#it’s the little things like the way he says ��she’s a girl from tennessee she’s long she’s tall’

[desertsquiet]

Well, listen to the rumble, the rattle, and the roar

She glides along the woodlands, down the hills and by the shore

Hear the mighty rush of engine, hear the lonesome hobo call

Ride the rosin, break a bead on the Wabash Cannonball

[heartsaturn]

“i’m wearing tennessee orange for him” - lh43

luke hughes x fem!reader

summary: in which, blood doesn’t run thicker than water

warnings: nothing (??), intended lowercase, set in luke’s last season at umich, awkward!luke and a bit of shy!luke, ends in a bit of a cliffhanger so i’m open for part two requests if anyone wants it

a/n: woah !!! sara actually write a fic ?!? ik ik it’s crazy. this was requested by my one and only @daniiiboo, i deeply apologize for taking five years (a few MONTHS 😓) for this to come out. i still don’t really like this fic but i like it enough to post it.

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if one thing is true, it is that ohio state hates university of michigan. the feeling is definitely mutual. the two schools have been rivals since before you can remember. all you know is that you cannot associate with someone from michigan. you were raised a buckeye, and you will stay a loyal buckeye, right?

well, being a loyal buckeye is really damn hard right now.

it is not an abnormal thing for you and your friends to go and support the sports teams at your school. most of the time, it was football games. sometimes, it was hockey games. and now hockey season is starting. the stadium buzzes with energy at the first rival game of the season. it’s the beginning of october and the beginning of fall, which you believe is one of the best times of the year. the air finally starts to become crisp after a blazing summer. it couldn’t be a better time for a hockey game. so, you and your friend decide to go to the game for the atmosphere.

just here for the atmosphere, you try to remind yourself now. you also happen to be questioning in your mind why a hockey player just tossed you a puck. a michigan hockey player. there is no way that he thought you were a michigan fan because, first of all, there is a very minimal amount of michigan fans. you’re literally at your home arena. second of all, you and all of your friends are wearing ohio state gear. who does this stupidly gorgeous wolverine think he is?

while all of your friends start squealing because of this boy’s gesture, you sit there in shock. you look at the puck that rests in your hands. you don’t snap out of your confused daze until one of your friends nudges you.

“you think he’s cute?” she asks with a small smile on her face. her words are teasing and her smile is smug.

of course, you think he’s cute. how could you not? he is tall, has curly hair that you can see peaking through his helmet, and you note the little smirk that he had on his face as he skated away from you.

“he’s not bad-looking,” you answer. you can’t stop a small smile that grows on your face as you look down at the little gift.

during the game, you and your friends find out that this boy’s number is 43 and his last name is hughes. you can’t deny that your eyes follow him almost the whole game. you try not to let them wander, you really do. upon finding out his last name and jersey number, your friends are able to find his instagram account.

“you guys are actually insane,” you say with a snicker.

“we just found your future boyfriend on instagram, so you're welcome,” one of your friends teases sassily.

the game goes on and the whole arena is filled with chants and overwhelming school spirit as ohio state finishes off the game, winning 4-3 in overtime.

this is not good for luke. his mind has gone into a spiral of what went wrong and what the team could have done better when he remembers his bold actions during warmups. the truth is, luke isn’t some cocky hotshot hockey player. he is just an awkward college student who happens to be pretty darn good at the sport he plays. luke is charming and charismatic. he knows this, mainly because he has been told by other people. he just isn’t all that confident in using these abilities quite yet.

luke can already feel the regret bubbling inside of him because of his previous actions, certain that he has zero shot with this girl. what are the chances of him even seeing her anyway? well, apparently very high because he does see her again.

you had let your friends encourage you to wait outside the locker rooms to see if you could find the boy that they so desperately want you to meet. and then they left you. they left you wandering outside the locker rooms anxiously by yourself. in their minds, it was a way to get you alone with luke. in your mind, it was downright mean. the only people who really stand outside the locker rooms are family members and girlfriends, which you are neither of. you feel out of place and you honestly hope that luke comes out of the locker room just so that you don’t have to hover awkwardly for much longer.

then, your prayers are answered because out walks the same hockey player that had so shamelessly thrown a girl on the opposing school’s team a puck earlier. only this time, the boy looks much less intimidating. he actually looks quite friendly. when he walks out of the locker room, he is talking with one of his teammates. he looks exhausted and a bit beaten up from the loss that his team just faced, but that doesn’t make him any less attractive in your eyes.

luke sees you and immediately recognizes you. he couldn’t forget such a pretty face. honestly, that is probably the only reason that he gained the confidence to toss you a puck in the first place. seeing you smiling with your friends and looking so gorgeous while doing it made luke so desperate to try and flirt with you.

now, luke is a tad stunned. he sees you and just freezes for a moment. he decides to approach you after a few seconds of you not noticing him.

“hello,” you hear a male voice say after clearing his throat. you spin around to see the captivating wolverine from earlier.

“oh, hi..” you reply softly. both of you seem too shy to speak to the other properly.

“thanks for the puck,” you speak up, now looking up at his taller frame.

“oh yeah, no problem. i’m sure you get that all the time being as stunning as you are…” luke says back. his demeanor is still very bashful. although, he can feel his confidence swell as the conversation flows on because there is no way that he is losing his chance with you.

you find his attempt at flirting a bit amusing but still sweet. his continuous attempts to impress you and try to hold the discussion with you are honestly adorable.

“not usually, and not by anyone i would want to get to know anyway. i could make an exception for you though,” you respond, a pleased smile finding its way to your features.

“do you want to get to know me while we get lunch then?” luke asks. very smooth transition, luke. very smooth indeed.

“our schools are three hours away from each other you know…” you say. your words are meant to be taken almost as a warning. not just a warning to luke but to yourself as well.

“i have a feeling i’ll be in it for the long game,” the boy simply replies with a little grin and slight shrug. his casual answer eased you a bit and let you know that he wants to make it work out if you also want to.

you have literally known this boy for a whole two minutes of your life and you are already thinking about if you could go long distance with him. i guess he really did catch your attention on the ice.

“i’m luke by the way,” he says.

“y/n,” you reply.

you don’t dare to tell your family what school luke goes to if you guys do end up making it work.

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word count: 1269

[bronx-bomber87]

Happy Wednesday wonderful fandom :) We have hit episode 4, I once again am SO happy this is back. Makes my Wednesdays so much better. I missed this show so much. Now I was legit resigned to have no real moment in this one. I really was. Not only that but I was ok with that too. The SL was really really good. I was enjoying Wes/Wopez getting some of the spotlight. I adore this show as a whole.

So I was down to enjoy this ep just for the SL they had lined up. I am thrilled we got a moment. Scaling the walls excited. I do my best to keep these first impressions as brief as possible. Since I do deep dives in the summer. When I really flesh my thoughts with the entire season in hand. But when we get good moments it's harder to be brief ha So bear with me if I'm a little longer than I have been. Let us begin shall we?

7x04 Darkness Falling

We start the day off with some good ole ass kissing from Ridley. The more this kid opens his mouth the more I dislike him tbh. So I'm with Tim groaning at his platitude. 'Oh god.' I'm cackling. I love this man so much you guys. Lucy is all smiles though of course. She wants to see the best in him because well it's Lucy. We all love this woman for her compassion. But their reactions are just so on point. Their Grumpy x Sunshine dynamic doing it's thing. Always makes me happy to witness.

I do love that Lucy follows it up with saying no one likes a suck up lmao My girl. I mean no one does.....They drive me absolutely insane. But this is her accepting what he has to say but also letting him know she isn't won over either. He has work to do. They both do really. Friggin miracle they're both still standing there.

We get to a gnarly crash and the rookies are put to work by Celina. Who is primary. You go girl. So excited for her this season. We can sense her stress as she attempts to contain and maintain the scene. She has Ridley take pics of the cars, which he messes up. Not getting every inch like she asked.

Telling him firmly but still kindly that she can't hold his hand. Texas giving him a hard time seeing this. Seth gets a little uppity with him. It's here we witness conflicting stories …..No matter the reasoning a cop who lies habitually is ick central for me. Makes me start to question his integrity. Gonna take a lot to come back from this IMO. Lucy looks very disappointed. I would be too. Also a little on edge wondering why he's lying?

First thing noticed when Penn was searching the car was the gun in the glove box....I knew when he said it was all clear it was going to bite him in the ass. It does immediately and royally so. We see bit by bit that confidence that he came in with slowly eroding. Tim is breaking this kid down in order to build him back up. He's gotta quit it with the Texas stuff. It only angers Tim even more. He doesn't want excuses he wants progress.

I know it may seem like Tim being extra hard on Texas. But D (makeitastrength) brought up a great point from 3x11 either last ep or before in the comments. On how Tim trains based on his trainee. And this boy needs to be knocked down a thousand pegs and then some. We see with each episode him changing I will say. Becoming more remorseful. Less cocky with Tim. The way he reacts to his punishment is proof of that.

Tim is right to do this to him. He’s not in Texas anymore. That is not a valid excuse for everything. Or ever honestly. I had a guy on my team who did the same thing. Would excuse his screw ups and say 'But in Tennessee we did this.' etc. One day we were on a ride a long. He did it again as an excuse. I told him you’re no longer in TN. You’re in CO now. Those rules don’t apply here. And it finally clicked and he stopped doing it.

