica bites back any kind of expression at the thought of Logan learning that his girlfriend committed suicide while high off her mind.  Even the media circus at the funeral is a bitterly familiar echo of what happened when Lynn died.

The thought of him lingers all the way to the front of the line and her brisk walk back to the office, until she finds her hands hovering over keys, debating whether she should look him up. Then one of the partners walks briskly past and she jerks back to reality, where she’s working through the rest of her lunch to keep the edge on the other new hires.

But the impulse lingers, long enough that she resigns herself to ignoring it until  a new obsession seizes that confined part of herself she shut away that first year at Stanford.

—

Veronica refuses to go back to Neptune for the reunion, but after Truman-Mann jumps at the chance to hire her, she splurges on two round-trip tickets to New York for Wallace and Mac, figuring meeting up was the whole reason they were so gung-ho about it in the first place.

She really doesn’t make it out to California very often, let alone Neptune.  After her disastrous freshman year at Hearst, Veronica jumped at every chance to step further away from the crash-and-burn-site.  The only reason she didn’t lose them is because Mac understood that impulse, and Wallace is a better man than everyone she’s ever met.

But god, skype and Facebook and phone calls don’t measure up to the real thing.  Veronica throws her arms around them right there in the airport and fights the inexplicable urge to tear up. 

Something between nostalgia and longing wells in her chest as they sit shoulder to shoulder with her in the back of a cab, chatting about their lives in Neptune.  She crushes it ruthlessly and fires back with tame, hollowed out stories from work and Piz, and smiles all the way through.

Her father was so proud when she told him.  My daughter, the big shot New York lawyer.  Veronica smiled all the way through that, too, and had an extra glass of wine that night where she derided her own inability to put two and two together.

Fortune 500 companies.  Frivolous lawsuits.  Disappear before they ever make it to a courtroom.

She knew exactly what she was doing, going into corporate law.  The smart thing, right thing, the thing that paid her student loans and kept her out of the oh-so-tempting mud surrounding criminal law.  She knew it would be contracts and smug rich people and ruthless competition.

But that didn’t stop her growing guilt—no, not guilt, shame—as she helped further grind the little guy into the dirt.  As she poked holes in probably-legitimate sexual harassment suits and helped companies with more money than they needed break contracts with smaller service industries and...

All that keeps her going in the disgustingly large paycheck she gets every two weeks and the fact that she does corporate law for filthy rich companies, not defense law for filthy rich people. 

(Though that doesn’t stop her from waking up gasping, one night, after dreaming she’s back in that courtroom, with Aaron Echolls’ goddamn face smiling smugly at her as she tears Logan’s and her father’s and her own testimony to pieces, as she gets him out of Lily’s murder and his attempt on her life.  Piz rolls over in his sleep, breathing quietly, and she slips out of bed. )

She and Piz treat them to dinner that night, and she enjoys it once she gets over the childish jealousy that she has to share these two people she adores with Piz, who she also adores, dammit.  

Their apartment has an office/guest bedroom and a separate living room, so when they get back near midnight (we’re way too old to be out this late, Wallace joke-groans, and Piz laughs back) Wallace heads to bed, and Piz does, too, after she waves him off from helping her set up the couch for Mac.

They share a look, and Veronica lets a smile pull her face wide as they have the same thought.  The sheets and pillow get piled up in a chair as Veronica quietly retrieves two beers from the fridge and plops down on the sofa next to Mac. 

“Cheers,” Mac says, clinking her bottle against Veronica’s, and they both take long pulls.

Veronica sighs more heavily than she means to and lets some unknown tension flow out with the air.  After a long, comfortable silence, Mac nudges her with her knee.

“How are you, really?”  Mac asks pointedly.  Veronica lets her head fall against the back of the couch and grumbles.  No, she didn’t miss the glances Mac and Wallace kept sharing all night when they thought she wasn’t looking, but when Wallace went to bed she thought they’d somehow agreed not to pry.

Now she realizes they just decided to be nice and not tag-team her, which is somehow worse.

“I met Piz’s parents a few weeks ago,” Veronica says, still looking at the ceiling, but even as she says it she knows it’s not the right place to start.  A symptom, not the disease.

Mac hums at her, listening but not interrupting, so Veronica takes the chance to start again.  Her head lolls to the side to examine Mac, really pin her with her stare.

“Did you ever imagine you’d end up working at Kane Software?” Veronica asks.

Mac catches her stare and raises her eyebrows, clearly recognizing it for what it is, and pauses to really thing about it.  “You mean, when I was scamming 09ers that deserved it for their money and helping you crack cases like a budding hacktivist?” She says with a wry look.  “No.  But I knew I was going to do something with computers, and terrible reputation of their founding family aside, Kane Software is a pretty good place to do that.”

Now it’s Veronica’s turn to hum noncommittally.

“I never had your sense of justice, though,” Mac continues.  “I just enjoyed getting swept up playing Q to your Bond.”

Silence falls again as Veronica mulls over what to say next.  She’s avoided putting her finger on this feeling for months and months, because new, normal, successful Veronica Mars is not supposed to...to...

To miss sticking her hands in the mud.

“Sometimes I look in the mirror and I don’t recognize myself,” she says finally, forcing herself to keep meeting Mac’s eyes.  To get a second opinion.

“Yeah,” Mac agrees.  “I looked up the kinds of cases Truman-Mann takes when you told me you got the job.” ‘Looked up’ for Mac doesn’t mean ‘googling;’ Veronica grimaces lightly at the implication.  “It was, uh, surprising.”

Veronica turns away when her eyes start to burn with that now-familiar shame, taking another long drink.  “Well, it pays the bills.  Keeps me out of trouble.”  Another drink.  “They tell me if I keep up the good work, I can make junior partner in four years.  Three, even, if I snuff the competition.”

Mac nudges her again and Veronica starts to fiddle with the label on her beer.  “My dad hasn’t worried about me in four years,” she admits softly.  “He’s proud of me, Mac.  Proud that I got out, proud that I don’t ruin people’s lives anymore.”

“Hey,” she says gently, “You didn’t ruin peoples lives.”  Veronica lets her incredulous face speak for her.  “Well, no one who didn’t deserve it,” she amends.

“I ruined his life,” she says sharply.  “I got you and Wallace in trouble, I lost—” she bites that off.  “I wasn’t happy.  I saw dark corners everywhere.  That’s not a healthy way to live, Mac.”

“No,” she agrees.  “But was that because of your cases, or was it leftover from the long string of traumatizing bullshit in high school?”

Veronica takes another drink.  Getting a psychology degree at Stanford was a fun exploration of all the ways the previous four years of her life were fucked to hell, and fucked her to hell.  And she did seriously work on her trust issues, though she stopped short of going to therapy, because that was never gonna happen.

Mac goes in for the kill.  “Are you happy now?”

Veronica, hyper-aware of Piz in their shared bedroom scant feet away, doesn’t reply, and Mac lets her.  But they both know what the answer is.

—

She passes the bar exam with flying colors; a 320 that makes her father beam with pride once she takes the time to explain the scoring rubric to him.  Piz kisses her cheek and brings her flowers when he gets off work.

It takes more effort than she’s willing to admit to ignore the fact that she scored so much higher in criminal law than contract law and civil procedure.

—

It takes her three more months to gather the courage to break things off with Piz.  He’s smart enough to notice that she waited until their shared lease was up, and that leads to a fight more vicious than any they’ve ever had; a final nail the coffin of their relationship.

Apparently she’s cold-hearted, mercenary; unwilling to open up and share her inner life with him.  Unable to commit to anyone.

But if I did that, you never would have loved me, Veronica almost says, biting it back at the very last second because the last thing she needs to release that knowledge for circulation.

She methodically packs up her clothes, the scant few knick-nacks and numerous pictures spread around in a facsimile of personal touches.  Her new apartment was lined up before she even spoke to Piz, who later scathingly rejects her careful offer to pay for half of next month’s rent while he looks for a place.

In the end, it take three days to dismantle their year-and-a-half-long relationship completely.  He’ll certainly get all their mutual acquaintances in the aftermath, who were always more his friends than hers, leaving her with no one but the service people at her regular take out places and a handful of Columbia friends in the city to talk to. 

But as she unloads her things into her new space, all the emotion she can dredge up is a faint relief, and fainter satisfaction at having her own space for the first time in her life.  That’s it.

Cold-hearted.

She pours herself a shot of tequila and knocks it back, in the interest of dislodging any hint of feeling she might be repressing unconsciously.   Fiddles with her phone and considers texting Mac, or Wallace, or her Dad, to let them know—because she’d done this, new address and all, without mentioning a word to them.  She’d even changed her paper subscriptions, but didn’t say a word to the three most important people in her life.

God, at this rate Piz will probably mention it to Wallace before she does.

All another shot gets her is her hands hovering over a keyboard again, still resisting the urge to look Logan up, to investigate he new life in some morbidly curious impulse. 

Kids these days call it Facebook stalking, but back in her day it was just plain old stalking.

And she doesn’t do that anymore.  Right?

—

Veronica channels her excess energy and time in a post-Piz existence into her work, and it earns her a “keep up the good work” from Gayle Buckley.  A nice word from one of the two female senior partners at their firm makes her all warm and fuzzy for the rest of the day.

But that dissipates as she remembers exactly what got her that compliment; playing asshole intimidating lawyer muscle for another “frivolous” sexual harassment suit at a fortune 500 company.

This time, she’s sure the company man did it, but that doesn’t matter in the face of all his money and scary lawyers.  The woman quietly folds for literal hundreds of thousands of dollars less than she should be entitled to.

That earns her another night in, drinking more wine than she really should be on a work night. 

Are you happy now? Mac asks in her head, and Veronica takes another drink.

—

She exchanges nods with the man at the corner store as she lines bottles on the counter; they’re familiar to each other at this point.  It’s late, even for a hard-working New York Lawyer in her late twenties, but she polished off everything two nights ago and somehow can’t face going to sleep sober. 

It’s not until she settles back into her couch with her second drink of the night that ice rushes down her spine in spiraling shivers.  Veronica freezes with the glass halfway to her mouth.

The blood rushes out of her face in a way that makes her feel cold.  An exhausted cold, a mix of expressions she remembers on her Dad and her Mom’s faces growing up.

Her hands shake as she sets it down with a decisive clink on the coffee table.

I will not turn into my mother, Veronica thinks, still reeling with realization.  Not even for Normal.

It’s close to 1:30 here, so everyone in Neptune will be sound asleep; she can’t stomach waking them up for this.  And there’s no one in the city Veronica is comfortable calling up at this hour.

Faintly, she recalls hands hovering over a keyboard, and her chest aches even more. 

If this were a movie, she’d probably go pour out her glass, and the bottles she bought tonight; make some kind of vow.  Sign up for meetings.

Instead, she gets up and collapses into bed as-is, barely remembering to set the alarm on her phone before she does.

—

After that she tentatively reaches out to people from Stanford and Colombia, desperate for connections to ground her and soothe the gaps she only now realizes she’s been filling with alcohol.

Just a few Facebook messages at first, but nearly all of them reach back.  Veronica has a weak moment of tearing up and rereading some of the replies in her inbox after a particularly hard day at Truman-Mann.

In another few weeks, she and a few people from Colombia have mutually coaxed one another into a standing lunch date, risking that relentless workplace competition for a chance at real human connection with people who won’t throw a fit if they have to run out of the restaurant unexpectedly.

She orders water with the meal and laughs for real at least twice.

—

Her last straw is a predictable one.  That final push, the leg stuck out to trip her so she faceplants back into the mud, like she wasn’t two seconds from deep diving into it on purpose.

I need your help, Veronica, one of her friends from Stanford says.  And that, as they say, was that.

—

Lilly laughs in Veronica’s ear as she picks her way through the crowd, for the first time in a long time.

Fleet week.  In New York, not San Francisco, but she laughs back all the same.

His posture is different.  Clearly, there’s something to be said for military training.  But it’s not that he’s standing taller, or with more confidence; despite the presence to him, he seems...lighter, like all that weight on his shoulder finally got shucked off.

It takes him a few minutes to sense her gaze, and she savors them, watching Logan Echolls in the wild.  Satisfying her inner stalker.

Their eyes meet across the crowd, and his face melts into that boyish grin she remembers, softened with age and warm, just for her.  She smiles back, delighted, and waves.

Yeah, she looked up him.  Eventually.

2. bloody knuckles, longing for home

logan, veronica, and weevil gather like fate after aaron echolls gets off for lilly’s murder; and decide to do something about it.  and then flee neptune, because the perfect murder doesn’t exist.

Veronica lets herself into Logan’s room at the Grand with the key she swiped from Duncan before he fled the country.  Steam pools out from the cracked bathroom door, so she drops her back on the couch and heads for it, making no effort to conceal her presence.

His head is bowed between his shoulders, arms tense as he leans against the vanity.  He breathes out sharply, almost a laugh, and doesn’t move.

“Chlamydia, huh,” he says roughly.

“Immunity, huh,” she fires back, but her heart isn’t in it.

“You know he’s staying here?” He asks, still not looking at her, but tension pools in his bare back.  Condensation starts to run in rivulets down the mirror. “He cornered me outside the elevators, earlier.  Threatened to cut me off.  No more mister nice father.”

Her fingers delicately trace one of the myriad scars that cuts across his spine, and then another, and another, and Logan lets her.  She maps out sins of the father visited on the son, and makes a decision.

Aaron Echolls will get his justice in his own way.

“Room 619,” she says, and his head rises.

Their eyes meet in the mirror.

—

Mac does extensive research on the Cayman Islands, just for fun, since Cassidy mentioned his father holds some of his assets there.

Veronica and Weevil go out for a drink.

Logan flirts with the woman on the night shift at the Neptune Grand’s front desk.

Veronica and Weevil and Logan go out for a drink.

Keith and his daughter spend the days between the end of finals and graduation decidedly not talking about it, but he thinks she’s taking it as well as she can.  Almost surprisingly well.  Veronica finds the tickets to New York he has stashed away.

Veronica and Weevil and Logan and Wallace go out for a drink.  It becomes a regular thing, grabbing beers or tequila or whatever they can get their hands on and sitting on a darkening beach every other night or so.  Sometimes the hush of their voices run underneath the waves.  Sometimes silence rings out.

Deputy Leo intercepts a mother and two boys who come into the station to make a witness report, but they can’t seem to find what they’re looking for in a book of the usual suspects.

Wallace forgets a pen in the coffee cup on the desk outside Clarence Wiedman��s office, when he goes to visit his mother at work.

Dick and Logan plan a blowout bash to celebrate graduation at the Grand.

Cliff McCormick brushes up on inheritance law in addition to juggling six other cases.

Logan books a plane to the east coast for after graduation.

—

After the graduation ceremony is over, half their graduating class descends on the Grand, filling the lobby and conference space rented out.  Some of them even make their way to the penthouse, Logan throwing open his door with a flourish.

But something about it just doesn’t feel right.  So Logan, Veronica, Wallace, and Weevil grab drinks and head out the front door, letting everyone see them leave for the beach.  Dick loudly complains to anyone who will listen about how Logan has been doing this every night for two weeks, like he’s got a standing appointment to hang out with narks and gangbangers.

Veronica calls her father and leaves a voicemail, letting him know she’s staying out on the beach with her friends for a while longer, in case he makes it back before she does.

Mac stays in the lobby with Cassidy the whole time.  Kendall Casablancas exits the hotel a little after midnight.

Weevil and Wallace stay out on the beach all night; the Xterra, which they all took together, sharing space for the last time, does not once move.

When housekeeping make their way through the hotel the next morning, there is a do not disturb sign on room 619.  It stays there all day, and night, and day, and night, and day again, and night again, until they start to pass it by automatically.

Veronica and her father leave for New York.  Logan boards a plane.

—

When the news breaks about Aaron Echolls’ death, neither of them are in Neptune.  Logan arranges for a private service in absentia, and sends Cliff McCormick as his representative to the will reading, which the executor of Aaron’s estate takes with more grace than Trina.

His assets are divided evenly between his two children, in addition to the existing trusts tied to age.

Cliff makes a brief stop at a coffee shop on his way back to his office, and says a few words to that computer geek friend of Veronica’s he catches sight of.  He forgets some of his notes on her table when he leaves.

—

Keith Mars comes back to Neptune alone.  The investigation into Aaron Echolls’ death stutters, stalls, stops.  Eventually, a harassed medical examiner admits it’s possible he could have maybe committed suicide.

—

Halfway across the world, a sweet and mischievous little girl named Lilly grows up with a kind, doting father, and an Aunt and Uncle whom she adores, whenever they’re in the country to see her.

Twice every year, her father and Aunt Veronica and Uncle Logan share a toast, even if only by skype.  Once on her Aunt Lilly’s birthday, and once on some day in late may.

3. all things grow

veronica mars, special agent with the fbi and logan lester, english professor, love each other well with the strength of decades, and still impress the hell out of everyone who meets them.  the one where veronica went straight to stanford after the whole cassidy debacle, and never quite lost the knack of investigating but with some distance from the neptune cesspool, learned to do it without ruining lives, her life.

Everyone knows Professor Lester is a jackass—with tenure, so he can’t be reprimanded for it.  But everyone also knows Professor Lester has the best analytical mind in the English department, and all the brightest stars in the Lit program come out of his courses.  He’s not bad to look at, either; the planes of his face are so sharp you just might cut yourself on them, and his eyes are always glittering like he knows something you don’t.  And he really doesn’t dress like a forty-year-old college professor, which doesn’t hurt.

Only the simultaneously lucky and unfortunate bastards who load their schedules up with him, or worse yet, get him as their advisor, ever see those planes soften.

His office is tastefully decorated, for those few English majors who know enough about interior decoration to say so. It’s also surprisingly devoid of books to belong to a man who seemingly memorized every text he’s ever taught. Pulling quotes and passages out of thin air is a particular talent of his.

There’s only one personal touch in the whole room, beyond the probably-expensive furniture: a picture of himself and a blonde woman holding a pit bull, on a beach so clean it can’t be in New York.  In it, her eyes glitter the exact way Professor Lester’s usually do, but his have melted into something infinitely more tender.

Very rarely, at the end of the afternoon or occasional evening class, the particularly observant students notice a blonde woman in a black pantsuit slip into the back, legs extended, ankles and arms crossed. She never says anything.  Just follows Professor Lester’s sharp movements at the front of the room.

None of them are trained to notice the outline of her holster, or the way her gaze actually darts around the room, tracking movement and exits, though it always comes back to rest on Logan.

—

Special Agent Mars is always fun at the Agency’s mixers and dinner parties and fundraisers.  Seeing her out of the sleek suit some of her coworkers suspect she was born in is all the more jarring for her ease in formalwear.  A real chameleon, they murmur, as she flips a switch and becomes more of a tittering socialite than a federal agent.

But the real fun is when she drags her partner with her.  Neither of them wears rings, but then, many agents don’t, so whether they’re married or not is up for debate.  He’s her standing date for every function, though, so in the end it doesn’t matter.

Veronica Mars has a rapier wit. Paired with her degrees in psychology and law and penchant for cataloguing every detail about a person at a glance, it’s safe to say she’s been verbally skinning people up one side and down the other since Quantico.

When her husband opens his mouth, it’s clear he shares her talent for sparring with words.

And watching them talk to each other is like following a tennis match—or perhaps boxing; trading barbs like endearments.

The best times is when some stuffy higher up with more ego than sense tries to glad-hand one of the most promising agents of the decade, and leaves the conversation head three sizes smaller and feeling vaguely emasculated.

—

Veronica learned the hard way in high school not to put too much of herself into her cases; learned to save some for her father, and for Logan, and for her.  But every so often one just stick in her craw and she can’t help sinking her teeth into it.

Her partner is too good to blink when her edges are sharper than usual, but Veronica can tell he notices.

And the man they’re tracking sure as hell does, too.  There’s something magnetic about Special Agent Veronica Mars on your trail, and this asshole is responding to it.  Leaving her...gifts.  Messages at crime scenes.

Verr-onicaaaaaaa, an old demon slithers in one ear and out the other.

When she starts to respond in kind, her supervisor removes her from the case and puts her on unpaid leave.  It’s in New York, though, and Veronica knows herself.  Knows who she is when she looks in the mirror.

Logan kisses the tip of her nose and thanks her for scheduling her crazy after his semester is finished.  They pack together, trading soft looks and touches as they maneuver seamlessly around each other.  Veronica calls Keith.

She silences the voice that sounds like teenage Veronica hissing that she’s running away from the fight.  That’s not her anymore.  And she’s not alone in this; if she didn’t trust her partner she wouldn’t have made it six months in the agency.  If she didn’t trust Logan, she would have died at seventeen.

Their visits to Neptune are rarer than her father would like, but just enough to soothe that part of them both that comes from here, that lives in every McMansion and dark alley and seedy bar and raging club and deserted beach.

Neptune is in their blood.  Veronica wouldn’t wish this place on her worst enemy; but they are akin, she and it. 

While Logan pulls his board and wetsuit out of storage and practically moves onto the beach, she does the usual tour.  Eli’s shop is doing well, and Valentina is adorable in her little oil stained overalls as she helps her father.  Wallace still eats lunch at their table, after all these years, and she smiles reflexively back at him like she did the first day they met.  Mac is still selling her soul to the devil for more money than god, running their software development with an iron fist.

Cliff quirks an eyebrow at her, and drops hints about cases he needs help with like other men his age drop little candies into children’s hands.  She rolls her eyes, but glances over the files anyway, and spends a couple nights taking pictures and video and surprising him with it in court.

It feels...nice.  Nostalgic, but not addictive.  Just some legal favors for an old friend who never failed to scratch her back when she scratched his.

Her forced leave isn’t up yet, and her partner says they’ve hit a frustrating but not definitive dead end back home, so she considers driving to San Diego to drop in on Leo with a pizza, for old time’s sake.

Then the man she was tracking in New York finally shows his face in Neptune.  He followed Veronica back here, to her home.

Oh, if that isn’t the worst, and last, mistake he ever makes.

Her friends, her family, closes ranks.  The town closes like a lobster trap for people stupid enough to come after Veronica Mars on her home turf.  By the time her partner and replacement make it out to the west coast, he’s beaten and bloody and wrapped up in evidence like a Christmas tree in Sheriff Lamb’s lockup.

The Sheriff takes the credit for the arrest; there is no mention of old biker buddies of Eli’s, or information passed along from Cliff and Wallace, or systems infiltrated by Mac. Of tasers and favors.

Veronica is cool as a cucumber when they call to tell her about it, while she’s out to lunch with an old friend.  Her partner is suspicious, but there’s no evidence.  And frankly, he’s not sure even Veronica Mars could have collared this guy without the resources of the Bureau behind her.

Deputy Sacks shakes his head in disbelief that people are still falling for that after all this time.

They go back to New York.  Life goes on.

—

Neither of them went to the ten year reunion, still too fresh off the horrors of high school. 

But they do go to the twenty year reunion, and win the shit out of it.  Not that they care, beyond vague petty satisfaction at the faces of those few people who do.  They leave early, have dinner with Keith, drinks with Wallace and Mac, and fly back to New York the next morning.

Some infinitesimal weight neither of them realized still existed was off their shoulders by the time they touch down in their home of fifteen years.

4. ten stoplights bleeding out

the one where keith mars dies in that plane crash, and veronica mars takes over mars investigations; veronica mars never escapes the insidious pull of neptune; and after ten plus years of money shots and favors, has perfected handing down her own particular brand of justice—and revenge. logan still joins the navy, but always finds his way back to her. 

it’s a story Eli’s heard a thousand times before, living in this town.  a story he’s lived himself, once or twice, though ever since he met Jade he’s done his upmost to keep his nose clean—to be that better version of himself she somehow managed to see in him.

the cops have it all wrong, lazy, corrupt, blaming it on the first brown kid they lay eyes on, planted evidence, ruined lives, etc.

there’s nothing he can do for them.

there’s nothing he can do for them.  But V always did love referrals.

“You need to go see the Sheriff,” Eli tells the kid, still hoping that one day the nickname will catch on just so he can see her expression.  His face crumples in heated confusion, because he just spent twenty minutes laying out how “Sheriff” Lamb was an asshole, but Eli smirks and jerks his head toward his car.  (Car, not bike)

They climb in, and drive to one of the last places in town holding out hope against gentrification—the 09ers he went to high school with would’ve called it seedy.

He still has a key to her offices after that stint working as her secretary for a few months when she was in college—though it’s not the same key.  Veronica Mars is too paranoid to keep the same locks for too long.  Never does catch her changing them out, just reaches in his pocket some days to fiddle with his key ring and fights a smile when his fingers find unfamiliar teeth.

But today, her doors are open.  They chime as Eli guides the kid inside, and gestures toward the old couch still sitting against the wall.

The receptionist’s desk is empty again.  He wonders vaguely what the last one did to earn the brush off.  She never manages to find what she’s looking for in an employee (either herself or her father, Eli’s never figured out which, but either option makes him want to clasp her shoulder).

He raps his knuckles on her office gently and pushes it open without waiting for an answer. 

She looks up sharply, her resting face before she registers his presence that special kind of pinched that means Logan had damn well better be at the end of his current tour of duty.

“Weevil,” she lets out a little breath and some of her tension.  “Long time no see, huh?”

“Yeah, we missed you at dinner last week.”

She shrugs.  “Life of a PI; there’s always another stake-out to ruin your night life.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” he drawls, raising his eyebrows at her.  After a decade and a half of knowing Veronica Mars, he’s more than familiar with her self-destructive tendencies. 

He’s vaguely grateful she’s pulling back from him before she unsheaths her paranoid claws and scratches everyone in reach, even friends like him; but mostly, it puts an ache in his chest that makes him want to hug Jade close and kiss Valentina on the forehead.

“Whatever, vato.  Just because you’re a successful businessman now doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t fight to keep the lights on.”  Her lips twist wryly.

And now he feels sort of bad, because she never charges his referrals full price for her services.   But favors are part of her gig, the way she tells it—keeps her in information and the occasional backup.

“Speaking of,” he starts, and she leans back in her chair and throws her feet up on the desk in a self-satisfied manner, one after the other, “I’ve got a Sheriff Lamb special in the waiting room for you.”

“Let me guess,” she drawls, “rich ‘victim’,” she pairs it with air-quotes, “planted evidence, and a timeline that makes no goddamn sense?”