Tim has to beat it into his brain he’s not in a small town anymore. Far from it….and he most definitely isn’t in Texas anymore either. Once he lets that go he will get better. Tim pegged him from day one about him needing to be deprogrammed first. That’s going to take the longest with him.

SOOOOO Seth is officially a liar..... I hate it so very much. Not only did he lie but he did it in front of Lucy earlier. Someone mentioned the possibility of him being a liar. It was in an ask D got I remember and I never thought of it. So Kudos to that person for spotting that early. I didn't clock that. Like at all. Cause I too am like Lucy in my empathy and believed him. Guess I shouldn’t have….Hiding more than I would like.

My gut is saying I would like him to wash out. Is that mean? Sure but also he's not giving anything positive right now. We haven’t see one since s3 with the Badger and Katie. But he’s Lucy’s rookie, so that’s the only reason I don’t actually want that to come to pass.. Idk how he’s gonna come back from this compulsive lying. I’m not a fan. Gonna take some really good development to make me forgive this.

I LOVE this final moment with Texas. Tim does a masterful job of not breaking. I commend Miles for saying he appreciates all Tim is doing for him. He can see that it isn't just to be harsh with him. There is a method to his madness. To quote Lucy from 1x04 'He's calculating not cruel.' He’s teaching this kid right.

Not only that he recognizes why Tim is so hard on him. Also he's being brought back down to earth. Especially about not knowing it all. Realizing how many holes he really has in his knowledge. Having an epiphany in this scene. It's amazing progress to see. You're growing on me Texas. On Tim too. You can see it in his eyes through out his speech. Excited to see how he continues to be molded.

There is so much to unpack in this scene. It's insane. First of all. Tim’s house! I've missed it. God it’s gorgeous. Holy hell. So glad Eric pressed to have it return. It's as beautiful and understated as he is. Also feral Caitlin must make appearance. Cause he is in street clothes after all. gimme gimme. AND In my favorite color no less. Only he could make such a plain shirt so god damn attractive. The way it tightens around his chest. Hot damn. I'm a puddle. Mmm wanna climb him like a tree. *fans self*

If that isn't enough to make me lose my mind we have Kojo! Return of our fav pupper. Their handsome fur baby making an appearance. Barking before Lucy even knocks on the door. Just knows his mama is near. Alerting Tim to get up and greet their visitor. Look at how excited our boy is when he opens the door and she's there. No one makes this man light up faster than Lucy Chen.

We see the disappointment on his face when he realizes it's work related. Hence the sassy reply about her question. Lucy, just letting her damn self in regardless of what Tim is saying though. They are in fine form here everyone. I’m so happy right now. Lucy airing her concerns about Seth to Tim. Saying how she can't shake the feeling something is off. I feel that way too...Giving me the ick hard.

Tim does his best to put her mind at ease about Seth. Saying how comprehensive they are. They're invasive and he has to pass a polygraph as well. Tim slyly mentioning how they both know how illuminating those can be. Heh Tim’s liar detector joke. Love the little shots he takes and it earns a smile out of her. Little flirt. Well done babe.

I adore that her instinct is still to rely on Tim. When she’s worried or unsure. That is her go to. He is still her person in that regard. That inexplicable pull she can’t quite deny or ignore. Was hoping this whole Seth thing would lead her to Tim for advice. Just wasn't expecting it to be in his house. I'm tickled pink about it though haha

Feeling a surge of frustration and doubt, Lucy apologizes and starts to walk away. Like it's just hitting her what she's done. Showing up unannounced at his house, forcing her way in, asking his advice and flirting with him in the process. Her adrenaline wearing off and she is feeling vulnerable. She can feel that familiar draw of their banter. As she stated in 5x12. They're so good at arguing. Her immediate reaction is to retreat for a multitude of reasons. Kojo gets up and says hold on there mom not just yet.....

I love him getting up right away not letting her go without some snuggles. That a boy. You be our little Chenford cheerleader. Doing his best to keep her there. He resets the mood with this move. Lucy loving on Kojo makes my heart so happy. Also look at Tim. The man could power a city with that smile. He is melting into a damn puddle in front of her. Couldn't be happier to see them together again. Lucy letting Kojo know how much she misses him.

'Feeling's mutual.' OH. MY. LORD. Way to be transparent af my love. Do it more….Straight up using Kojo to say he misses Lucy. It's oozing out of him, how much he craves her presence. I cannot everyone. Let's not ignore the fact that Lucy looks at him sweetly in reply. Melting a little more each episode. It's a very telling look. Still a little guarded but happy none the less. I will take this win from her. So will Tim. Any positive moment with her is a win.

Tim nervously asking her to stay. *screams into a pillow* Sweet baby James. I'm so giddy I might faint. The little breath he takes before he asks. *heart clutch* So reminiscent of 5x08. This is everything. That man is so so gone for her. He wants her to stay more than anything. Ugh my heart. Look at him. Hands in his pockets. Being a little awko taco. Hoping against hope she will say yes. The only way he could be more transparent is if he wore a 'I love and miss Lucy.' sign. Holy cow. If you had any lingering doubts after last week this should obliterate that.

Lucy is stunned by his offer. Stands up right away with her 'Oh.' You can see she has to fight that magnetic pull of theirs. That need to be around him and stay. Melissa plays it so well. Fighting that urge. Knowing if she stays where it’ll end. Most likely in his bed... She can’t risk that. Can't risk hurting her heart like that again. Even though that same heart is dying to stay, her brain helps her bolt. Her nervous chuckle as she tells him no. Stumbling over her words to make a quick exit. Leaving both her boys behind. This hurt so good. Oh my lord. I am here for the slow burn everyone. I've said this many times. To get back to the summit that is them together it's going to take time.

When we do it's going to be so worth it. The delayed gratification will be unreal. We have to remember it's been FOUR episodes. Just four. I'm feeling no impatience at this point. This is going to be a lovely climb back to them. They can give me little moments like this as they make their way back all they want. I'm here for it and grateful to have them. I couldn’t be prouder of Tim for going for it though. Being the first to put himself out there again this second round. Just like he did in S5. Showing her he misses her with this offer. Testing their grounds by doing so. Think he could tell she wanted to. But wasn't surprised when she said no.

Goodness this made me giddy af. Also that man is a snack in that shirt. So she is strong to walk away from him. She all but runs when he is soft with her. Can’t say I blame her. Right now that way lies hurt. Also they need to have a real convo first. But hot damn I’m excited he went for it. Not once but twice. Saying he missed her inadvertently then asking her to stay. Ooooh I’m excited you guys! If you aren't I can't help you I really can't LOL Reaching down to pat the good boy with a sigh. His wingman really tried. Swing and a miss Timothy. But proud of you for giving it a go. I cannot wait till next week