“Got it in one,” he says tiredly, suddenly exhausted with the never-ending Neptune narrative.

“Send him in,” she says immediately, pulling her legs back and flipping through the one of the endless files that populate her life.

He hesitates at the door; once he hands off the kid, it becomes a case, and Veronica will tune out everything else that matters.  And Eli owes it to her to ask, to give a shit.

“When’s he back?” He asks softly.

Veronica’s hands slow, tension pouring back into her frame.  “Four more weeks,” she answers, clearly unwilling to further the conversation anymore.

“Yeah, well, make sure you remember to drag his ass to dinner with us then.  Valentina misses his stupid impressions.”

She rolls her eyes, and he shakes his head and leans out of the doorway to gesture to the kid, and that’s that.  Veronica Mars is on the case, and somewhere across Neptune, a familiar shiver just went down Don Lamb’s spine.

[aforrestofstuff]

Okay! I have a burning question for you, my dude. Music is my life, and I wanna know what kind of music the OPM casts listen to. Thanks, my guy!

I had a feeling this would be inevitable lol. I don’t really know a whole lot about music or genres or anything like that so I’m just gonna give you a rundown of each character individually and some song recs along with that just to smooth things out a little. Thanks for your ask, by the way! ❤️ Now my playlists will be put to good use.

A Brief Rundown of the Major OPM Characters’ Music Tastes:

Blast: hc that he doesn’t even have ears since he never fucking LISTENS

Terrible Tornado: Stuff that makes her feel powerful. Loud vocals and good instrumentals. Also, she’s a little angsty since she’s saltier than the gotdamn Pacific almost all of the time. (Recs: Florence and the Machine - How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful, Susanne Sundfør - Delirious, Florence and the Machine - What Kind of Man, Kali Uchis - Dead to Me, Let’s Eat Grandma - Falling Into Me)

Fubuki: some of that real classy shit. Slow songs that are nice to just have a cup of tea with. Nothing too meaty or fast-paced, she enjoys taking a moment to breathe every once and a while since life gets pretty hectic when you’re managing a gang of some 30 hooligans. (Recs: Wes - Midnight Low, any song from Lana Del Rey’s entire discography lol, Florence and the Machine - Grace, The Marìas - I Don’t Know You, Yellow House - Ain’t Gonna Call, Feng Suave - Toking, Dozing)

Silverfang: Stuff from his time. I hc that he was a bit of a party animal back in his prime so he’s gotta have those grooves. Disco to the extremo. Also, another hc: Garou absolutely hates his music. He would play it during training and Garou would contemplate homicide. (Recs: Frankie Valli - Grease, The Edgar Winter Group - Free Ride, KC and the Sunshine Band - I’m Your Boogie Man, Matthew Wilder - Break My Stride, The Main Ingredient - Everybody Plays the Fool, Andrea True Connection - More, More, More)

Bomb: save as Silverfang, although I hc that Bomb was a little more of a nerd growing up. Still, he never missed out on a good party. (Additional Recs: KC and the Sunshine Band - Get Down Tonight, The Trammps - Disco Inferno, Tierra - Together, Cornelius Bros and Sister Rose - Too Late to Turn Back Now)

Atomic Samurai: Old shit. Shit older than Silverfang. He’s really not that old, but his soul is fucking ancient and he’s got that classic “grrr music these days sucks” kind of shithead attitude. (Recs: Jim Croce - Time in a Bottle, Dion - Runaround Sue, The Carpenters - The End of the World, The Band - The Weight)

Child Emperor: Upbeat synth. Stuff to listen to while he’s working on his machines and whatnot. Probably has meaty beats to keep him in tune with what he’s doing, like working around a clock. Probably some groovy citypop in there too. (Recs: Taeko Ohnuki - 4:00 AM, Junko Ohashi - Telephone Number, Tatsuro Yamashita - Magic Ways, Hiroyuki Sawano - NEXUS, Superfly - Kakusei, Mariya Takeuchi - Plastic Love)

Metal Knight: Intrumentals that Disney villains listen to. Deep, dark shit that makes you feel sad. He probably feeds off of negative emotion. What a toolbag. (Recs: Lucas King - Sociopath, Abel Korzeniowski- Table for Two, Max Richter - Never Goodbye, Max Richter - She Remembers, Evelyn Stein - Quiet Resource, Mac Quayle - Adagio in G Minor)

King: video game soundtracks, obviously. Might be some electro funk in there too, as a treat. (Recs: Metal Gear Solid 3 OST - Snake Eater, Mick Gordon - Rip and Tear, Xenoblade Chronicles OST - Main Theme, Persona 5 OST - Last Surprise, Daft Punk - Verdis Quo, Toby Fox - Hopes and Dreams, Disasterpeace - Prologue, iamthekidyouknowwhatimean - Run, Darren Korb - Old Friends)

Zombieman: Dad Music. Old rock that makes you wanna rail some lines of white thunder and dance on top of a car. He’d be reluctant to try out new stuff but does so nevertheless. Just a little bit of weird alternative here and there. (Recs: Poison - Unskinny Bop, Mötley Crüe - Dr. Feelgood, Black Sabbath - War Pigs, Def Leppard - Animal, CRX - Walls, MGMT - Little Dark Age, Pink Floyd - Money, Queens of the Stone Age - Villains of Circumstance)

Drive Knight: Dark synth, obviously. Need I say more? (Recs: El Tigr3 - She Swallowed Burning Coals, Trevor Something - Enjoy the Silence, Greg Drombrowski - Devour, GUNSHIP - Woken Furies, GUNSHIP - Thrasher, Carpenter Brut - Invasion A.D., Kavinsky - Nightcall)

Pig God: this guy probably just listens to ASMR of people eating food lol.

Superalloy Darkshine: Upbeat stuff that’s good for exercise; loving those new jams along with some of the old. He’s got a pretty groovy style. (Diane Ross - Ain’t No Mountain High Enough, Saint Motel - Puzzle Pieces, CRUISR - All Over, Barry White - Never, Never Gonna Give Ya Up, Sade - Kiss of Life)

Watchdog Man: 10 hour loop of wolves howling on a summer night.

Flashy Flash: classical. Some nice instrumentals to listen to while training. Stuff that preferably doesn’t have any or very little lyrics so it’s not too busy on his ears while he’s fantasizing about killing someone. (Recs: Vaughn Williams - The Lark Ascending, Debussy - Rêverie, Grieg - Peace of the Woods, André Laplante - Une Barque sur L’Ocean)

Metal Bat: Modern alternative. A little bit harder than say, Mumen and Kama, but not as hard as Zombieman or Death Gatling. He’s that middle ground where he’s still got some real bangers, but Zenko can listen as well. He’ll play this stuff loudly as he’s doing chores and working out, no headphones ever. It gets pretty annoying. (Recs: Foals - Exits, The Blue Stones - Black Holes, Solid Ground, CRX - Broken Bones, Jungle - Happy Man, The Strokes - Reptilia, We Are Trees - Girlfriend)

Genos: synth. But not just any synth, some heavy, fast-paced synth that’s just like him: speedy, relentless, and powerful. He listens to shit that’ll make you wanna get up and start killing Terminators. Probably. There’s some other synths in the mix too because we love a three-dimensional king. (Recs: Carpenter Brut - Division Ruine, The Protomen - I Still Believe, Carpenter Brut - Leather Teeth, Gunship - Tech Noir, TWRP - Phantom Racer, Le Castle Vania - Red Circle)

Tanktop Master: Dad music but the type of dad music that makes you think your dad was a sappy nerd back in the day. Long tracks that are good for workouts. (Tears for Fears - Woman in Chains, Pink Floyd - Us and Them, Duran Duran - Ordinary World, Billy Idol - Eyes without a Face, A Flock of Seagulls - I Ran, The Alan Parsons Project - Eye in the Sky, Tears for Fears - Sowing the Seeds of Love)

Puri-Puri Prisoner: Pop. Dance music. He doesn’t really get to listen to a lot of music in prison, so he holds on to whatever he can and savors every second of it. (Coldplay - Talk, Bruno Mars - Runaway Baby, Lady Gaga - Bad Romance, Flo Milli - Beef Flomix, Doja Cat - Say So)

Mumen Rider: Hes a lighthearted, soft boy. Likes some fluffy indie tunes. It helps to motivate him when working out or doing hero stuff. He might need to cry every once in a while though, so there’s some sad songs in the mix too. (Recs: Varsity - The Dogs Only Listen to Him, The The - This is the Day, Amarante - Don’t Look Back, Alvvays - Saved by a Waif, The Monkees - As We Go Along, Acid Ghost - Hide my Face, Mogwai - Take Me Somewhere Nice)

Sonic: same as Flash. He’s a little more hip with the times however, so he’s got some more groovy, electronic instrumentals to listen to in addition to some elegant stuff and isn’t opposed to having a little bit of lyrics sprinkled in there as well. In fact, he’s not opposed to uppity pop either. He thinks dancing is frivolous but he secretly does it when he thinks nobody is looking. (Additional Recs: Odesza - Bloom, Pretty Lights - One Day They’ll Know [Odesza Remix], BØRNS - Electric Love, Hembree - Culture, The Cinematic Orchestra - Arrival of the Birds)

Garou: same as Metal Bat. Bang let him have a little MP3 player during his time at the dojo and has since collected a few songs on there. They’re very near and dear to his heart since it’s one of the few good things that came from his absolute disaster of a childhood. (Additional Recs: Foals - Inhaler, CRX - Slow Down, Deep Sea Arcade - Close to Me, Gorillaz - Empire Ants, The Fratellis - Chelsea Dagger, Glass Animals - Take A Slice)

Death Gatling: Shit your old Vietnam-vet grandpa would blast on the back of his F150. He gives me self-righteous asshole vibes, if I’m honest. Like, don’t get me wrong, I like Death Gatling, but he seems like the type of trailer park-dwelling sewer rat to carry a revolver into a Walmart for “self defense” and that’s probably the type of music he listens to, too. (Recs: Megadeth - Trust, Megadeth - Angry Again, Creedence Clearwater Revival - Fortunate Son, Glen Campbell - Southern Nights, Mötley Crüe - Kickstart My Heart, Quiet Riot - Cum on Feel the Noize)

One-Shotter: I hard hc that he had an emo phase he never quite grew out of. He doesn’t quite listen to emo anymore but he’s still into that alternative shit. Homeboy also likes some slow tunes every once and a while because he’s an emotional dude who’s not afraid of a good cry. (Recs: Anything from Blink-182, Arctic Monkeys - Do I Wanna Know?, MGMT - When You Die, Mazzy Star - Fade Into You, Cigarettes After Sex - Dreaming of You, Yon Ort - Other Matter)

Lightning Max: Same as Genos but without the terminator-killing. Fast-paced stuff because he’s a fast lightning dude. A little more upbeat because he’s not as much as an edgelord as Genos, however. (Additional Recs: Carpenter Brut - Hang’em All, The Flaming Lips - Do You Realize, Worn Tin - Sensitivity, B.E.R. - The Night Begins to Shine, Martin Hall - Different Kind of Love)

Stinger: he’s all about that FUNK! Stuff that gets him moving! Stuff that makes him wanna dance! (Recs: Daft Punk - Doin’ it Right, TWRP - Body Image, Wild Cherry - Play that Funky Music, Chemise - She Can’t Love You, Saga - Wind Him Up, Saga - On the Loose, TWRP - All Night Forever)

Okamaitachi: they give me electro vibes! New, modern shit that’s good to dance to or to just sit down and have a listen! Also, some shit that’ll probably play in a coming-of-age teen movie or something. They don’t really vibe with heavy music and that’s alright, babey! Keeping it light and bouncy. (Recs: Tei Shi - Bassically, Varsity - Must Be Nice, Class Actress - Weekend, CHVRCHES - Richard Pryor, Alvvays - Marry Me, Archie, Sobs - Telltale Signs, Goth Babe - Sometimes, ALASKALASKA - Meateater)

Iaian: Nice, low tunes that are good for meditation and to be used for background noise during training sessions. He never really sits down to listen to music, it’s always in the background of something else he’s doing so he prefers to have some soft beats that don’t really interfere with his senses. Tunes so quiet, he sometimes uses them as lullabies; especially since the trauma of losing his arm has since made it hard to sleep. (Recs: Boy Scouts - Saddest Boy, Susanne Sundfør - Mantra, Vashiti Bunyan - If I Were the Same but Different, Starman Jr. - Blue Fairy, Patrick Watson - Je te Laisserai des Mots, Sibylle Baier - I Lost Something in the Hills)

Bushidrill: same as Atomic Samurai just without the shitty attitude. He’s happy to listen to some newer stuff, he just doesn’t like it and that’s okay, baby! Probably some classy shit your wise old grandpa would listen to. (Recs: Dean Martin - Volare, Dion - The Wanderer, Peppino Gagliardi - Che Vuole Questra Musica Stasera, anything from Luis Miguel lol, Franco Micalizzi - Sadness Theme)

Amai Mask: probably just listens to his own music like a putz. If not, he’s listening to the sound equivalent of glittering diamonds. He’s probably got this shit playing at the end of a long day while he’s chilling in a hot bath or something. (Recs: Fergie - Glamorous, Rita Ora - Hot Right Now, Lana Del Rey - Freak, Lana Del Rey - Art Deco, Tame Impala - Feels Like We Only Go Backwards)

Saitama: He doesn’t listen to music much anymore, sadly. He did, however, have a killer motivational mix to get him through his vigorous training prior to becoming a hero. (Recs: Paul Engemann - Push it to the Limit, Journey - Don’t Stop Believin’, College & Electric Youth - A Real Hero, Joe Esposito - You’re the Best Around, Survivor - Eye of the Tiger, The Bee Gees - Nights on Broadway)

Here’s the playlist with all of these songs in order (mostly):

It’s on YouTube because I’m allergic to Spotify. I’ve got a doctor’s note. Also, all of my other playlists are on my little profile thingy so if you want to listen to my pile then go right ahead.

Thanks for your ask, my dude! ❤️ this took up ALL of my energy lol but it was fun.

[quatschmachen]

Bitchumen

A nice heartwarming sort of xmas fic. Phone call takes place in 2000, the xmas in 1999.

Edward rants to someone about something.

XXX “Right, like you can actually understand what’s going on.” The sarcasm dripped thick like bitumen from Edward’s tongue, the sticky anger clinging to every surface.“You treating me with the polite decency of a stranger doesn’t actually make you a good person, Calvin – it doesn’t even make you a friend.”

Blowing a breath out, Edward rubbed his face, his shoulders stuck between wanting to spike up in stiff defense or simply drop down in defeat.

“Which is why you get the couch,” here his arms crossed, brooking no argument, “I don’t even know why you thought it was going to be fine just showing up, months after being an asshole thinking I would even put you up. I just know Edith would have you out on your ass, and honestly you’re lucky you got me when I was even in town. Hold on… Mr. Big Shot, you have enough money to get a fucking hotel room, why the shit am I even considering you to stay here with me? Why the hell am I not throwing you out on your ass?”

Another breath out, and Edward sighed, “No, this won’t do.”

With a slump, he plopped onto the couch, and glanced around his small living room, wondering why the hell he was even practicing this as a conversation. Calvin hadn’t dropped by in months. It wasn’t like he was going to any time soon. The lines had been clearly drawn, and even an entitled oil cowboy wasn’t going to pretend everything hadn’t changed.Apparently the weeks off were just giving him time to go crazy. Usually this would be the time he would jet off to Montreal, but instead he was stuck in his house losing it. He was worried if he showed up on Étienne’s doorstep he would just start crying. Definitely not a thing to do.

His thoughts were disrupted as the telephone began to ring. With a sigh, he rolled off the couch and grabbed it. “Hello?”

“Eddy!” Étienne’s voice rang out through the phone and wrapped around him like a warm hug.

“’Tienne,” Edward breathed out, automatically relaxing, he flomped down into the seat beside the telephone.

“I’ve been calling for weeks and thought you had died,” he joked, but the edge of worry was still there.

“Sort of had.” Edward murmured, “Actually I sort of moved out, I guess. Mac came down in January and I ended up moving north with him and picked up a hitch. Just got off and am laying around at home too dead to do anything.”

“Hitch?”

“Uhm working in the oil patch. Living at camp, pretty much isolated from the world…”

“Surrounded by big burly men? You could have at least sent me a postcard, Eddy,” Étienne teased, but there was an underlying tone Edward had difficulty deciphering, “I was thinking if it was my turn to come pull you out of the swamp of misery.”

“I guess I could have but… to be honest it all sort of just happened?” Edward sighed, “And once I was up in Fort Mac, and then out working, it’s difficult to really communicate. Just work till you drop, then into the camp to exercise or watch porn.”

“What? They actually supply porn?”

“And sometimes even prostitutes, but that’s apparently not truly allowed…” Edward paused, “but unfortunately no prostitutes were of interest to me.”

“How unfortunate. I was up to my eyeballs with inconvenient work,” Étienne paused, “Christmas was about the same as always, Suzette passes along her best wishes. The food was divine, and I ended up losing an arm-wrestling match to Élyse.”

Edward laughed, “What were the stakes?”

“Hmmm, well she got to eat my slice of cake; it was some terrible cake Samuel had made – yes I know, please believe me when I say he made this cake. Truly no real artisan of food would have produced something as terrible as that cake. I think it ostensibly was supposed to be a fruit cake – with a thick layer of chalky marzipan on top. Somehow he managed to over-alcohol a cake while having it be dry at the same time. I was ready to submit it to the Guinness Book of Records…”

“So why was Élyse battling you for your slice?”

“You see, I may have already had a fight or two with Samuel – he has some new boytoy, and he was being so insipid and sickly about it, I may have been ready to fight over any little thing. Élyse figured if I got rid of the slice via arm wrestling it could possibly save Christmas or something. Yadda yadda. Apparently no one seems to enjoy the Christmases when Samuel breaks down in angry tears and yells for an hour – not sure why when I find that sooooooo entertaining.”

“God I wish I was there for that… seeing Samuel’s face as if he was punched when he tries to cry elegantly is so therapeutic…” Edward murmured, “I feel like my Christmas was just me being the crying one.”

“Crying? What happened, Édouard?”

Squiggling in his seat, Edward wondered how much he should tell. A part of him wanted to spill it all, but another part wondered if that would be too much of an inconvenience. How much of his stupid worries did Étienne really want? Closing his eyes, Edward pretended they were in the same room together, maybe even touching, head on Étienne’s shoulder, not necessarily looking at the man, but bodies snuggled up, his hair getting played with. Those small stolen moments of bliss, where the worries got spilled, and he didn’t worry about the consequences.

“Christmas was so awkward; I don’t even know where to begin. The entire time I desperately wished I had gone to yours… it felt like the last time I try to be a functional person among them… hell, I only went because I thought maybe I could improve relations with people… start the new millennium off with some hope about the future.”

It really had been terrible. They had held it at the ranch – Bert’s ranch. Why the hell did he think hanging out with people at the ranch would be a good idea? Surrounded by people you probably should know better, but in reality only held passing pleasantries with. The one bright spot had been Calvin. Calvin who seemed to be best buddies with everyone who arrived, Calvin who smiled brightly at him and argued with him, distracting him from the knot of anxiety he was harbouring over whether he should come out during Christmas or hold off until New Years?

He was attempting small talk with Jo, who was talking at him about how they should go shopping together (did she not do other stuff?), when he overheard Bert loudly say “I personally don’t think those fags should be given the deal.”

It felt like time had slowed down for Edward. No one seemed to pause or care. Orson in fact nodded along with Bert’s rant, sipping his Sprite. Jo continued on with her plans for her next visit, and somewhere nearby Red laughed at a joke Madeline made. As he observed the room to see if there was any reaction to Bert’s loud rant, everyone was involved in their own conversations. Calvin was in the distance deep in conversation with someone he could not quite make out. 

Right, this was not the place. He still wanted turkey dinner, and as he dimly nodded along to Jo, Edward felt small. He had no allies here. Well, that wasn’t true. He was sure Edith supported him, but one in how many? Edward didn’t want to ‘ruin Christmas’.

“And you know how I’ve been thinking about coming out and stuff, but uh, can I just say no? If you were in the room you would understand – seriously Étienne, these people who claim to be my so called family would just as well lynch me as their Christmas bonfire – I dunno they could just douse me in bitumen and light me up human torch Christian martyr style for bringing the faggotry home for Christmas… Soooo I didn’t want to ruin Christmas and make the event awkward for everyone,” Edward related over the phone.

“And then horror of horrors, Orson managed to corner me in what he thinks is jovial conversation. It felt like everything he had to say to me was condescension masked in care and concern – honestly I am not sure how he even manages that. I think he felt like it was his civic duty to carry on a conversation with me. He even reminisced about the temple open house he dragged me to. Ok honestly I went to the open house out of curiosity, to see what sort of cult he’s in, but I didn’t think he would already be reminiscing about something that had literally JUST happened. Temple? Yeah, a Mormon temple just opened up in my city… so it meant I had the pleassssuuure of Orson coming up for the Open House and dragging me along. Stay with me? God no, please ‘Tienne I’m not that insane, what would I do if he snooped and found my big old dildo? Yeah he was staying with some church people since he was volunteering and such.”

“I think I wanted to die when he sat down at the piano – yeah, I didn’t even think Bert ever tuned that thing, but knowing Orson maybe he came extra early to tune it, and began banging out the Christmas carols. Like he’s talented and all, and I don’t mind a round of Jingle Bells, but he really has this creepy 1950s vibe and I wanted to roll my eyes when his eyes started to shine with unshed tears at Away in a Manger and O Holy Night.” Edward twisted the cord around his finger, as he listened to Étienne chuckle. Apparently the tactic was avoid talking about himself and instead rant about goody-two-shoes Orson? “You should count yourself lucky you don’t have to deal with him on a regular basis… mmm? Yeah he is kind, considerate and is literally the guy to volunteer for the worst tasks but there is something about him where he is a little too perfect? Like somehow can’t let my hair down around him type of deal. Which makes him perfect for Lilith – as she always has her hair up, haha.”

Edward had relaxed into his seat, somehow feeling lighter, as the words slipped out, “And then New Years was somehow worse… no I wasn’t at the ranch. I probably should have taken you up on your fireworks show, because the one here is uh Edmonton grade. You know – trying real hard but still somehow failing to miss the mark,” he chuckled at his own joke, not picking up on the strained tension from Étienne over the phone. “Calvin came up, which surprised me since I assumed he would want to be gallivanting about in Calgary, but apparently he wanted to spend it with his best buddy which is me? Somehow? Don’t worry Teddy, you’re still my best friend…” Edwards voice lowered, as he realized what he was about to say, admit. Pause. “So how was your New Years? Aahh why are you yelling – oh you’re saying I didn’t mention why New Years sucked? It’s because it wasn’t with you, darlin’.”

Somehow Edward couldn’t do it. Couldn’t quite bring himself around to admitting he had come out to Calvin. How he had fallen into a depression when he got outright rejected. “Hmm? Well, how else can I put it… while I could have been kissing you and sucking your cock, I instead got to hold Calvin’s hair back as he literally puked in my poinsettias… yes… mmhmm. The poor plant didn’t make it.”

Tangling his finger in the phone cord, Edward found himself relaxing as Étienne told him about his New Years event, feeling like he had dodged a bullet. The other man’s voice soothing him. Trying to be home for Christmas and the New Years - attempt to enter the new millennium as a man of his own place, had been a major mistake.

He should have kept to his original plans of escaping to Montreal, escaping his own clay dirt to mold himself into his own dream man.Sometimes he wondered if he loved Étienne or simply wanted to be Étienne. A complicated mixture of feelings confusing him ever more when it came to that man.

“Visit? I would love to visit… oh wait, you want to come visit me? When? Hmm let me… check my calendar.” Edward sat up, looking around, and then picked up the phone, carefully picking his way into the kitchen, so he could squint at the calendar. His telephone cord ran out though, so he had to do an awkward strain, trying not to unplug the phone, while seeing his own scribbled-in life.

Well… the only thing really was his work shifts. Everything else a blank. “How does this time work? You’re booked up. Alright…” Edward and Étienne haggled over dates, until somehow, it lined up that Edward was going to Montreal. A subtle shift, but as Edward said with some practicality – that’s just how it lined up. As he hung up the phone, he wrote down the date of his trip, feeling better. Now in between work was a small bright spot, one small thing to look forward to.He was not as friendless as he thought, and, perhaps with enough courage, he could finish his New Years story.        