Thank you x1000 to everyone who interacts with these. With your likes, comments and reblogs. They make my whole day every time a notification comes in. Biggest smile on my face. You're all the best. See you all in 7x05 :)

~~~

Side notes-Non Chenford

'How secure you are in your marriage.' I’ve been saying that since Wes heard the tapes. Oh Wes, what happens when you marry a beautiful, strong and independent woman.

'Being a woman is consistently terrifying.' If that isn’t the truth…. Line of the season for Angela right there.

The Sorority girls kicking the shit out of that guy was incredible. When I saw the blood on the floor I was worried. Then to see all those woman kicking, punching and stabbing that dude. Was epic. Angela telling them they have her recommendation if they ever was join the LAPD LOL

I wanna cry for Wes with this SL. Letting a killer back onto the streets. Doing his job or not that weighs on a person. Their psyche and conscience. He gave me such anxiety as he raced the the scene. Gah just breaking my heart when Angela checks in on him. Well done Shawn for this gif above. We don't get to see him flaunt his chops a whole lot and I'm happy to see they gave him the chance. He was fantastic in this ep.

Bailey took the phone number and let him go. Props my friend. More balls than your husband. When it comes to people I love I get very gray. I'm all about black and white like Tim but also like Tim, when its someone I love those start to blur to protect them. So kinda don't blame her for taking the insurance of his number.

Locking her away isn’t the answer my dude. It’s insulting to think she can’t handle herself if I was her. Be better to be together and tackle it as a team. But that’s just me.

‘You’re a grown ass woman not baby sitting you.’ Wade Grey I adore you sir.

Nyla being on her own making my heart palpitate. It felt very last of us if you’ve ever played that game and know the stress of it lol It was good but also anxiety inducing.

Loved the Nyla and Lopez hug I love it. Always happy to see this bad ass duo together.

7x05 looks good with the serial killer SL. Have a WILD theory of maybe it being Seth? I highly doubt it is. But dude be sus af right now. If that was true could bring up PTSD for Lucy with Caleb and all that. But that's a crazy road to go down. But had to get it off my chest on the off chance he ends up being involved somehow.

[zombholic]

𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏

“who the fuck moves to tennessee dad!” you threw your hands to your head while having a heated argument with your father.

he said something about his business booming if they moved over there, how he’d be making twice as much as his regular income.

but next thing you knew you were unloading boxes upon boxes into your farm house that was beautifully remodeled you can even say. you chose the room with a gorgeous bay window that showed the entire farm from the backyard, you can say this is the whitest thing you dad ever decided.

after a couple of weeks of still getting settled into your new home, the only neighbor you had being at least three miles away. your dad had hired some help with the farm, he was eager to make it into something beautiful, he was having them buy all sorts of crops and farm animals. yeah, you like animals but if a chicken chased you, you are running for you damn life.

“y/n, come here real quick!” you slipped on your fluffy little slides and made your way downstairs to see your dad sitting down with a couple other people, he made them something to snack on in the meanwhile.

“yeah?” you sat on the arm of the coach “these are our farmers, they’re gonna be here for a very long time so introduce yourself now because they’re gonna become family real soon” he chuckled, you got up and shake their hands, your eyes getting caught on the muscular blonde with a long braided ponytail, her blue eyes and freckled face could’ve ended you right there until you noticed her arms.

“uh.. i’m y/n but you guys can call me y/nn if you want” your handshake with the girl lasting a little longer “well of course miss y/n, it’s great to meet you, my names abby!” a strong southern accent slipped from her lips.

—

every time your dad left for work you took the opportunity to blast music from you room, the songs slipped through the little cracks in the wooden house enough for the farmers to hear. you noticed today was a little hotter than other day so you decided to be a good little help and bring them sandwiches you made with something to drink.

walking outside over to the guys you thanked them for their help and handed them the snack, you couldn’t seem to find abby until you heard noise coming from the stables, entering it you swore you could’ve passed out at the sight of her. the sleeves to her button up rolled up to show off her veiny arms, sweat seeping through, strands of her hair sticking to her face. she was loading hay bells on top of each other, she noticed your presence after you staring at her with goo-goo eyes.

“hey ms. y/n, can i help you with anythin’?” she took her gloves off tucking them into her back pocket, wipes the sweat off her face with her arm, breathing heavily from the labor.

“i um made you a sandwich, you guys deserve a break” you gave her a shy smile before handing her the sandwich and cold water bottle “that’s so sweet of you hun, thank you” she took them from your smaller hands, gulping down the water bottle within seconds. “oh um, did you want another one?” you didn’t it was humanly possible to drink water that fast.

“no no, it’s all good miss, thank you s’much” god you couldn’t get enough of that accent of hers, “did you need help? i can help load them” you walked in front of her and tried to pick up one of the hay bells before miserably putting it back on the ground “no, don’t hurt yourself miss, they’re too heavy” it seemed almost like an insult, you can do heavy lifting as well.

“i can help around my farm as well abby, see” you finally lifted the hay, struggling very very badly to put it on the other ones “if you want to help, miss, you can pick those pretty little flowers” she grabbed the hay bell from you and settled it down “i don’t want your pretty little hands getting all rough n calloused like mine” she threw her gloves back on.

“i can do that” you went over to the small garden that growing the prettiest flowers, getting on your knees you slowly started picking the ones that you thought were pretty, you screamed bloody murder when you saw a little snake in between the flowers, jolting up and running away from it before hitting into something hard.

“oh god miss, what? what happened?” she held your arms with a very concerned look “abby there’s, oh fuck” you coughed a little, hiding your face in her chest unintentionally, you had the worst fear of snakes, didn’t matter how big or small they were, they scared you to death “what? miss? wheres what?” she noticed your distress and rubbed her hands on back “there’s a snake in the flowers, ohmygod im gonna pass out.”

abby had you sit down on the bench near the stable, your knees tucked against your knees as you were afraid of anything else showing up, she bent down and easily grabbed the little snake, a laugh erupting from her “you were scared of this little fella?” she looked over at you, you were tense by seeing her holding that thing.

“yes! please put it away somewhere far!” anyone else would’ve said you were overreacting but a phobia is a phobia.

she came back over to you with the softest smile “let’s get you back inside miss, don’t need you gettin’ a heart attack” she halfheartedly joked, agreeing with her you slowly and carefully walked back inside your house, abby following closely behind you like a bodyguard. turning around went you reached your back door you gave her an embarrassed look.

“i must’ve look so stupid to you, city girl comes to the country and screams at the first thing she sees outside” your comment earned a laugh from her “i can’t blame you miss but i grew up in this area so i’ve seen everything you can think of.” you smiled at her, giving her a small thank you before walking inside.

AUTHORS NOTE: ima drag tf outta this series yall!!

[simpforrooster]

falling for a girl in purple & gold.

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x F!Reader

summary: your brother convinces you to join him at his tailgate. you meet a gorgeous blonde, who happens to root for the opposing football team.

t/w: lots of mention of alcohol. she/her pronouns. cursing. instalovey.

a/n: i’ve been dying to write something like this. this fic is def based off megan maroney’s ‘tennessee orange’ and conner smith’s ‘orange & white.’ i left readers school pretty ambiguous until the verrrrrry end. i’m an lsu girlie 💜💛 so i needed a little self-service.

Stepping into the tailgate tent, nostalgia fills your body. You are transported immediately back to your time in college. Cheering on your alma mater with your sorority sisters. Hooking up with those random frat guys who definitely showed you a good time. You’d have to remember to thank your brother for making you come.

“Sis!” Speak of the devil. Your brother envelops you into a huge bear hug, as if he didn’t see you one week prior at your family’s standing dinner date. You return his hug.

“I am so glad you made it!”

Your brother began introducing you to several of his friends who were taking up space in the tailgate tent. If he doesn’t know them from his fraternity days, then he knows them from the Navy.

“Two more guys are planning to show,” your brother says. “Guys from my time in Miramar.” You understand this to mean from his time at TOPGUN.

Lucky for you, you’ve been schooled in all things naval aviation thanks to the burly guy you call a brother. There was no way he was going to have a sister have zero knowledge about the Navy.

His words, not yours.

Leaving you to ponder, your brother begins mixing drinks. He hands you his “special” after a few minutes. His special being vodka, with a tiny splash of sprite and cranberry juice.

You take the drink from him, raising your brows.

“It’s the first tailgate of the year, sis. Go big or go home.”

You’d much rather go home than consume a ton of alcohol in this heat.

“Well if it ain’t Bozo!” you hear a deep voice call, with a sliiiiight country accent.

“Hey guys!” your brother calls with the enthusiasm of a kid who just unwrapped a PS5 from under the tree. “I’m glad y’all made it.”

You turn and take in the source of that accent, and almost spill your drink. Your brother never told you he was friends with Adonis.

His blonde hair fans out at his neck, beneath a nice Stetson, like he’s skipped a few haircuts. A pair of jeans hug his hips, and across his chest, the school colors of the enemy.

University of Texas. You were sure that burnt orange wouldn’t look good on anyone, but this man is proving that notion wrong. Your eyes lock with his, and he makes sure you see his eyes trail down your body.

When those green eyes meet yours, he drops his right eye in a slow wink.

“Bozo, I didn’t know you colluded with the enemy,” you say to your brother, nodding toward the handsome blonde.

“Ah, well,” Bozo starts, rubbing his hand behind his neck, “not everyone is perfect.”

“What do they call you?” you ask the blonde, not being able to take not knowing his name any longer.

“Hangman.” He fixes you with a gorgeous smirk, and tips that cowboy hat.