[elichorph]

OH SHIT???? did you see avery jeong buying princess bandaids at the local cvs after punching out somebody’s car window??? anyways, he’s a legacy and a member of the yale's elite, they're twenty-three and a 1st year grad student majoring in mechanical engineering. they are as strong willed as they are naive.

hello, i am back with my third character. yes this is my second character that has a 5 letter name that starts with an a. yes this intro is extremely long. if you read it i will send you a gif of your fav celeb to thank you.

stats:

full name: avery tobias jeong nicknames: ave age: twenty three birthday: march 8, 1998 ( yeah he’s technically 22 right now but he’ll be 23 soon enough ) chart: pisces sun, aries moon, cancer rising siblings: one ( lilia, younger sister ) gender: cis male pronouns: he / him sexuality: bisexual & biromantic height: 6′0 hair color: black tattoos: random tattoos on his arms, faded hand tattoos (specifically an angel on his left hand) piercings: right earlobe ring

blackmail:

( violence & drugs tw )

he had an unplanned child at nineteen with his ex-girlfriend who he now has little to no contact with. his ex dug up a public intoxication charge that avery’s family had paid to cover up in order to place a restraining order on him and deny him custody of the child.

he was involved in an underground fighting ring for multiple years as a means to make money after being cut off by his family. however, he always took fights too far and was banned from the ring in new haven after he nearly killed one of his opponents.

family:

if you’ve already read lilia’s intro then you can skip this because it’s the same thing!

ya’ll ever read one of those drug ring ao3 fanfics where y/n is dating the sexy drug cartel leader? well that’s their family!

generational family blood money because that’s how cartels work i think. started running + dealing three generations back with their great-grandparents in order for them to make a living. it wasn’t until the so-called business was handed down to their grandparents that they wanted to expand and generate more money. the big pharma cover was created in order for them to manufacture, distribute, and supply at a larger scale. present day, their family name has notoriety with other cartel and mafia families. 

basically avery was supposed to take over because he was the oldest right, but lilia did not want that at all. their parents started favoring avery and schmoozing up to him a little bit to get him to say yes (even though avery was fully prepared to give lilia the position) and lilia was like! what the fuck! so she told their parents about this one time that avery accidentally blabbed the family secret to a stranger at a party which broke their one rule of keeping it a secret. their parents wanted nothing to do with him anymore and completely cut avery off and kicked him out of the family. 

everyone knows that avery and lilia are siblings, even though they don’t really know the actual details about their past together because avery doesn’t say anything about his family and the cartel is a secret. now that they are both at yale and in the elites together they are just kinda like haha awkward <3 they basically would just tell everyone that they grew apart if other characters tried to pry but also lilia is now telling people that avery fucked up a business decision which is why he left the family and avery is like alright but good luck trying to get other info out of them! xo, the jeongs

present:

after being kicked out of his family, avery booked it to new haven to attend yale. he was able to score a full ride after graduating as the valedictorian of a specialized school for science in nyc and for continuously staying near if not at the top of his class. literally this man is a casual genius. he will get drunk as hell and talk about math for the entire night even if you don’t care. avery joined the elites in his junior year and even though he technically is a legacy from his family, he told them that if he was going to join, he wanted to be recruited for his academics because fuck if he was going to use his family name!

to expand a little more on blackmails, avery was broke as shit after coming to new haven. he still is, but he literally had so little money to his name and eventually found an underground fighting ring and made money by winning matches through that because he is Beefy and a Unit and his anger issues could be released <3 but he would always go a little too hard and would near murk his opponents, especially this one time that caused him to be banned from the ring. now for money he just fixes up people’s air conditioners and fridges and shit and also works maintenance at a hotel chain around connecticut to get money when he really needs it <3 literally if you need something fixed hit him up and he’ll be happy to do it but he would also love if you made him dinner to thank him because he has eaten too much kraft mac n cheese.

when avery was a sophomore, his girlfriend of a few months accidentally got pregnant whoops <3 and he was ready to literally drop everything for his girlfriend and daughter, but his girlfriend didn’t want that because she was lowkey a bitch! she ended up using a secret that avery had told her (that he had a public intoxication charge that his family had covered up) and took him to court and got his custody rights taken away and a restraining order placed on him and then dropped out of yale before anybody could know about the baby and zoomed to another state and now avery is like ok <3 his daughter’s name is skye though and she is four now and sometimes he still gets updates but literally it eats him alive hahaha

personality:

basically paddington going through an emo phase. he has extreme rbf and might be a solid unit who looks intimidating, but he genuinely is so sweet. by his looks you’d expect him to push you down the stairs but in reality he’s the kid who is 20 minutes late to class to hold the door open for people and he’ll feel good about it even if nobody says thank you to him. 

certified sad boy! the extremely nice guy you meet at a house party who remembers what drink you like from some time you apparently met three months ago? avery loves house parties for real and will be the angel who cleans up at 5am even if he’s got an exam at 8. he loves to take care of people to fill his fatherly void even though he’s the one that needs help the most. 

accepts the fact that he’s now #poor now, but he also gets kind of insecure and jealous seeing everybody pop off with a britney work bitch vc bugatti. tries to keep up with people looks wise at least, he has one old balenciaga cross body bag that has holes in it, way too many ripped pairs of designer jeans, and a scratched gucci belt that you will see him sporting often. might want to bash your face in if you flaunt your wealth and gets kind of whiny about it sometimes.

avery is the type of person that loves the outdoors and going on picnics. his romantic dream is to lay under a tree with the soft summer breeze and play some guitar for the love of his life <3 yes he has a guitar and yes he is actually good at singing even though he gets embarrassed about it. he fucking loves music.

still has that aries moon though, is extremely defensive and my one character who will actually fight in the group chat because what the fuck does he have to lose at this point! avery has extreme anger issues that hurt him more than anything. even though he’s banned from the underground fighting ring, he still needs an outlet and will have his hands shoved in his pockets because they’re either bruised to shit or discolored from how many times they have been bruised. can be found walking home after taking the late bus so he could go scream in a field somewhere.

this man? also naive as fuck. has been hurt by too many people and really just sets him up at this point. an open book most of the time, so much that it hurts him. will tell you everything about himself like the way he can’t sleep in silence and has to have ocean noises playing, but he can’t listen to whale noises because sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night and thinks it’s a ghost. however, his family stuff is off limits and he will spit in your face if you even think about asking him about it. 

won’t hold grudges. the type to see a person for who they are as a whole and if they mess up, he’s just like “you’re better than that /: but it’s fine.” probably why he gets hurt so much

wanted connections

a roommate maybe? i pictured him living in an apartment because he probably wouldn’t be able afford live anywhere else. could be besties, could be someone he barely knows but he just needed someone to move in to split the rent.

the one person who he’ll let take care of him. it probably would take a lot to break through his walls, but this person can calm him down after he gets riled up.

since his ex went to yale, maybe one person who knew her and had somewhat of an idea of what happened. they don’t know everything but maybe from what they heard from his ex, they believe everything was avery’s fault and that he fucked her over entirely.

gut wrenching hate plots of where they really love each other but things just can’t work out for one way or another.

gentle romance <3 slow burn. someone who won’t hurt him PLEASE.

aaaaand someone who takes advantage of how naive he is

and friends. so many friends. he is just so friendly and he isn’t the type to hold shit over people’s heads. 

other links 

pinterest

[basiccortez]

Defenseless Ch. 2

synopsis: CJ Jackson, looks like she has it all. Fancy car, fancy house, name  brand clothing. Her parents, top boosters to Beverly, with money to make all sorts of situations go away. As well as the Jackson family looks put together, past secrets haunt them. With the new transfer student catching the eye of CJ Jackson, can old friendships be fixed. Or are somethings just meant to stay broken. "I told you, as long as I live, no one would know."

word count: 5.2k 

pairing: Jordan Baker x OC (CJ Jackson) 

warnings: talk of drugs, talk of addiction, talk of a juvenile being in trouble, teen drinking, language, high school boys being high school boys. 

"Maybe, we shouldn't have kept her in that school."

"Chris, we talked about this. The best way for her to contain a normal life is by staying there."

"You didn't hear her cry today, Pauline." She could hear his heavy sigh, "That baby has lost everything, and you know how teenagers can be. I don't want to lose her anymore than we already have."

"I can email Mrs. Riley, and tell the boys to be on the lookout for her. You know Colton won't let anything slip."

CJ heard her dad's loud laughter from the spot she sat. She sat on the dark staircase behind the kitchen wall listening to her parents talk. After she had come home from her terrible dance rehearsal, she had hid in her room all night doing homework and listening to music.

"Oh I know," Her dad said, "Cobe won't let anything slip either. Carver has some pull with the football boys. Roman will help too."

"What more of an Army does one girl need." Her mother said.

CJ smiled weakly, thinking of all the boys in her life. Cobe, the eldest Jackson boy, was a senior, and a soccer star. He ruled the field much like he ruled the school being the student body preside. And, holds the title like if he were the king. Every booster presentation, he wore his best suit and tie, cleaned his shoes, and had his waves done perfectly. The whole Jackson family thought he would go to Stanford or Yale, his dream colleges, but he caught them all off guard by joining the Army when he turned 18. Their mother was pissed, and didn't talk to him for 2 days. Pauline sat down with her oldest, scolded him for not telling her, but listened to his side, and supported him.

Colton and CJ were twins. Colton being the older one, and not letting CJ live that down, at all. They both had the biggest brown eyes, ones that looked like pools of honey when the sunlight caught them. Colton's main focus was basketball, and everything basketball. There were times that he wished he was named after the great Kobe Bryant. But Cobe always reminded that he should've been born first. Colton was yet to commit anywhere, wanting to wait until after his junior year. He was praying for UCLA or LSU.

Carver was the youngest Jackson sibling, being a sophomore, and an amazing tight-end, getting his dad's football talent. Even as a sophomore, he had offers already, but much like Colton, he was waiting until senior year. Carver, even though as athletic as the other brothers, was also involved in other things. Music was his passion, growing up with old "cook-out" music- as their father would say- lead him to wanting to be a music major. Carver's room was littered with vinyl records, concert posters, and 8-tracks. CJ and Carver could spend hours arguing about the main message behind Tupac's Dear Mama.

Roman was the last boy in CJ's life. He, unlike the other boys, was not related to CJ. Roman was also on the football team, and played defensive end. He was a junior like CJ and Colton. Roman had basically lived in the Jackson house, being best friends with Colton, and dating Carver. Roman and Carver had been dating for almost 2 years now, and no one knew besides the Jackson family.

Carver was out to the school, and everyone couldn't be prouder of him. Carver wasn't afraid to be who he was. The boys on the football team accepted him. But Roman, was fearful of what his parents would do. He grew up in church, and hearing his mother curse about the pride parade every year in Beverly Hills. He was terrified about what his football friends would say. Yeah, they accepted Carver, but that didn't stop the whispers in the locker room when Carver would leave.

"He was totally starring at your junk," "If he tackles you, he might get hard" "Don't catch the ball like a fairy" "I don't wanna be the only one in the showers with him," "We should get rainbow uniforms" "Maybe he would do better on the cheer team"

All the siblings had heard the whispers and rallied around Carver. CJ was Carver's biggest fan, and biggest fighter. She had taken Carver to his first pride parade when he was in 8th grade. It broke Carver when CJ was sent away. He would visit her every weekend, and send letters nonstop. He was thrilled when she came home early. But like everyone else, he had a reputation to uphold. So even he turned his back on her at school today.

"It'll all work out for her, she's too strong to let anything break her." Pauline said coming up to her husband. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his back, "Where are they anyway? It's too quiet."

"CJ is around the corner." Chris said and CJ froze. "You've been sitting on those stairs since you were a little girl. Can't believe there's no ass print in the wood yet."

"Chris!" Pauline said laughing. CJ let out a laugh and stood up from the stairs. She walked into the kitchen in her baggy basketball shorts and a loose t-shirt, that was probably one of her brothers, "Hey baby girl." Pauline kissed CJ's forehead, as she walked over to the oven to get dinner out, "Cauliflower steaks- request from Cobe, with  asparagus, zucchini, mushroom sauce. Pasta salad and mac n cheese for a side. Apple pie for dessert, request from-"

"Me! Ain't no more goofy ass fake ass-"

"Finish that sentence, Colton, I dare you." Mom said giving Colton her famous glare. Colton shut his mouth real quick and kissed his mom's cheek as he came and grabbed a water out of the fridge, "Boy! Go shower too! You stank!"

"Smell of success, momma!" Colton said lifting his arms up, and showing off the pit stains on his red t-shirt.

"Ugh! Who the hell let the skunk in?" Cobe said coming down the stairs and smelling Colton.

"You think you got jokes, Pres?" Colton said walking over to his older brother.

"At least he don't smell like an onion." Carver said, Roman tagging along behind him, coming into the kitchen.

"Y'all all smell!" CJ said laughing. All the boys looked at each other, before all running over to CJ.

The girl squealed and took off running from her brothers. She ran towards the opening to the living room, but Cobe ran around the other side and blocked her. She quickly turned towards the dinning room, where Carver was waiting for her. Carver ran towards her, and CJ turned around running towards the kitchen again, where her dad was ready to catch her. She dodged past her dad, and was quickly picked up in strong arms. She fought against them until she was thrown into the pool.

"Ah!" She screamed as she hit the cold water. She came up from the water splashing, and laughed as she saw all 4 men, plus Roman laughing on the pool side, "Y'all think y'all funny?"

"Oh we real funny." Colton said.

"You children!" Pauline laughed coming out of the kitchen. She threw her dish towel over her shoulder and crossed her arms. All 5 males turned towards her and froze, "Y'all done with the games?"

"Yes ma'am." They all answered at the same time.

"Good. Cobe, you're gym bag does not live by the front door, pick it up. Colton, I know I didn't raise you to smell like a garbage can, hit the shower. Carver, see that table in there, set it. Roman, you can help him. Mr. Jackson, that  salad ain't gonna make itself." Pauline said, and all the boys went their instructed ways, "And you," She said looking at her daughter who was soaking wet in the pool, "Dry off and get clean."

The next day, The Jackson siblings all arrived together in their shiny white Jeep Wrangler. Colton parked the car next to Roman's black Tahoe. CJ used to joke that Roman looked like security detail for a famous person driving that black SUV around.

"Morning, Jacksons." Roman said to the bunch as they got out of the car. Roman gave a head nod to Carver. Carver rolled his eyes and slammed the door shut.

"You going to Mrs. Riley first?" Colton asked his younger sister.

"Have to every day." CJ answered and Colton sighed, "Go on, I'll be fine."

"Mom said to look-"

"I know what mom said," CJ cut off Cobe, "But I can handle myself."

"You can eat lunch with me and Alana." Cobe offered to his sister, who just scrunched her nose up.

"If there's anyone that I hate more than Emily Pierce, it's Alana Kadee." CJ said and pulled her bag over her loose t-shirt, "I'll be fine. Besides, I have him." CJ smiled seeing Spencer waiting behind her group of brothers, "Bye."

The boys watched as CJ pushed through them and over to Spencer James, who greeted the Jackson girl with a wide smile. The two of them walked into school together, and could fell all eyes on them.