“Hangman?” you question, cocking an eye brow.

Those eyes peer into yours. “Yes ma’am.” The way he says those two words has you thinking of all the instances he could say them in.

“What do they call you when you’re not flying a plane?”

“Jake. And your name, pretty lady?”

“Y/n.” You stick a hand out toward him. Jake reaches forward, taking your hand lightly into yours. The two of you stand there, shaking hands for what feels like an eternity. Neither one of you wanting to break the contact.

“Fuck, Bozo. You never mentioned how beautiful your sister is,” Jake says to your brother, but never taking his eyes off you.

“Because you’re a fucking playboy, Bagman,” he says.

“Funny,” Jake comments.

And you’d gladly let him.

“A playboy, huh?” You quip.

Jake shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe I just haven’t met the right lady yet.”

The way he peers into your eyes has you sipping your mixed drink in order to hold some of your sanity. This man has the potential to ruin you.

And you’d gladly welcome it.

Grabbing his hand, you pull him toward the beer pong table. “Be my partner.” You fix him with one of your award winning smiles.

“Anything for you, darlin’,” he drawls. Gah, that accent is gonna be the death of you. The two of you fall into a steady rhythm, beating your brother and another aviator, Rooster, effortlessly.

Jake holds up his hand for a high five. When your hand meets his, his fingers lace between yours. He pulls you into him. You can’t be sure if the vodka is making you lightheaded, or the way your body feels pressed against his.

“I’m having the time of my life with you, sweet thing,” he says into your ear. You giggle into his chest. You actually giggle. You’ve never giggled in your life.

“What would you say if I needed to kiss you?” Jake asks against your temple. Spying your brother working the makeshift bar, you grab Jake’s hand. You lead Jake down an alley situated between two class buildings.

“I’d say, kiss me, Hangman,” you say, grabbing his ugly, orange jersey to pull him toward you. One of his hands braces his weight against the wall, just outside your shoulder. He has you completely caged in, that strong body hovering over yours. Jake reaches up to pull his hat from his head. He casually holds the hat up, blocking anyone from seeing the two of you.

Between Jake’s kisses and your brother’s mixed drink, you’re feeling all kinds of good. Not wanting any of it to stop, you grip his jersey tighter, pulling him as close as you can get him.

A low groan escapes his mouth, and the fact that he’s seemingly affected by you the same way you are by him has you reeling.

“A gentleman would at least take you out first before kissing you like this,” he murmurs.

“Oh yeah?” you question, not really letting his words soak in.

“Mhmm. Too bad I am not feeling too gentlemanly, right now.” Jake deepens the kiss, and your hands leave his jersey and thread through his hair.

“Good,” you breathe.

Your watch buzzes, pulling you from Jake’s tantalizing kisses. Taking a peek, your brother’s name appears across it.

Where the fuck are you? We have to go into the stadium.

Jake pulls his phone from his back pocket. “Bozo,” he murmurs.

“Where are your seats?” You ask, still breathless from his kissing.

“Next to you,” he says, placing once more kiss to your lips. Pulling you from the wall, he plops his hat onto your head.

“Fuck, my dads going to be so pissed I’m falling for a girl in purple & gold,” Jake says shaking his head. “Lead the way, darlin’.”

masterlist.

[webbluvrsugar]

through and through. S.R fanfiction. CHAPTER TWO.

➠ fanfic masterlist ৎ୭

content warning: angst, female reader, no use of y/n.

Working with a broken heart was way tougher than what you thought it’d be, you’re talking to family and friends of the little girl but your mind is not really there, interrogations seem to be getting harder, the usual questions of ‘where were you last night from 1:30 A.M to 2:30 A.M?’ seem pointless because no matter how much they speak, you just feel like you’re not getting somewhere soon.

Shit, this is getting exhausting, even your usual seat at the jet doesn’t feel as comfortable as it usually is because now you’re sharing it with JJ, silently playing cards, and Spencer is on the other side of the room.

You wonder if he’s having as much trouble as you are trying to fall asleep.

Noticing your stares towards him, JJ finally speaks up.

“Have you talked to him?” The question makes your stomach churn.

“I… uhh…” you swallow, pretend to be way more interested on the game. “He doesn’t want to hear me..” you play a card.

Jennifer plays one back.

“Did you push?” She leans back against her seat.

“No, I don’t wanna bother him when he clearly doesn’t want to have this conversation.” You take time to play yours.

“Hm..” she whispers, again, she’s way quicker to make her move. “The thing with Spencer is that he’s stubborn, he might be a genius but he suddenly forgets all those kind of skills when it’s time to forgive,” you draw a card. “My opinion? You guys are going nowhere with this if you don’t talk it out, you’re draining each other.” She plays her last card, beating you to your favourite game. “Point proven, I’ve never beat you to this before.”

You huff, take time to store the cards neatly with a tight elastic band around them.

“Go to sleep, or at least try to, it’s the most decent thing you’re gonna get until the hotel and we need you here, not anywhere else.” She lays down, you follow her moves.

She closes her eyes, you stare at the ceiling thinking about the mess you’ve unknowingly caused on yourself.

You think about that case in Tennessee, the one that screwed you up so bad you chose to run away instead of leaning into the people who provided you support.

‘“You have to tell him you’re going away.” Again, Jennifer’s wise voice rings in your mind but it’s nothing more than a memory now.

“I can’t do that to him.” You say, whispering as you stare back at him, fluid steps bringing him closer to you.

“Well, lying is even worse.” The blonde says, grabbing her cup of coffee and walking away, at the same time, Spencer gets to you.

“What was that?” Spencer speaks, reaching for a clean mug.

“Nothing, she’s just having a bad day.” You take a sip of your coffee.

“Clearly.” He points out with a chuckle. “Are we.. do you still..” he trails off, swallowing nervously before he speaks. “Are we still on Saturday night?” He asks, pours the coffee onto his mug.

‘Lying is even worse’ you remember her saying.

“I —“ you don’t have the heart to tell him otherwise. “We are.” You nod, he smiles.’

Spencer was one of those people, looking back now, you think he could’ve helped.

You look at him one last time and, reluctantly, you close your eyes to try and sleep.

taglist: @austinmoonspancakes @cowboy1ikereid @alphabetically-deranged

[stars-and-the-min]

☆ the wrong way to hard launch (6) | OP81

summary : oscar's girlfriend is a walking pr problem for literally everyone (including herself) social media au

pairing : oscar piastri x zhou!fem!singer!oc

a/n the highs (friends) and lows (exes) of life aka lina lore 👀 preface : i know nothing about nfl or american football so suspend ur beliefs if u happen to know a thing or two, also my amateur photoshopping skills are really improving from this

masterlist | last part | part 6 | next part

INSTAGRAM

logansargeant

liked by alex_albon and 142,394 others

logansargeant The long-awaited ultimate rematch tagged: selinabui and oscarpiastri

alex_albon Wait, why wasn't I invited?

selinabui ok captain america pack it up ↳ logansargeant @ selinabui Stay mad 😎 ↳ oscarpiastri @ selinabui Why would you challenge two professional racing drivers to a racing game? ↳ selinabui @ oscarpiastri i thought you loved me? ↳ oscarpiastri @ selinabui Ah but you love winners more 😏 ↳ logansargeant @ oscarpiastri Stop flirting in my comments???

cofrisy_f1 LOSCAR??? OSCALINA??? LOLINA???

beemiepie she chose the orange car 🥺🥺🥺 ↳ siera_mblanc @beemiepie a true papaya girlie 🧡🧡

cameliazzz just posted to their story

replies selinabui cami, did u or did u not insist u'd be fine 😭

lukaszhang the SLANDER??? didn't we have loads of fun???

aidan_ebass Touché Millie, see you soon?

eb_jonno sidenote: can you bring mochi on the plane? are there food restrictions?

oscarpiastri

liked by opeightyone and 121,983 others

oscarpiastri 次回まで trans: until next time

piastri_lina obsessed with this couple's dedication to never tagging each other

opeightyone Get 'em next year 💪

selinabui currently feeling like a 1930's housewife waiting for her husband to return from war ↳ cameliazzz @ selinabui HELLO NOT YOU PLAGARISING MY STORY??? FOR A GUY??? ↳ selinabui @ cameliazzz nooooo wifey i didn't mean like that :(((

TWITTER

lina !!! @EB_selina · 37m you've gotta be shitting me

NFL Jersey Numbers @nfljerseywatch · 1h Tennessee Titans RB Thomas Howard (@THowdy) is wearing number 24. Last worn by Kenny Vaccaro. #Titans

↳ kayla @luna_apocolypse · 34m no fucking way... i don't wanna jump to conclusions but... ↳ emme @flowersforcami · 32m he tweeted about it. girl- jump to those conclusions.

Thomas Howard @THowdy · 58m The move to the #Titans has been a huge change, and 24 has been a number close to my heart for many years, I'd consider it a lucky number for a lucky year 👊 ↳ liv is SEEING EB LIVE!! @olivielina · 23m eat shit and die i'm so fucking serious you have no right to wear her number ↳ kayla @luna_apocolypse · 22m hahaha (not) funny but april fools was last week say sike RIGHT NOW

fiona🩷 @fififorlina · 29m thinking about how tommy is playing with lina’s number i'm weak 😭 ↳ 🕯️manifesting EB3 🕯️@ linabelles · 13m no, we're absolutely not doing this, it's not sweet at all, do you even know how badly he treated lina? ↳ emme @flowersforcami · 11m there are tommy-supporting linami’s in this day and age???

oscalina real ?! @emptyginbottles · 39m lina watching her ex and cousin play/drive with her number be like:

↳ lila💚 @kasdanrights · 23m idk how to feel bc it's kinda hilarious that our little rockstar is slowly plaguing the sporting world with her number

lina !!! @EB_selina · 22m @LoganSargeant for my own mental health we're not going to talk for the next... 50 years ↳ Logan Sargeant @LoganSargeant · 8m I'm sorry? Did I do something wrong? ↳ lina !!! @EB_selina · 5m it's not you, it's just your countrymen (i'm generalising again)

MESSAGES

from the phone of selina bui

TWITTER

liv is SEEING EB LIVE!! @olivielina · 35m WHY IS EVERYONE FLOODING MY TL WITH T*MMY SHIT ↳ liv is SEEING EB LIVE!! @olivielina · 34m lina is one of the only music girlies who is SO SO SO vocal about how much she HATES her ex and you still can't listen to her??? ↳ liv is SEEING EB LIVE!! @olivielina · 34m not just with her music but as in SHE OUTRIGHT HATES HIS GUTS ON MAIN she COULD NOT possibly make it clearer that she would rather shoot herself in the head than ever consider getting back together with him ↳ liv is SEEING EB LIVE!! @olivielina · 33m i'm so tired can't you just let the woman be happy with oscar ↳ abby <3 @devilvows · 17m liv, baby, i think you need to change ur name to 'defense minister of linami nation'

INSTAGRAM

selinabui

liked by oscarpiastri and 139,204 others

selinabui some weird second string loser who's not worth mentioning

cameliazzz thought the message was 'let everyone know i'm doing ok'? ↳ selinabui @ cameliazzz message appropriately sent :)