"We trust him?" Colton asked the guys.

"He a good guy, little rough on the team player shit, but he's good." Roman said.

"As long as he don't do pull a Jordan Baker on her, I'm fine with it." Cobe said and the guys agreed. "Ain't no man gonna hurt my sister again."

CJ had battled her way through Anatomy, composition, and physics by the time the lunch bell had rang. Spencer waited outside of the girl's classroom and walked with her to lunch. Spencer talked about practice and a pool party at the Baker household. CJ was quiet and let Spencer vent practice and how it went.

"So how was it hanging out with the steroid set?" CJ asked, as she picked up a piece of her sushi.

"Are you serious?" Spencer asked the girl.

CJ laughed and shook her head, "I'm kidding. I used to mess with them and say that."

Spencer laughed and studied the girl before asking, "What happened between you and them? They know you, but they act like they don't wanna know you."

CJ took a deep breath, she knew this would come up sooner or later, "We used to be close, and then things happened. They became football stars and I became the. . .social pariah of Beverly High school."

"Man, shut up you're cool." Spencer said.

"Okay, yeah, says the new guy." CJ joked, "It's shocking, I know, but no one is eager to hang out with juvie girl, post detention center."

"Juvie? Elaborate."

"I just went down a bad path, things happened out of my control." CJ shrugged, "Parents paid a big time lawyer to help me out, and here I am. 75k and 90 days later. I'm fine now, just 90 days of parole."

"Is it?" Spencer asked, looking into her honey brown eyes.

CJ was about to answer, when a tray was placed loudly down on the table. The Jackson girl looked up and saw Cobe swinging his leg over the lunch table bench. Before CJ could protest him sitting there, Roman pulled up next to her. Carver sat his stuff down on the other side of Spencer, and Colton decided to nestle himself right in between CJ and Spencer. CJ rolled her eyes and leaned forward to still talk to Spencer.

"Spencer, meet the other, uglier versions of me. Cobe, Colton, Carver, and Roman- the adopted brother." CJ said introducing the boys.

"Nice to meet you," Spencer said politely, greeting all of the boys.

"Welcome to Beverly, I'm Colton, older twin, basketball star, black belt."

"He's lying." "I'm not lying." The twins said at the same time. CJ glared at her twin brother, as a familiar female voice started speaking.

"Spencer?" The voice asked, "Oh hey Jackson brothers, and Roman."

"Hey Layla," Carver answered the light-skinned girl.

"I'm throwing a party at my place tonight. It's just a small team thing, to celebrate the start of the season, and I was hoping you could make it." Layla spoke. CJ looked down at her food and picked at it as she was talking. Cobe could feel the tension rolling off of his younger sister's body, and wanted to yell at Layla for even approaching them.

"Yeah, for sure. We'll try to come by for a bit." Roman answered for the boys. Layla smiled at him and looked at CJ.

"Great," Layla said to the table, "Bye CJ." CJ looked up at Layla as she walked away and didn't say anything. The boys all looked at CJ who just rolled her eyes. Colton watched Spencer, as his head followed Layla as she walked away, and gave him a look.

"What?" Spencer asked.

"A, she's taken. That's Asher's girlfriend, okay?" Colton said.

"And B, those parties, I'd stay clear." CJ spoke up.

Spencer agreed, but there was a look in his eye that gave away his true intentions. The lunch bell rang, dismissing the teens back to class. CJ said goodbye to the boys before heading to Mrs. Riley's room for a check in and get her community service project.  Her project was based out of Crenshaw Community Center. She'd be tutoring elementary and middle school children in Science.

When dance practice rolled around, CJ was determined to take her spot back. CJ was the first one dressed and in the gym for practice. It gave her enough time to turn her phone on and go over the Countdown dance, like it was supposed to be done.

Jordan could hear the music from down the hall as he walked Hadley to the locker room, "Are you late?" He asked his girlfriend.

"No. . . it must be Emily practicing. No matter how hard she tries, she will never be CJ good. That girl is amazing, the way she can move. Looks just like her mom when she's dancing." Hadley spoke.

"Yeah. I remember all those dance awards on her walls." Jordan smiled remembering going to her competitions, "I should get going," Jordan kissed Hadley goodbye before walking down the hallway towards the music coming from the gym.

Jordan stood in the doorway in awe, watching the way CJ flawlessly moved around the space. She was completely lost in the tempo of the song playing. Her body was telling a story, and so was the song she chose. Jordan could see the pain that was coming across in her movements. The way it looked like she couldn't catch the beat, but she was perfectly on time.

"Just don't give up, I am working it out. Please don't give in, I won't let you down. It messed me up, need a second to breathe. Just keep coming around. Hey, whataya want from me. Whataya want from me?"

Jordan couldn't help but feel guilt listening to the words. The song was picked for a reason, and CJ knew it. He watched as she flawlessly leaped into the air, and land it perfectly. Her turns were executed without any hesitation and with full control. When the music finished, she ended on her knees, her chest moving up and down rapidly as her eyes were closed, trying to slow her heart rate.

Jordan didn't know if he should clap or say something, before he could move he heard clapping from the other side of the gym. CJ opened her eyes and briefly glanced at Jordan before looking to where the sound was coming. Spencer James walked into the gym, a wide smile on his face, and CJ stood up from the ground. Jordan left as Spencer started talking to the girl. He headed down to the football locker room, trying even harder to forget about CJ Jackson.

"That was. . . amazing." Spencer spoke to the light skin girl.

"Thanks. I listened to a lot of music in juvie, and this was one of my favorite songs. It spoke to me." CJ said and her eyes drifted over to where Jordan was standing.

"Well it was amazing." Spencer said.

"It was," The pair was cut off by a familiar annoying voice breaking into the gym, "Excuse me, Spencer is it? You need to leave, closed practice. And CJ, next time you want extra ''practice'' run it by the captain first." Emily said to the two.

"Show more later?" Spencer asked CJ and the girl smiled, watching Spencer walk off.

"I don't know what you're trying to do, but you will never hold the captain spot again. You might have been the best dancer in the conference, but not anymore." Emily sneered to CJ. CJ took one step getting in Emily's face, and could feel the girl uncomfortable by the sudden conforntation.

"The only person who won't be holding a captain spot anymore is you. And trust me sis, it's not me who needs the extra practice. The mess you call a dance, is a shit show and you know it. It's a Beyonce song, and you ain't it sweetie.  You are more like. . ." CJ paused looking the ginger girl up and down, "Chanel West Coast, and I'm Nicki Minaj. No competition at all."

CJ pushed past Emily, and grabbed her water bottle as the rest of the dance team started filling in the gym. Emily walked over to a group of girls and yelled at them to start stretching. Mrs. Williams came into the gym and set down her clipboard and called all the girls together.

"We are learning a new dance today, and CJ will be teaching it." Mrs. Williams said. CJ smirked as she felt Emily's glare on her back, "So let's get ready. Spread out."

"Chrisy?" Her mother spoke, knocking on her bedroom door. CJ sat up from the blankets she was buried under and paused the Twilight movie she was watching, "No plans tonight? It's a Friday night."

"These are my plans." CJ said pointing to a half naked Taylor Lautner on her TV screen.

"Half naked werewolf boys aren't a plan." Pauline laughed and walked over to sit on her daughter's bed, "I know that there is a team party at Layla's tonight."

"I know. I knew I probably couldn't go anyway."

"Your curfew is midnight, on the dot, no later. Colton will drive you and Dad will pick you up."

"Mom, are you say. . ."

"You have been through enough. Your Dad, Mrs. Riley, and I talked, we agreed that going to a team party with your brothers was okay. As long as you promise you can pass a drug test tomorrow morning."

CJ jumped up from her bed and hugged her mother tightly. Pauline smiled and hugged her daughter back. It was the first time in months that the two have hugged each other like this, in a happy moment.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" CJ squealed.

"You're welcome. Now get dress, child, you look a mess. And no Jackson child of mine will be looking a mess." Pauline said smiling at her daughter. CJ smiled at her mother and then jumped up towards her closet. CJ invited her mother to stay and help her get ready for the party.

Pauline, her mother, was a retired Dallas Cowgirl dancer, and now an editor for Vogue. Pauline had met Chris Jackson after the Chiefs had played the Cowboys, and it was love at first sight. She had grown up in east Oakland, and had come from nothing. She danced to put herself through college, which she ended up getting her degree in Dance. She worked hard for what she wanted, and wanted people to know that. She expected the best out of her kids, and wanted them to always put their best foot forward.

CJ let her mom fix her box braids, pulling them half up, half down. She wore a baggy black Aliyah t-shirt with a stripped long sleeve underneath it. Her jeans were loose with more hole then there were jean. She pulled on her crisp white air forces and smiled at herself.

"Beautiful." Pauline smiled and kissed her daughter's forehead, "Remember, midnight. Colton's downstairs waiting for you."

CJ nodded and headed downstairs where her twin was waiting. CJ and Colton made their way to the lime green 1972 camaro, which was Colton's baby. He only brought it out for important events such as parties, homecoming, dates, and prom.

"Scratch the paint, and you're dead." He told his twin as she opened the door to the car.

The party was in full swing when they arrived. The door to the Keating household was wide open, and you could hear the music from down the street. Teens were on couches doing bong hits, shots, making out. Red solo cups were in almost every teen hand. Splashes could be seen as the glass doors to the outside were pulled back.

"Hey Colt!" A half naked JJ said as he came up to the twins, "CJ, my girl." JJ tried to hug the twins but they both pushed him back seeing as he was soaking wet.

"Leave it to JJ to make me feel somewhat welcome." CJ said to her brother. He smirked and threw his arm over her shoulder.

"You are welcome, you always have been. If they don't accept you, you don't need them. Now come on, I guarantee there is a Sprite tropic berry with your name on it."

At some point during the party, the siblings had broken away from each other. Colton was probably in some room with one of the many girls at the party. And CJ sat alone, her feet swinging over the side of the deck, as looked at the California hills. It was peaceful for her, she hadn't seen the lights of the city like this in a long time. The view of Layla's house had been one of the many things she liked about it.

"You lost?" Jordan Baker said standing behind her. CJ sighed and didn't say anything, but swing her legs back to the side of the deck, and stand up. She brushed herself off and started walking away from Jordan, "Where are you going?"

"Away. I know when I'm not wanted somewhere." She said to the QB. Jordan sighed and grabbed her arm stopping her in her tracks. CJ tore her arm away from his grasp and looked at him, "You dumb or had one too many concussions?"

"CJ. . ."

"Your parents made it pretty damn clear what they expect from you and Olivia. And that's to stay away from me. So why don't you do that." CJ sneered.

"CJ, Jesus Christ, would you just stop!" Jordan said trying to stop her again, "I wanted to say sorry, and just talk to you."

"Sorry? You wanted to say 'sorry'? Sorry isn't going to suffice. What would've been the epic sorry would've been telling the truth that day, but you couldn't do that."

"CJ I-"

"It's fine, Jordan. Now leave me alone." CJ said and turned on her heel, and trying to get as far away from that party as possible. She knew she shouldn't have been there, but she thought, maybe if they were all drunk they'd forget about the mistakes that were made last year.

CJ woke up with the worst possible headache that she could have. And she hadn't even been drinking. Her parents had woken her up bright in early to go to the scrimmage game. The boosters were invited, meaning her parents. So CJ sat on the cold bleachers with her green cardigan on, shivering in the cool morning. She watched her mother hand Carver and Roman each a water bottle and a snack. Cobe was busy introducing the boosters to the football coaches and showing them the additions to the football stadium.

"Why am I here?" CJ asked her mother.

"Learning how to be a football wife." Pauline joked, causing the young girl to laugh, "I will never understand why women spend so much on botox and fake boobs." Pauline glanced over at JJ's mother, who had just gotten her 2nd boob job done.

"Cause black don't crack, but white sure do." CJ said and Pauline shoved her shoulder laughing, "Let's go Carvy!" CJ cheered watching her younger brother run on to the field.

"That number 11 looks rough." Her dad pointed out, coming to sit by his wife and daughter, "Thought that was supposed to be wonder boy, looks like under boy to me."

CJ looked at Spencer, who was getting the snot beat out of him. He looked awful, and completely out of it. CJ wondered what had happened when she left the party last night. Every play that was made to Spencer, he messed it up in some way. Each time the offense would walk off the field, he looked beat and tired. At the end of the scrimmage, Spencer walked off the field looking defeated. Carver had made his way over to were his parents and sister were standing.

"Nice work, young man." Chris said patting his son on the shoulders, "Almost as good as me."

"I am as good as you."

"What's up with that James kid?" Pauline asked her youngest.

"No clue, but dude reeks like a party bus. Him and JJ must've had a competition last night." Carver said looking over at where Spencer was now talking to Jordan and Asher, "Or those two did something."

The Jackson family turned and watched a heated argument breakout. Spencer threw his helmet down and lunged towards Asher. CJ gasped and took a step forward, but Chris put his arm out in front of her, stopping her movement. The family watched Billy Baker came and controlled Spencer, and the assistant coach take Jordan and Asher away from the spectacle. CJ looked at the rest of the boosters who were also looking at the show in front of them. Cobe was quick to catch CJ's pleading glance to get them out of here, and somewhere else.