oliviarodrigo AAHHH stunning as always 💝💝 ↳ selinabui @ oliviarodrigo watch out, the literal moment we're in the same city i'm hunting u down (my favourite american 🥺)

oscarpiastri Haha not me though right :) ↳ selinabui @ oscarpiastri idk maybe...?

TWITTER

lina !!! @EB_selina · 1h this is really hindering my enjoyment of 'so american' ↳ Oscar Piastri @ OscarPiastri · 1h I reaaally hate to break it to you but I think you might be the American in this relationship ↳ lina !!! @EB_selina · 53m take that back rn i'm serious ↳ Oscar Piastri @ OscarPiastri · 49m Which one of us has lived in California for half a decade? 🤔

↳ abby <3 @devilvows · 37m can you imagine waking up to that face? oscar piastri, you lucky bitch

↳ lila💚 @kasdanrights · 2h oscar piastri i was not familiar with your game ↳ lila💚 @kasdanrights · 2h selina, i understand you now, i get it now, truly i do, hooooly

oscalina real ?! @ emptyginbottles · 1h i think the entire empty bottles fandom and oscalina shippers trying to cleanse the tl by posting some of the most jaw-clenching, hottest pictures of oscar and lina is so funny ↳ oscalina real ?! @ emptyginbottles · 1h the best part is that it's actually working and also so many more empty bottles fans are realising how unfairly attractive oscar piastri is

INSTAGRAM

selinabui Seoul, South Korea

liked by oscarpiastri and 138,958 others

selinabui heal my s(e)oul tagged: cameliazzz, blublublupi, and lukaszhang

lukaszhang i thought i specifically asked you not to post that ↳ selinabui @lukaszhang i actually wasn't gonna but then you told me not to so obviously i had to

oscarpiastri 🧡 ↳ selinabui @ oscarpiastri any other fucking colour heart i beg ↳ oscarpiastri @ selinabui You know I'm contractually obligated

emptybottlos i'm convinced they agreed to go on tour just to travel, visit friends and eat a bunch of authentic food

ceciliapham someone else is in seoul rn 👀 ↳ marie_h.sb @ceciliapham in what world do you think your gonna see lina and chris yamada in the same room again?

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

taglist @ririyulife @ashy-kit @fionaschicken @namgification @cherry-piee

[absolutelyhugh3s]

michigan maize | ee73

ethan edwards x reader!

more loosely based song fics!! this one is tennessee orange by megan moroney

thank you guys so so much for all the love and support on forever and ever!!! y’all seriously don’t understand how much it means to me!! i love every single one of you <33

word count: 1.13k (not my gif!)

“hi munchkin! how are you doing?” my mothers honey-like voice filled my ears as she answered my call.

oh god, i'm really doing this.

“hi mama” i smiled even though she couldn’t see me “im good”

“i've got some news” i said nervously, clenching the comforter of my bed in my fist.

“oh honey is everything alright?” her slight chicago accent peaking through.

“dont worry im doing okay, just please dont tell dad?” i pleaded with my mother.

“y/n did something happen?” she asked worriedly.

“yes mama. he’ll blow a fuse if he found out” my father wasn’t big on me going to the umich. being the coach of msu hockey, he wanted me to go there.

but when i received an amazing scholarship to play lacrosse, i had to take it.

the first thing he told me when i left for school was “don't run off with any of those hockey boys y/n, they are very bad news.”

well, he’s clearly never met ethan.

“i know you raised me to know right from wrong, but god he makes it so hard” i chuckle “he?” my mother questions.

“i met somebody mama, hes brunette, and he's got these big brown eyes, and he opens the door for me everywhere i go!” 

ethan and y/n go on small date’s every wednesday night. its an awkward time for some, but for them, its the only time in their busy schedules that they can be together.

today, their date night was dressing up super fancy (as barbie and ken of course) seeing the barbie movie, and eating at a small diner a few blocks from the movie theater.

ethan had planned out the entire thing and the couple had a blast. once ethan had driven her back to her on campus apartment, she thanked the older boy, kissed him goodbye and began to exit the car.

“WAIT” ethan yelled. he jumped up out of the drivers seat, exiting the car and running around to open his girlfriend’s car door. “ok now you can go” he smiled

the small action made the girl melt like a snowman in summer. the defenseman than sprinted to the main door of her apartment complex, opening that for her as well.

“m’lady” he held out a hand as y/n walked through the door a blushing mess. he than took her hand in his, interlocking their fingers, leading her up to her apartment.

though the action was so little, it made her fall in love with him more and more every day.

“he just makes me so happy! hes like perfectly perfect! god! i've never felt this way mama!” i ramble.

“hun” my mother chuckles. “whats his name?” i then realize i left out the most important part “ethan! ethan edwards! mama you would love him” i smiled.

“but back home id be sinning” the smile fades slightly from my face. “why is that dear?” it seems as though she could hear what was going though my mind.

“mama, hes got me wearing maize and blue for him” i sarcastically laughed. 

“you should come to my game tomorrow” ethan said, running his hands through the ends of the y/h/c girls hair.

“the boys would love to see you, plus i get to have my own little good luck charm in the stands” the boy smiled like a small child at the girl laying on his chest.

“really?” she looked up at the brown haired boy with big doe eyes. “yes really” he grinned.

“here” he moved the smaller girl off of his chest to stand up from his bed.

he rummages through his closet, looking for a specific item of clothing.

suddenly a large yellow piece of fabric is thrown at her “you can even wear my jersey” he smiles.

the girl holds it up a large ‘edwards 73’ stares at her. “you know what e? i think i will”

“oh hes an athlete?” my mom says, surprised.

“yeah hekindasortamaybeplayshockey” i rush out, nervous of what my mother would say.

“im gonna need you to slow down y/n/n” she chuckles

“he plays hockey mama. he had me wearing his jersey at a msu game! of course i want the spartans to win but still! his smile! oh his smile! it makes me forget i look better in green!” i gush about my boyfriend.

“so thats why you didnt want your father to know” my mom teases, clearly finding enjoyment in this entire situation.

“oh please forgive me mama, i like him a lot” i beg “oh i think its a lot more than like sweetheart” my mom says. “what?”

“oh honey you are head over heels for ethan” she laughs “i've known for ten minutes and i can tell” 

“oh god im in love with a wolverine!” i exclaim.

“babygirl its ok! the worlds not gonna end! growing up in chicago i said i would never date a red wings fan, guess what? i married one!” she laughs.

“so you’re not mad?” i asked hesitantly.

“of course not y/n! its my job as your mother to always be supportive of you” i could tell she was smiling though the phone.

i talked with my mother for a while longer about random stuff for about another half hour. “mama i have to go, ethan should be here in a few minutes” i say.

“alright sweetie, invite him home would ya?” my mother asks. “of course mama, i love you” “i love you too sweet girl, bye bye”

i clean things up for about ten minutes when i hear a knock at my apartment door.

“you can come in e!” i shout. “ok!” he shouts back before walking in.

i put the last few dishes in the cabinet when i feel two muscular arms snake around my waist and a face bury into the crook of my neck.

“hi baby” he mumbles, tightening his hold on my waist.

“hi e” i giggled. “guess what i did today” i added.

“hmm climbed mount everest?” “nope” “slayed a dragon?” “nope” “killed someone?” “god no!”

“i told my mom about us” i smiled. ethans parents have known for a few weeks now about us, but he didnt wanna push me to tell mine. he wanted me to be comfortable with doing it myself.

ethan spins me around, his hands steading my hips. “you did?” he smiles.

“i did” i mirror his smile. the much larger boy then pulls me into the tightest hug possible.

“im so proud of you baby” he says, kissing the crown of my head.

“i have a question though” i place my chin on his sternum so im looking up at ethan. “whats up love?”

“what are you doing for spring break?”

[crazychaoticizzy]

TRACK 3: Tennessee

Y/n L/n—an indie artist that became the leading female vocalist of the famous band Heart Attack. How did someone with such a soft sound come to join the rock band anyway?

EREN X READER X JEAN

CONTENT: multipart fic, rock band au, slow burn, love triangle, angst, substance abuse, toxic relationship, if I missed anything let me know!

WORD COUNT: 10.6k

series masterlist

AOT masterlist

<< previous part

Y/N: I should probably start at the beginning, right? Well, I truly fell in love with music when I was little. My mother, Alice Kraney, gave me that love. Crazy as she was. She would always come back from sets humming the tune to whatever song had been playing. She’d let me make up lyrics, even if they were wrong.

That was before she . . . got carried away with everything. Before the heroine and ecstasy got to her. She fought a lot with my dad because of it. They eventually got divorced, and my dad won custody of me in court. The jury said Mom was too unstable to raise me. My dad was gracious, though. More than he should have been. He got me in New York during the school year, and when summer came around he let me go to my mom’s if I wanted.

It shouldn’t have shocked you that Alice Kraney’s house reeked of marijuana and various other substances. Some part of you always had a sliver of hope that she’d decided to change herself during the school year. She never did.

You nearly threw up walking through the front door. It was a mess. You didn’t like being at her small townhouse in the middle of Fuck-Shit-Nowhere, Tennessee, but you still liked your mom. The delusional side of you always assumed she’d stop for you.

She never did. She never did anything.

You stepped over a pile of mail and held your suitcase and bags just above the floor. It was meant to be wooden, but it was covered in so much grime you couldn’t really tell.

Jesus, did it really get that bad in ten months?

Alice wasn’t home. You knew that because the door was unlocked. She never locked the door when she went out, even while she was with your father.

You carefully maneuvered your way across the living room and down the hall. You spotted a couple needles and orange caps on the floor, and reminded yourself to always wear shoes and never sit on cushions in Alice’s house.

The only clean room in her house was yours. Alice never touched it. She hardly even knocked on the door when you were there. Did she even know you were there?

It didn’t smell great in your room either. The fumes from the rest of the house had bled through the vents and made the space stink. You made another note to buy a shit ton of Febreeze and those wallflower things from Bath and Body Works.

You set your bag aside and sat on your bed, heaving a sigh. At least your room was drug free. That was something you took pride in.

Your phone buzzed. You looked down at the screen. You smiled at the Instagram DM from a guy you had been talking to. Damian — a guy from California that had complimented your music.

Your fingers glided across the keyboard as you orchestrated the perfect response. It wasn’t moments later that you held the phone up to your ear.

“Hello?” you said. Your voice was pitched higher on purpose, and you tried your best to cover the Brooklyn accent you had.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Damian said. You swooned. How easy it was to romance you. “Haven’t talked to you in a bit.”

“It’s only been a day,” you giggled. You stood up. There were still things you had to unpack from your car.

“A day too long.” You rolled your eyes. “So what are you up to?”

“Oh, you know. I just got to my mom’s. It’s a mess, as usual.”

You heard Damian exhale — one of the ones that sounded as though he were daydreaming. “I still can’t believe I managed to catch the attention of Alice Kraney’s daughter.”

You laughed again, poised and perfect. “Well it isn’t hard.”

“Not for me, anyway.” A moment of silence passed as you pulled your guitar out of your trunk and began your second trip through the house. “Say, pretty girl” — God, your heart fluttered when he called you that — “d’you pack that special gift?”

You scoffed playfully. “Damian.”

“I’m only asking. Maybe we could have some fun.”

You smiled. Damian couldn’t see it, but he knew he had enticed you. “My dad wouldn’t approve,” you said, but it would take nothing more than a flick for you to crumble and give in.

“Daddy’s not around, is he, pretty girl?” You rolled your eyes, but already you were digging around in your suitcase to comply. “C’mon, babe. Hop on FaceTime and we can have fun.”

“Okay, okay. I’m looking.”

“Atta girl.”

Damian’s photo appeared on your phone before you knew it, and it wasn’t long until you were complying with his every wish.

—

Y/N: When I tell people about Damian, they tell me I was weak and naïve. Someone even called me stupid when I was on a press tour with Heart Attack. They say I should have known better. But I was not weak or naïve or stupid. I was a baby. I wanted someone to care about me the way he said he did.

I regret everything having to do with Damian with my whole heart. Even the songs that got me where I am. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to take all of that back.

“I wrote you a song.”

You were on the phone with Damian again. Your phone was propped up against one of your pillows and you listened to his voice with headphones.

“A song? Isn’t it a bit early for that, pretty girl?”

You shrugged, standing from your end to retrieve your guitar. When you settled back on your bed, you strummed the strings lightly. “Maybe. But I wanted to write one for you. Can you hear the guitar?”

“Yeah, yeah. I can hear it.” You could hear the reluctance in Damian’s tone, but you ignored it. “Alright then, show me what you made.”

You smiled, looking down at the neck of your guitar to make sure you had the right fingerings with each note change.

That smile didn’t leave your lips as you sang. The guitar rhythm was soft, your voice even softer. Candied and light, your voice carried through the house.

As you strummed the final chord, you looked at Damian expectantly, eagerly awaiting his feedback. When he didn’t say anything, you cleared your throat.

“Did you like it?”

Damian didn’t respond for a moment again. But he eventually clicked his tongue and furrowed his brows.

“It was . . . Something.”

You felt your heart crack. Your vibrant smile faded ever so slightly, but you tried to keep it.

“I thought you liked my music.” That’s why he had contacted you in the first place. He had come across a clip of you singing a snippet from a song you’d written. He told you he loved your voice and the way you played.

Damian shrugged. “No, I do. I do. It just- It was just okay. I know you wanna be the next Historia Reiss influencer or whatever, but don’t you think that’s a bit silly?”

Your smile faced completely. You let your posture sag. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean that, you know, not everyone makes it. Not unless they’re pretty and talented, and you just don’t quite hit that mark.”

You blinked at him in silence, the gears in your head working overtime to fully dissect Damian’s words. You were trying to piece together the contradictions of what he just said and the things he told you before.

“Plus, like, we’re just casual. This is just a casual thing, you and I. You don’t need to write a whole song.”

You nodded. “Right.”

But your gaze flitted over to the notebook on your desk — the one filled to the brim with pretty words describing the way Damian made you feel. You had planned to flesh them out into full songs for him, but now you weren’t sure.

An uncomfortable silence had enveloped the room. The air was so thick it was suffocating you, pushing down in your chest and weighing heavily on your shoulders.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you said, clearing your throat. You could feel your eyes burning with tears. “Uhm, I have to go.”

Damian groaned as you grabbed your phone. “Pretty girl, I didn’t mean it like that-”

You hung up before he finished and tossed your phone as far away from you on your bed as you could. You held your legs to your chest like a damn toddler and took a deep breath, pressing your forehead against your knees.

You heard a knock on your door. You lifted your head and sniffed, wiping your cheeks to clean any stray tears. “Come in,” you called out, your voice cracking.

Your door creaked open. On the other side stood your mother. She looked like she was about to go out and throw herself onto the first man that looked at her. Her fried hair was straightened and she wore shorts that could hardly be classified as such.

“Hey,” is all she said. Her voice was hoarse. “Was that music you?”

You softly nodded. You couldn’t tell if Alice was high. You hoped she was, at least a little. That way she wouldn’t pay your dried tears any mind.

Alice hummed. “It was nice. Pretty.”

“Thanks,” you dryly said.

Alice bit the inside of her cheek. She stood awkwardly in your doorway for a moment before clicking her tongue. Her lips curled up, revealing the circular gap in her front two teeth. “Smile, babe,” she said, pointing at the apples of her cheeks.

You hummed, unamused, as Alice closed your bedroom door.

You didn’t know whether to take her compliment or not. She was a druggie, but before that she was just a street away from Broadway and was a riding actor nearly everyone knew the name of. If she said you sounded good, did she really mean it?

You pushed her words to the back of your mind and put your guitar away. You laid in bed and stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours before you heard the front door open and your mom stumbled into the house. She was giggling, and you heard another voice with her.

You reached for the headphones on your nightstand and put them over your ears. You put them at the highest volume before pushing play on a playlist your friend had made for you.

Why you were always so sure you wanted to spend every summer with Alice, you didn’t know. But every year without fail, you find yourself wishing you hadn’t come.

—

The start of the school year was always stressful. You hated driving, and the trip back to your dad’s Brooklyn apartment was going to beat your ass.

Not to mention that you always managed to arrive home later than anticipated. You weren’t sure what it was, but last year you arrived a whole day late and missed the first day of school. And you still had to go get school supplies. And repack your bags.

Instead of doing any of that, you were tucked under the blankets of your bed, watching one of your mom’s old movies. One from her early twenties.

She really was a good actress. Her expressions were spot on no matter what and she was always able to adapt to her co-stars choices easily. The movie you were watching was an indie film called Esperanza’s Dog. It won an award once, though you don’t know what for.

It was probably one of your favorite films. Not just because seeing your mom play the main character, Esperanza, but because the movie was so beautifully shot and written. It always made you cry. Your dad had also worked on the film. That’s where he met Alice.

You were so engrossed in the movie that you didn’t even notice Alice push your door open and come in. You only knew she was there when she sat down on the edge of your bed with you. She looked more out together than usual (though there were still dark rings around her eyes and her hair was a mess), and her clothing was more modest that what you had seen her wear.

“Whatcha watching?” she asked, even though her eyes were already glued to your computer screen. You knew she could recognize the movie. You knew she recognized the work your dad did.

“Esperanza's Dog,” you quietly replied. You pulled the blankets tighter against you, watching as Alice’s lips curled up the smallest bit.

“You know, that was my favorite to film.” She wasn’t high. Or drunk, or intoxicated in any way. You wondered what the occasion was.

“Is it because of dad?”

Alice laughed and leaned back on her arms. “Part of it. But no, it was just fun. It’s a nice movie and Kasey Mulls is a really good director. She’s working with Hollywood now, you know.”

“What studio?”

“Oh, who knows. But her new movie went up for tons of awards this year.” You hummed, and that was the end of the conversation. An uncomfortable silence wrapped itself around you, and you kept your eyes glued to the screen in an attempt to not start another talk.

Your mother, however, did the opposite. Her gaze flitted around your room, analyzing every aspect of it from your open windows to the paper wisteria that was hanging in all corners of the room. She eventually landed on your guitar case, which was open.

“Will you play something for me?” she asked. Her voice was hopeful, and you saw a glint of the same thing in her eyes when you met her gaze.

You stared at her. For a moment, you could see the twenty-something year old that was currently on your screen, sharing a romantic moment with one of the love interests.

It almost pained you to see. You knew the woman on the screen was your mom, but it was such a far cry from who she was today that it was almost impossible to see the connection. You had seen many articles and Redditor’s and Tumblr users and Instagram reels that tracked the timeline of Alice Kraney’s downfall, and in every one there was no clear path that landed her as a blacklisted druggie.

“I don’t really have anything,” you said, turning back to the movie.

“Sure you do. What was that song you sang earlier? About here?”

Your heart clenched. So much it hurt. You remembered her asking about it when you first sang it in full, but you didn’t think she would. You had hoped that she was too involved with herself that day so she wouldn’t remember it.

But of course she did. Because if she heard you singing the song, then she heard you talking to a boy — to Damian. If she heard the song, then she heard the exact moment your heart cracked and reality dawned on you. If she heard the song, then she also heard who it was about.

“It’s not very good,” you said.

“Yeah it is! It’s a great song. I think it would do wonders on radio. Maybe even a movie? Hey, I could probably call someone and see if-”

“Mom.” Alice quieted, looking at you curiously as you sat up. “It’s fine. It’s not- I don’t really want to get into show business.”

“Really?” You nodded. “Since when?”