"Alright, let's go see where the best team, my team, the soccer team is practicing." Cobe said and the boosters followed him out of the football stadium.

"Billy was pulling for this kid and I have no reason why." Chris said watching Billy talk to his son.

"Maybe the Bakers should worry about they're own kids, seems like they can't control them." Pauline said and Chris nodded in agreement, "Let's go, the boys should be about done."

"I'll meet you guys at the car." CJ said and her parents agreed. CJ waited a moment and then walked over to where Jordan was. He was the only football player left on the field, "You do that to every new player?"

Jordan looked over at the Jackson girl and shrugged, "You don't get it."

"Oh I don't?" CJ questioned and walked over to Jordan, "Cause it looks like. . . you're being a huge dick."

Jordan sighed and set his helmet down on the bench, "You don't see the way he looks at Spencer. Like. . .he's the son he's always wanted."

"J, you know that's not true." CJ said using the nickname she had given him. Jordan couldn't help the butterflies that arose in his stomach when she said that, "Look where you are at, right now. Beverly Hills High School. Where do you live? In the Hills. What car do you drive? A 2019 camaro convertible. What does Spencer have?"

"I know. . ." Jordan says hanging his head in shame, "You're right."

"Your dad is trying to give a kid a chance. Your dad was much like Spencer, growing up in Crenshaw and someone gave him a chance. He is doing that to Spencer. You don't get it, because you have always had that chance."

"When did you get like this?" Jordan said looking at the girl.

"Like what?" CJ asked.

"Reasonable." Jordan simply said.

"I spent 90 days in a detention center. I was lucky, someone gave me a chance. If someone who's dad wasn't a retired football player and who's mother wasn't a editor for vogue who couldn't hire the best attorney in their county did the same thing I did. . . they would've gotten jail time instead of 90 days in juvie." CJ answered.

"Why didn't you take the plea? Why didn't you want a defense?" Jordan asked her but CJ just turned her head, "Why did you even take the blame anyway?"

CJ sighed and looked in Jordan's brown eyes, "You know why."

"But do I really? CJ, you wouldn't have been sent to-"

"Jordan." The two teens looked over to where the call came from. Laura Baker stood off the side, her arms folded in front of her. CJ took a step back from Jordan and looked down at her feet. She could feel the hate radiating off of Laura Baker. If looks could kill, CJ would be dead by now, "Why don't you go hit the showers. Now."

Jordan nodded and grabbed his helmet before walking off the field. CJ watched him leave and turned on her heel to head to her parents' car. Laura stepped in front of CJ, cutting off her path and looked down at the teen.

"What are you doing here? Do you needed reminded about the terms of your parole, Miss Jackson?" Laura asked the teen.

Before CJ spoke her mother spoke for her, "No, she doesn't, Laura. The best thing you can do is stop talking to my daughter before we have another issue on your hands."

Laura looked at the Jacksons before moving out of the way. Pauline led her daughter to the waiting black range rover, and where her husband stood. Chris opened the door for CJ and his wife. CJ looked at Laura one last time before her dad pulled out of the parking lot.

[melyaliz]

Past loves and future babies pt. 3

Masterlist 

Fandom: Marvel / MCU 

Summary: Dinner, Drinks and what comes after 

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OC 

Notes: No one really voted... BUT @thespacebuns reblogged with comments and I decided to give her another chapter :P 

All Masterlists @melyalizarchive

Connect with me! AO3 / Instagram / Pinterest

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

Before the snap Dixie and Mac had been on their own. The two siblings running across the world just getting hired out as muscle men, hackers, grifters, really anything they could do to make some money. 

Then the snap happened. 

Dixie remembered standing between an open safe and five gun men. Mac screaming in her ear to get out. Fear in his voice making it hard for her to focus. But she knew the drill when she was caught with her back against the wall, do whatever she could to get out of there. 

And then four of them men disappear. Crumbled into ash before her very eyes. The other guy freaked out not sure what to do. Calling out to his comrades. His own shocked yells slowly starting to echo more screams throughout the building as both her and the last gunman walked out. People all around them running out yelling. Trying to escape whatever was happening while their fellow coworkers crumbed around them like some horrible nightmare.

Dixie screamed Mac’s name. Her head set filling with static as she raced toward the door. She kept screaming his name so hard she was sure she tasted blood. Bolting from the building rushing toward the van nearly ripping the door off as she opined it. 

“Dixie!?! What the hell is going on?” her brother had asked his eyes wide as he stood there in pure shock. 

“I don’t know.” 

Since that day their dealings just left of the law slowly stopped. Instead becoming like a second defense to the cops. So many people, unsure what to do, had decided now was the time to play Grand Theft Auto IRL. Leaving millions of defenseless people alone with a lack of defense.

Luckily for Dixie and Mac they weren’t the only ones who had shifted toward protecting those who couldn’t. In fact, it felt like whoever was left had really chosen a side.

Those who were in it for themselves and those who were in it for others. 

Mac had found many resources during those times while on the web. People giving them tips on where to go and who to help. 

One in particular was a former cameraman for NBC news named Logan. 

Logan was funny, handsome, and had lost his wife. 

Mac had warned her, the moment they had met him. He had known it was Dixie’s type. Just out of reach. But she couldn’t help herself. 

It was like Dixie’s heart knew, fall in love with the ones you can never really have. Just another trick deeply ingrained in her subconscious as a way to protect herself. Remind herself that no matter how close they got there would always be something in the way. 

Logan joined their team along with a few others. Roaming the country finding people in need. Meeting up with other do-gooders helping those who couldn’t. 

And then everyone came back. 

And again, it was just Dixie and Mac. 

Alone together. 

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

Dinner was so much fun, everyone talking and joking while passing around the food. It almost felt like a TV version of a thanksgiving dinner. The way everyone was so comfortable around each other. The history. 

Dixie felt a little out of place but the great thing about food was that you could shove your mouth so no one expected you to talk. It wasn’t like Dixie didn’t like chatting with strangers but… she felt a little like a cow at this point. 

So she ate keeping her posture as small as possible as a way to minimize her presence and keep conversation away from her.  

Or that was what she had thought until Bucky met her gaze from across the table. Before she  could shift her gaze he spoke. “How did you like the suite?”

Nodding Dixie quickly swallowed the large bite of chow mein she had been shoving into her mouth. “It’s better than my old shitty apartment.” 

Bucky chuckled, “Tony keeps this place amazing.”

“The view is really nice,” Steve added, glancing over at Dixie. For a moment she wondered if he was trying to get her approval the way he was looking at her. Wide blue eyes searching her so intently.  

“So where did you live before this?” Bucky asked.

Dixie’s mind raced, where had she lived? Everywhere. Her and Mac moved from city to city pretty often trying to find places that rented for 6 months or less. While she knew she had to be here… you know to save the world. She wasn’t sure how open minded the avengers were to her past days for hire. 

“Arizona before this,” she smiled shrugging, “Tacos were amazing.” 

“I bet, it’s been a while since I have been in that area,"

Well it's pretty hot this time of year"

More small talk continued. Moving past her to something else. Tony’s house in the cabin or how he and Bucky’s arms matched. Well different arms but still. It was weird getting a glimpse into this side of them. All laughing and talking, trading stories and jokes like they were all highschool friends and not savors of the world. There was so much history Dixie almost felt like she was an outsider looking in. 

Which in a way she was.

The conversation went from the dining room to the large main room. There was a fully stocked bar. Tony started mixing drinks. Sam teasing Bucky about some mission they had gone on. Conversation flowed easily as they all laughed and joked around relaxing into the evening.. 

It was warm. These people were a family. Maybe bigger than Dixie and Mac but a family none the less.She had always believed that you could find family anywhere and these people, the greatest heros, were proof of that.  

As the night dragged on she watched curled up on a couch her eyes slowly getting heavier and heavier. 

Then a soft hand slowly brushed over hers pulling her awake. Turing she met Steve’s blue eyes. 

“You look like your are about to fall asleep” 

Smiling gratefully she nodded running her fingers through her hair. Getting up she followed Steve toward their apartment. Most of the team had gone back to their rooms. Bucky still there resting with a glass of scotch relaxing just listening to the music. He had been talking to Steve a few moments earlier, Dixie hadn’t caught the conversation comfortable with her own thoughts. 

It could have been the long day, or the alcohol and amazing food but Dixie didn’t really think much about what “going back meant.” Or that had been the case until they were there.  

Standing in front of the bedroom.

Oh yeah.

This is why she was here. 

Slowly Steve -annoyingly- opened the door for her. For a moment Dixie considered telling him to stop. Stop trying to be so nice and just be himself. 

She had seen a glimpse of it tonight with his team. He was so much more laid back and casual. 

Maybe someday she would be able to get him to act like that with her. When they were alone. She was good at breaking people down. Especially the uptight ones. She just needed to find the right buttons to push. Mac had always joked she had that little sister quality about her, being able to push buttons.

“Soooo” she said as they both stood in the doorway looking into the bedroom. Still so bare and sterile. A strip of moonlight spanned across the room shining on the bed like some weird silver spot light. Even the universe was laughing at them right now. 

Ha ha you have to have sex. 

Dixie would have found it funny if the guy next to her wasn’t so tense. 

It was so thick she could almost taste it on her tongue. The way he stood, the way his arms seemed to flex under his tight black tee. His hands clenched at his sides. Mouth in a tight line. He was totally unreadable and totally transparent at the same time. 

Letting out a long sigh she walked toward the bed slowly pulling off her shirt and shimmying out of her jeans. Behind her she heard Steve take a deep shuddering breath. His nerves getting the best of him.

He wasn’t the only one who was trying to hide his emotions. Dixie’s own emotions were like small bursts of nervous energy as she threw herself onto the bed. Rolling into the center pulling a pillow to herself looking back at her future baby daddy. 

“Well at least it’s comfortable.” she flashed him a smile moving a little to get more comfortable. He flashed her a small smile before pulling off his own shirt and then pants. Slowly folding them before putting them on the floor.

Dixie couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow not sure if he was just stalling or if he was really that anal. She would log that away for later. 

Steve stood now, shirtless in his boxers just looking at her, arms resting at his sides. His hands were a little more relaxed this time much to Dixie’s relief.  She looked up at him through thick lashes as she sat cross legged on the bed. Both of them just staring at the other unsure what to do next. 

“Did you… want to… this is a pretty cozy bed.” she faltered patting the mattress next to her. That same anxiety building up in her chest. Crashing like hot waves in her stomach. Building up before dropping fast and rough as the bed dipped with Steve’s weight as he sat down. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, turning to  face her scooting closer before gently pulling her closer.

“You don’t have to ask” she nodded slowly closing her eyes. 

He was so gentle when he kissed her. As if she was going to break under his touch. Something about that tender touch hurt deeper than if he had slapped her. It made her dizzy as if she was standing on the edge of a 100 foot drop.

And Dixie hated hights. 

Grabbing him she pulled him closer moving forward so she could position herself up and over his legs and get onto his lap. He grunted, moving back slightly, his hands resting behind him to brace himself as Dixie wrapped her own legs around his waist. Pulling away she looked down at him, studying his face. A million dumb commnets ran thought her head but she fought not say them aloud. Trying not to ruin the moment instead choosing to keep her big mouth busy with his lips. 

His hands reached around her hips, unsure what to do not really touching her. Reaching down she took them encurling them around her before going back to his hair. 

They kept kissing 

And kissing 

And kissing 

“Ok my lips are getting raw” Dixie giggled pulling away. She could feel his getting a bit hard under her. She wasn’t sure how hard considering she also didn’t know… how big he was. But at least she knew she was doing something. At least he found her attractive.

That was good. Because if he didn’t this whole process would be that much more of a struggle. 

Not that she was against wearing a paper bag.

A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do when saving the future.  

“I’m sorry” a pained expression spread across his face. His hand reaching up gently pushing away her hair, his blue eyes slightly wide his breath coming out slightly short. 

She studied him, her fingers going for his face thumbs stroking his cheek. 

“I’m not going to bite you” she whispered, “unless you're into that.” 

The tension was cut and he chuckled pushing her forward so she was laying on her back. He kissed her again before pulling away “Oh sorry.” 

“Shhh stop apologizing” she whispered wrapping her legs around his waist again before rubbing his arm. Pulling herself up she kissed but above his collar bone in the dip of his neck. Much to her pleasure she heard Steve’s breath hitched fingers gripping the blankets on either side of her. 

Pulling away she watched as he positioned himself on top of her again kissing her neck this time. Following her example. His fingers fumbling over her totally unsure what to do. His kisses hesitant.

This really wasn’t working. 

"Stop stop," she said pushing his very toned chest gently, "we don't have to rush this.” 

“I…” he sat back looking perplexed, upset maybe. Mostly just awkward. This whole things was just so damn awkward.  

Smiling she laid down beckoning him to lay next to her, “Let’s just cuddle, we don’t need to rush anything.”  

“Ok” slowly he laid down next to her, his face only inches from hers. 

“No” 

“What?” Steve frowned studying her as Dixie shook her head. 

“Turn around.” 

“I… ok…” he said slowly turning his huge back facing her. 

Wrapping her arms around his waist she pulled herself closer spooning him. It was easier this way she could pretend he was a huge pillow. A very muscular pillow.  Closing her eyes Dixie buried her nose in his neck taking in his warm scent. He smelled like warm flannels and justice. 

Whatever justice smelled like. 

She felt his large hand enveloping hers pulling her arms tighter around him. Thumb drawing small circles over her skin. The touch sending small goose bumps up her arm. 

“We’re in this together ok.” she said, her warm breath fanning over his neck, “you just have to be open with me, we can go any any pace you want.”  

‘Thank you” he whispered so softly she might have missed it. Maybe it was her imagination. 

After all, what did THE Captain America have to worry about? 

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 Masterlist 

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[auburnfamilynews]

Chuck Cook-USA TODAY Sports

Time to Barn Hard

Here we go... With under 24 hours until the kickoff of Auburn’s 2020 season, the luminaries here at College & Magnolia offer their sage opinions on what Tiger fans will see tomorrow afternoon. Most of us see a close contest destined to give us that all too familiar fall Saturday heartburn but there are a few brave souls who are prepared to barn hard no matter what.

Auburn (-7.5) vs Kentucky (O/U 49.5)

2019 Auburn fans won’t recognize 2020 Auburn. Bo Nix is going to take a huge leap forward. His receivers are healthy for game one. Our fearless leader has finally found someone he trusts enough to manage playcalling duties. The defense will reload with All-Conference (and maybe All-American) talent. A talented (and deep!) group of hard-hitting running backs. Pre-season optimism has overwhelmed pre-game jitters for me. Look for Chad Morris to show off all his weapons Saturday. He has a tendency to put up a lot of points in his first game at a new school. Brace yourselves, Wildcats. Let’s barn hard, yall.

Auburn 48

Kentucky 14

-Josh Dub

I was talking with a friend of my wife’s the other day and she asked how I thought Auburn would do. I was raised by an old school Auburn fan who taught me to sandbag and say that we were just hoping that everyone buckled their chin straps correctly and that they just had fun out there. That was met with my wife telling her, I always do this. I responded by saying that I just lower the bar so that, when they win by 40 in a game I don’t expect, I get the rush of being a kid again and genuinely happy when Auburn wins.

That said! HERE WE GO!

Auburn has got stars everywhere on the outside and in the backfield but a bunch of green horns on the starting line on offense, so IF Chad Morris (or Gus if he is still calling the plays) can use quick screens and....this route called a slant...to hide the fact that the Auburn offensive line will look a lot like the French army circa 1938, then they might buy a few chances for Anders to kick some field goals.

On defense, you don’t lose D Brown and Marlon and get better. You probably don’t maintain the production you had last year on the D-Line. You can get back there, but that takes time and experience. That said, I am a bit more bullish on the defense as a whole. There is a ton of talent to go around on the line and the secondary and the Linebackers may be the best in the conference. Once again, the defense will keep Auburn in every game for the most part. And that new line will be tested against a really well coached, running offense that Kentucky brings to the Plains.

I love what Mark Stoops has been able to build in Lexington, and sort of done what Matt Campbell has done at Iowa State, that team you just don’t want to see cause they are scrappy and will take advantage of your mistakes. On the betting lines, I am staying away from this one with spendy cashy monies but with fakey non-existant moneies, I love the Cats getting a touchdown and a hook because I see this one being in the 3-4 range with Auburn probably winning, just based on history and going with my heart, but I could totally see Kentucky pulling this off as well.

Gimme Auburn over Kentucky 27-24 and the defense had to get a late stop to seal this one away. Nothing like a late missed FG to start that stomach ulcer.

(betting pick: UK and the points, Over at 51)

-Drew Mac

Auburn *should* win this game. Auburn *should* have the talent advantage. But hey, this is 2020. Who knows what havoc Covid will have wrought on install for any given team.

That being said, I trust Bo Nix’s development as a true sophomore. I think this Auburn team, while still going through some growing pains, will finally start to hit on explosive plays with a veteran WR corps. This Kentucky defense is not the one that one 10 games two years ago.

The only way things go sideways is if the retooled defensive line can’t stop the Kentucky ground game, which is an extremely valid concern. The Wildcats have three returning backs who combined for 1,900 yards and 18 TDs while sharing the spotlight with Lynn Bowden Jr last year, and Terry Wilson is no slouch. I think the Auburn linebackers are going to have to earn their keep as best LB group in the SEC here in week 1.

Auburn takes this one with some big plays through the air and a defense that bucks up in the second half. 27-13 Auburn.

-Ryan Sterritt

I’m a huge proponent of playing a patsy in week 1. In a normal season fall camp doesn’t really give a complete picture of how an offensive line communicates in real time, how well the quarterback has his timing down with his receivers, if the tailback has fumbling problems, mike linebacker being able to switch the defensive alignment based on tendencies, etc. etc. But if you can’t play a patsy I’m a huge proponent of playing a top 10 team who will keep you engaged without distractions leading up to kickoff and will tell you so much about where you can go from here. What you don’t want is a trap game in week 1.

Folks what we have here is a trap game in week 1.

We’re 14 points better than Kentucky. I genuinely believe that. Talent wise and coaching we’re at least 2 scores better than this football team at home. And it does not matter one bit thanks to COVID.

I am so concerned over what we’re going to look like out there considering how many guys were held out at various points of our extended fall camp thanks to COVID. Which wouldn’t be as big of a deal in a normal year, even though it would still be a big deal, but OH YEAH WE HAD NO SPRING PRACTICE. So in keeping with my tradition of being absolutely God awful at Barnin’ Hard, this tiger ain’t changing his stripes for this one.

Keys to victory:

- Stop a Kentucky ground attack with a defensive line that is fully capable of plugging the gaps and have your linebackers make plays in space. This will only work if our corners, who will be in a lot of one on one situations, make plays. Jaylin Simpson is the guy that will get picked on, and this is a fine opportunity for the redshirt freshman to get thrown into the deep end to see if he’ll sink or swim in his first meaningful snaps. If he can hold his own, we’re in good shape.

- Establish an intermediate passing attack early in this game. Keep their defense off balance early on the offensive script and allow Bo Nix and an offensive line that will struggle but has a higher ceiling than that of the last 2 seasons gain some confidence early.

- Get the fastest player in all of college football 10 touches/targets for the day. This one may appear in all 10 entries of “Keys to Victory” for our schedule this year. Scheme to get Anthony Schwartz the ball in multiple ways. And then scheme off of it to get other players in positions to be in favorable coverages.

- Rotate your running backs in a way that makes sense instead of giving the “guy with the hot hand” 25 carries. This running back room is deeper and more talented than it has been since the healthy parts of 2016/2017 for Pettway and KJ. Give these guys a chance to punish Kentucky’s defense with fresh legs for 4 quarters. Make them hate playing us.

- Oh, and finally, get some sound sleep and show up alert for an 11 AM kickoff. I don’t need to explain to any of you why this is obviously something we should all worry over.

All in all I think being at home does matter, despite 20,000 people in the stands. Traveling in these uncertain times has to account for something, right?

Auburn 27 Kentucky 21

-Josh Black

If the first few weeks of football are any indication, I’m expecting some low scoring sloppy games on Saturday. And while Auburn’s rivals have essentially “warmup games” to start their season, Auburn will play another ranked opponent in Week 1. That’s JABA right?

Anyways, I’m really excited to see this group of Running Backs led by Captain Shaun Shivers this season. I’m really excited to see Shaun get the opportunity to start and it’ll be interesting to see how many carries he and the rest of the RBs get on Saturday. This is an experienced receiving corps too led by Seth Williams, “Flash” Anthony Schwartz and veteran Eli Stove.

The biggest question to me (other than the offensive line) will be the defensive line as it’s hard replacing Derrick Brown and Marlon Davidson. And we can all hope for better O-Line play this season and a more mature Bo Nix as he enters Year 2 as the starting QB.

As I said earlier, I’m thinking this is a low-scoring game and I’m a bit concerned about this one, with the 11AM kick and all but I’ll take Auburn in a close one.

Auburn 17 Kentucky 14

-Will McLaughlin

I firmly believe Auburn has a significant talent advantage at the skill positions in this matchup. Yes the Cats have an athletic QB, a strong stable of backs, intriguing WRs and a surprisingly good secondary but across the board I’ll take Auburn. However, it won’t matter if the Tigers lose the line of scrimmage battle which is way more likely than any of us wanna imagine.

As you have probably read, heard, seen by now, Kentucky has one of the best offensive lines in the country. This isn’t a group made up of 3-star kids with heart. Left tackle Landon Young was a 5-star recruit. Center Drake Jackson was a 4-star ranked as a top 150 player. Future NFLer Darian Kinnard was a 4-star recruit as well. This is both an experienced AND talented front who enjoy physically beating the hell out of their opponents. Everyone in the world knew that a run play was likely coming last fall and it rarely mattered. While I trust Rodney Garner & Kevin Steele to rebuild this front 4 for the Tigers, I am concerned about them being ready to go week 1. Even with Derrick Brown and Marlon Davidson last year, Oregon pushed around the Tigers for one half. This UK OL is of the same calibre and it wouldn’t shock me if they came out the gate with similar success.

Then there’s the other side of the ball where the UK return plenty of experience of a solid front 7. However, they were actually pretty porous against the run last fall allowing over 5 yards a carry against SEC competition. The problem is I am not sure if Auburn is ready to take advantage. In most years, when I see a defense susceptible to the run, I expect an AU victory that borders on dominant. I just don’t know if the Tigers though will be ready to go on Saturday.

That’s why Anders Carlson will be the x-factor. I think Auburn’s offense will look disjointed but generate enough explosive plays to get into UK territory consistently. They don’t put the ball in the end zone as much as we would like but Anders knocks through 4 big kicks. The defense rebounds from a rough first quarter to limit the UK offense to only 2 touchdowns on the day. Auburn recovers a late onside kick to escape with a hard won victory.

Auburn 26 Kentucky 20

-AU Nerd

Auburn at 11am.

Auburn in season openers.

Auburn as favorites vs hungry teams.

Yuck. I am finding it hard to Barn as hard...——record scratch—-

(The boys are back in town starts playing)

Just kidding!

The Boys are back!

Guys we are gonna kill em.

Auburn 34- Kats 24

-Son of Crow

Most of the time I have some idea of what to expect. There’s a gut feeling, an inkling, an intuition. Even days when I publicly avow a big win, and we end up losing, I realize that I knew it deep in my soul. This time, I have nothing. I guess that’s what 2020 will do to a man. I can’t pick this game with my heart or my gut, so I have to go with the limited knowledge that we’ve been able to glean from the practice fields. Somehow, Gus has kept it tighter than usual this season. He’s keeping spies, leaks, and COVID out of the fold.

It’s not a big secret that Auburn’s level of talent is superior across the board, but Kentucky might have the mix of experience to go along with its skill to make this a very scary opening contest. We’ve heard that the Wildcats’ lines are both going to be solid, and that gives us a flashback of what the Oregon offense was able to do for about a half last year in Arlington. Auburn can’t afford a slow start on Saturday, because we’ll be breaking in a new offensive line. Now, that might not be the worst thing in the world — our line last year was nothing much to write home about — but they started to get better down the stretch. That said, this year’s group might be more maulers than linemen. Sometimes you just need some dudes being guys up front to push people around. We might have that, thus the run game could come to life with a much more talented group in the backfield. Not to mention, Bo Nix’s sophomore development with a true quarterback coach could be something unparalleled.

Kentucky will give us a fight, but there’s no way I’m picking us to lose this game. It’ll probably be close, and uncomfortably so for a while I’d wager. Still, the home “crowd” and the overall talent win out in the end. I think someone else mentioned Anders Carlson being a weapon in this one, and I agree. I think he hits 3 kicks and Auburn scores 3 touchdowns. Tigers 30-21.

-Jack Condon

In our preseason predictions I pegged this as one of the three games that Auburn could lose, and had it at the top of my list as the one I’m most worried about. That may seem weird, but we really just have no clue how any team, including our own is going to look on Saturday. We’ve all seen how bad some of these other teams already playing have looked, and I guess people think that there’s no way their own team could look that bad, but I’m not so sure. That said, I believe this Auburn team has all the components necessary to be better than last season and thus easily handle a Kentucky team that is, well they’re Kentucky. The new look offense should give an older, more seasoned Bo Nix a chance to throw some higher percentage passes, we have an SEC caliber stable of running backs for the first time in a couple of seasons, and presumably a fully healthy group of receivers. The new-look offensive line doesn’t concern me at all, because, well, I’ve lived through the last two seasons. At this point Kevin Steele and co. have earned my utmost confidence that the defense will pick up right where they left off.

Tigers 37 - Cats 12

-AU Chief

Man alive I wish I wasn’t so worried about this. Kentucky is well coached. They know what they are, and they don’t try to do things outside their comfort zone. Their strengths could cause problems for us. And yet, Auburn has more talent. 2020 is going to be a weird year, but I think having better athletes is going to win out more often than not, because teams are going to have to keep things simple. I like everything I’m hearing out of fall camp. I still don’t know about that line though. I could see a backdoor cover for UK where Auburn has to recover an onside kick to clinch things. I could see a front door cover for Auburn putting the game away late. I’ll stay on the safe side.

Auburn 24

Kentucky 17

(Auburn wins, UK covers; under)

-James Jones

from College and Magnolia - All Posts https://www.collegeandmagnolia.com/2020/9/25/21456468/staff-picks-8-auburn-vs-23-kentucky