You shrugged. “I’ve just been thinking about it. It’s really hard to break through and stay relevant. Anyone can be a one-hit wonder, but if I want to be able to do this for a living then I have to be able to be… seen.”

What Damian said to you had sent you down a spiral. Okay, maybe you weren’t as pretty as other celebrities or a nepobaby like Historia Reiss. That was fine, but if you weren’t pretty then why would people pay attention to you?

“I just think it’s more realistic to get a real job.” You shrugged again. It felt like you were lying through your teeth. You really did want that. You wanted the life celebrities lived even if it was nasty and drama-filled. You wanted to be seen and to write songs that other people could relate to.

Alice was silent for a moment. You could see your words turning in her mind.

“Even if you don’t make it, you can still do it,” she stated. “It can be a side hustle.”

“Mom—”

“You are talented. You have a beautiful voice and know how to play a guitar—”

“I really don’t think—”

“Listen to me.” Alice grabbed your hand. “You are nearly seventeen. If this is what you want to do, then start now. The industry gets so much more competitive when you’re an adult than when you’re a teenager. You have the talent and sound to make it big, you just have to try. No one’s going to know who you are if you don’t put yourself out there.”

You exhaled, your back curving into a slump. Even if your mom wasn’t a very strong fighter, she got stubborn when she thought something would work out with her whole heart.

“Now, play me a song. Please? I want to hear it.”

You folded. Mostly because your mom rarely paid attention to you and now she wanted you to do something for her. That, and she wasn’t high out of her mind like she usually was. This was something she would remember.

You paused your movie and closed your laptop, reluctantly sliding out of bed and crossing the room to your guitar case. You pick it up, lifting the strap over your head and strumming the strings to make sure they were in tune. You pulled your rolley chair out from its spot at your desk and turned it with your foot, sitting down.

You met Alice’s gaze. She was sitting straight — attentively. She gave you a soft smile and thumbs up. When you strummed your guitar and started singing, you were reminded why you loved it.

—

EREN: Marco’s death put a damper on everyone’s mood. You have to go really far back on the Heart Attack socials, but if you look at the dates you see almost a year where nothing new was posted.

CONNIE: Erwin threatened to cut our deal with Scout Records if we didn’t quit moping. We needed to provide something for the studio to produce if we wanted to stay. We used one of Marco’s old keyboard tracks and made “Holiday”.

JEAN: “Holiday” found itself on TikTok pretty fast. People liked the sound. They liked rock music. I was grateful, I guess. But… Marco wasn’t there. And if he wasn’t, then why was I?

“Eren, you fucking idiot.”

Jean crumpled the paper in his hand, a noise that was louder than it should have been due to the silence in the room as everyone looked over their music.

“What the fuck is this?” Jean strode across the studio to Eren and shoved the crumpled paper into his chest. Eren let go out the microphone and grabbed the paper before it fell to the floor and unfolded it.

“It’s your music.”

“Well no shit. I mean why is it changed?”

“Then maybe you should have said that instead of what the fuck is this.” Eren mocked. He looked back down at the sheet of music. “What song is this?”

“Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” Jean snapped. Maybe he was irrationally angry, but that was his song. He wrote it. Every part of it. Why was Eren changing it?

“Oh.” Eren hands him the paper back. “Your backtrack with the bass sounded off. It didn’t line up with everything else.”

“That was the point! It’s supposed to be discordant to disconnect the listener. It gives the song meaning, Eren.”

“We aren’t trying to disconnect the listener, Jean! If the listener feels disconnected then why would they listen to more of our music?”

“This is my song, idiot. You can’t—”

“Stop arguing.” The voice was loud over the intercom. It was something the band still wasn’t used to.

Everyone’s head snapped to the pane of glass that separated the studio to the control room. They could vaguely see their reflections in the glass, but beyond those they were met with Erwin’s stern stare and Levi’s disapproving glance.

“Nothing will get done if the two of you keep picking on each other. Jean, I told Eren to change the song. Now sit down and start figuring it out.”

Jean huffed, sparing a glance at Eren before he snatched the crumpled paper out of Eren’s hand and retreated to his stool.

He knew Levi was lying, but no one talked back to Levi Ackerman and stayed where they were.

Eren was humming the tune of the song. He was humming it wrong, which meant he would sing it wrong. If they were in their apartment, then Jean would have stood up and corrected him. He would have stood up and fought back until he got his way, but since they were in a professional studio, he refrained.

When everyone felt they had a feel for their parts, they gathered together and Erwin played Marco’s backtrack through the speakers around them. The first run through was messy — everyone was figuring out where their parts fit into the rest of the music — but they figured it out eventually.

And when they finally got everything together after nearly a week of workshopping the song, “Holiday” became Heart Attack’s first song to reach the top of the charts.

—

Y/N: Junior year was . . . An experience. It was definitely a lot. I also had a bunch of situationships and . . . problems . Probably the worst year of my school career. The last, too, but I like to pretend I completed high school.

It wasn’t really a good year for me, but it was a good year for my music. I started focusing on that, maybe a bit more than I should have, and I got my name on the map. Sure, I might not have been recruited by any talent scouts or however that works, but I had built my own little following.

Your dad didn’t know you were out.

As far as he knew, you had locked yourself in your room, listening to a playlist that included Ritchie Valens, Leslie Gore, and Paul Anka through your speaker as you worked on an English project with your partner.

He wouldn’t suspect that you were gone, because on top of the soft music was talking. Your friend Jazelle (who you affectionately called Jazzy) had snuck into your room earlier. She would replace you in your room for the night, and she would be on the phone with her boyfriend to make it seem like she was working with someone else.

It was perfect, really. You had called in a favor that another friend of yours, Ella, owed you and managed to find yourself performing a gig in her uncle’s small blue’s bar. You had dressed yourself in a lilac dress that reached just above your knees and cowboy boots. Your hair was pinned out of your face and soon enough you would be on a stage, singing and playing a guitar for a small audience and your dad would be none the wiser.

Jazzy’s boyfriend, Dallas, was with you. He had decided to tag along since Jazzy wanted to watch you perform, but had been given the job of filling in for you at home. The two of them would be on FaceTime so she could watch you.

“How are you feeling?” Jazzy asked, dragging out the last word with an excited tone. There was an infectious smile on her face, and the sight of it made you feel calmer.

“I’m kind of scared.” Dallas’s phone was big, so you had set it against a ledge backstage so you didn’t have to hold it. “I think Dallas said he was getting me water to calm me down, but I don’t understand how that’s going to help?”

“It has something to do with your nervous system, I think. I don’t know, he’s explained it to me before but I don’t remember.” Jazzy readjusted her phone. You assumed it was resting against her laptop screen since she had started typing. “But you’re gonna do great! Your songs are good and I think you’ll find the right audience in the kind of bar you’re in.”

“Hopefully.” You turned your head at the sound of footsteps, holding your hand out when you saw Dallas walking toward you with a plastic water bottle. You immediately opened it and took a long drink.

“Oh, my God, I’m so nervous,” you said once you had lowered the bottle from your lips. “What if I pass out on the stage? Or a light falls on me and I die? Or I just like . . . die, or something.”

“Y/n, you’re so dramatic,” Jazzy said. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Besides, the lights for the stage are so far out there is no way they would fall on you,” Dallas added.

“Well maybe they’ll walk over to me before they decide to fall on my face.”

“They’re inanimate. How would they—”

“Miss Kraney?” You turned your head. Standing at the end of the hall, just a few strides from you, was one of the guys that had led you backstage. It was one of Ella’s cousins, though you didn’t remember his name. “Are you ready to go on?”

You nodded in response quicker than you intended. Were you really ready?

The answer was no. This was the first crowd (no matter how small it was) that you had ever played for. You didn’t think anything would ever be able to prepare you for something like this.

You grabbed your guitar and followed Ella’s cousin just outside the door that led to the small stage. You waited until the previous singer stepped off to follow him and sit at the stool left behind.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Y/n Kraney.”

You smiled, adjusting your patterned guitar strap around your shoulder. You had taken the name Kraney because it was recognizable. So many people knew Alice Kraney — the promising young actress that had fallen off the deep end who knows how long ago. People would recognize the name and, hopefully, connect you as her daughter.

You hoped they thought you would have that same potential Alice did.

You waited until Ella’s cousin adjusted the mic to your height before smiling. You quietly thanked him before leaning into the microphone.

“Hi, everyone.” You didn’t know what you were supposed to do. Your heart was pounding in your throat and your blood was rushing in your ears. You started to mindlessly pluck different notes on your guitar, hoping to alleviate the thick atmosphere. “Has anyone ever heard my music?”

That was a dumb question. Who would have? Was anyone even paying attention to you? You thought it over later that night and realized you were just supposed to be background noise for the people trying to relieve any stress from their days.

You got one singular whoop! in response to your question. Even though the one person was embarrassing, it provided the evidence you needed that you were making your breakthrough, even if it was only to one person.

“We’ll, for those of you that have never heard me before, I hope you enjoy.”

—

HANGE ZOË, producer for Heart Attack: The first time I heard Y/n sing was in New York. I was visiting a friend to discuss a film he wanted me to make music for, and I found myself in the same bar as her. The only thing I could think when I heard her voice was wow. I mean, I couldn’t believe she had the kind of talent she did and she wasn’t even eighteen yet.

ERWIN SMITH, owner of Scout Records: I remember Hange video calling me at five in the morning. Though, I suppose with the time difference it would have been late at night for them. I had just woken up and was still processing that fact when they told me, “Erwin, I’ve found our next star.”

Hange flipped their phone camera, ignoring Erwin’s rant about how early it was in Germany, to show a clear view of you on the stage.

Your voice rang out like a bell, soft and melodic as you strummed your guitar. You sang a song that Hange later learned was called “Fragile,” one that you had written about one of your exes. They found themselves wondering what the song would sound like in a different setting—not on your acoustic guitar.

“What’s her name?” Erwin asked as you wrapped up the song.

“Y/n Kraney,” Hange replied.

Erwin’s brows furrowed. “Kraney as in Alice Kraney?”

“They certainly have a strong resemblance.”

“Wow.” Erwin blew out a breath and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time. We worked on a movie together once.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Alice was nice to work with.” Erwin went silent as the sound of your voice filled the air, this time a cover of “Donna” by Ritchie Valens gracing his ear. “I want you to recruit her. Offer whatever it takes.”

“Actually?” Erwin nodded, making Hange click their tongue. “That’ll be hard, Erwin. I’m pretty sure she lives here.”

“You’re the one that told me you found a star.”

Hange scoffed and rolled their eyes. “Yeah, but it was more like a what if we consider this sort of sound instead, you know?”

Erwin deadpanned. He knew that obviously wasn’t true, but it was clear he was still exhausted. The faint circles beneath his eyes became more prominent with each night that passed. “Sure. Do whatever it takes to get her to sign with us.”

“Like I said, I can try. But I make no promises. We’re stationed in Germany.”

“Then tell her we’ll buy her a place here. An apartment, a penthouse — whatever she wants. I want her with my company.”

Hange saluted. “Yes, sir. Whatever you want, big boss man.”

Erwin exhaled. He hated when Hange called him that. “Have a good night.”

And then he hung up. Hange scoffed once more before cursing at him under their breath. They tucked their phone back into their pocket and returned their attention to you.

Hange’s leg bounced. They were waiting until you finished and walked backstage to go there themselves and talk to you.

The moment your fingers strummed the last chord and you smiled, sugared words thanking everyone for listening falling from your lips, Hange was out of their chair and beelining toward the back.

They made it before you did. They waited for you to arrive down the hall impatiently, their foot still tapping against the floor.

You walked down the hall with your guitar case in tow. You shot Hange a brief smile before walking past them, but the sound of their voice interrupted you.

“Y/n Kraney, correct?”

You paused, turning to them and nodding. “Yes. Can I help you?”

Hange took note of your thick accent (one that you didn’t have when speaking on stage or while singing), but they smiled widely and held out their hand. “Hange Zoë. I’m a producer for Scout Records.”

Now they had your interest. You turned your entire body to face them and grabbed their hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine.” Hange dropped their hand, tucking both of them into the pockets of their blazer. “You have talent.”

“Thank you.” You lowered your head briefly to show your appreciation.

“Have you thought about where you’re wanting to go with this? If you wanna make it a career or keep it as a hobby?”

You nodded. “I’ve been striving to make this my job. Though, I haven’t been very successful.” You force a laugh, though it’s obviously strained.

“Well of course. It’s hard to break through in an industry with so many people.” You nodded. “Have you thought about signing with a label?”

Your eyes slightly widen. You figured that’s where this was going, but you hadn't wanted to get your hopes up.

“Yes.”

Hange smiled. They pulled out a card from their blazer and handed it to you. You took it from their hand, absolutely gobsmacked that this opportunity was, quite literally, just being handed to you. It had to be too good to be true.

You were about to accept then and there. You had opened your mouth to say that yes, of course you’d sign with their company. But when you looked down at the card in your hand and scanned over both the address and phone numbers listed, you faltered.

“In . . . Germany?”

“Yes, dear. In Germany.”

“Oh . . .”

You didn’t know what to say. You had jinxed yourself because it really was too good to be true. Of course when the perfect opportunity arises, there has to be a weird, exigent circumstance that prevents you from reaching your dreams.

You had been so close.

“I don’t think I can do that,” you said. You met Hange’s gaze again.

“Why not? Is it living arrangements? I can assure you that the label will—”

“No. No, it’s- It’s not that.”

Hange’s brow raised in curiosity. “What is it then?”

“Just . . . Germany is so far. My parents are here in America and- God, not to mention school.”

Hange was taken aback. They blinked, speechless. School?

“How old are you?”

“I just turned seventeen,” you replied, rather bashfully.

Hange hummed, running their hand over the bottom half of their face in thought. Your youth definitely caused a problem.

“And you’re in eleventh grade? Or twelfth?”

“Eleventh.”

Hange exhaled a silent curse.

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling the new tension building as Hange thought.

“Alright.” Hange exhaled again, holding out one of their hands to motion to you. “The offer still stands and will so long as you take this seriously. If you want to move to Germany and join Scout Records, then we will take care of everything you need.”

You nodded, even knowing that you’d never accept the offer. You needed to stay in America. It’s where everything you’d ever known was.

Hange’s gaze softened. They reached forward and gently grabbed your shoulder. “You are very talented, Y/n. Even if you don’t join our company, I hope you find yourself doing great things.”

“Thank you.” 

“If you change your mind, just call one of these numbers. We’ll get you situated.” Hange tapped the card in your hand before letting you go. You stood in the same spot as they stepped around you and left, the door closing loudly behind them.

You couldn’t believe you had to miss out on the chance of a lifetime just because of where you would have to go.

—

“We need to find a keyboardist.”

Armin’s voice cut through the silence of the apartment. It was early in the morning, and Jean was the only one in the shared living and dining space that would pay attention, since Mikasa was on her phone and listening to music through big headphones.

“Why? What’s wrong with playing the tracks?” Jean asked. He had been outlining something in his notebook, but he promptly set his pen on the pages when Armin spoke.

“It just- It doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t sound natural when we play with it.”

“What does that mean?”

“It sounds like a backtrack.” Explaining it almost made Armin feel stupid, because it was a backtrack so of course it would sound like one. “It just doesn’t blend well when we do live music. It needs to sound like live music when we do gigs. Plus, when we get bigger and start doing tours—”

“You think we’re going to get bigger?” Jean tone was condescending, and Armin flinched back like he had been burned.

Jean hated that he did that. He always showed the worst of him when he was upset or sad or . . . not happy. He had tried working on it before, but to no avail.

“Jean, our song is number five on the charts right now. People are starting to notice us.”

“We’re probably going to be a one hit wonder. Holiday got the attention, but what about The Bends? Or Boulevard of Broken Dreams? Or any of the samples we’ve put out on Instagram? No one pays attention to those.”

“Well we won’t know that if we don’t take this seriously,” Mikasa added. She had paused her music when Armin started talking. When Jean turned her way, her gaze was piercing. “Armin has a point, Jean. Playing the keyboard tracks when we do live music isn’t gonna work for long because it’s at a different volume than what you are playing. It doesn’t match the energy either.”

He let out an exasperated exhale, but reluctantly listened as Mikasa continued to ramble about coherence and continuity in their music.

“And where do you propose we find a keyboardist? We can’t just go out and magically find one.”

Jean found himself eating his words later that day as he marveled at the brunette tapping the keys of her well loved keyboard in a park. Mikasa had dragged him outside and had driven around aimlessly for what had seemed like hours in hopes of finding a street performer that could play the piano.

And dammit did she find a good one. The brunette pressed the keys like she was playing in a bar and sang with a similar twang to American country stars, but she was good. Her fingers slid across the keys like she was on a mission. Every note seemed to have meaning when she played it, and Jean was in awe.

“So today we learned that we can just go out and find a keyboardist,” Mikasa said cheekily. She turned to Jean, a smug grin painted across her face.

Jean scoffed. “You got lucky.”

“The point is, if you look, you’ll find something.” Mikasa turned her attention back to the brunette, watching as she smiled widely and thanked a child who offered her a half-empty bag of jerky and two euros.

“She doesn’t play what we do.” There he went again. Criticizing whatever he could. The girl probably could play some sort of rock sounding medley, but Jean was too stuck up on Marco to even want to find out if she could.

“Well, that’s why we ask if she can.” Mikasa spared Jean a sidelong glance as the girl began another song. “We won’t find out if we don’t try.”

That was basically the same thing she had said earlier. Mikasa was all about taking chances, Jean had noticed. She was always on the lookout for the next big thing and had become bolder since becoming Heart Attack’s publicist and social media manager.

Jean mumbled some sort of offhanded reply before going silent. He listened to the girl’s music, but it seemed like she had reached the end of her performance because less than ten minutes later, she was thanking everyone around her and disconnecting her keyboard from the two speakers.

Mikasa took the opportunity. Jean watched as she approached the woman when everyone else dispersed. He reluctantly stepped closer, not wanting to seem like a creep to others.

“Good afternoon, I’m Mikasa Ackerman.” Mikasa really had gotten bolder since becoming a publicist. The pre-Berlin Mikasa never would have walked up to a total stranger of her own volition and confidently introduced herself like she was somebody to know.

The brunette glanced up from where she worked to wind up a cord, smiling at the sight of Mikasa. “Sasha. Nice to meet you,” she said, extending her hand to meet Mikasa’s.

“The pleasure is mine.” Mikasa dropped her hand from Sasha's, holding her hands behind her back and twirling her fingers. She nodded to the keyboard. “You’re a very good player.”

“Thanks. My dad taught me forever ago.” When Sasha had finished winding up the cord in her hands, she grabbed a clip from her pocket and secured it before moving on to the second cord.

“How nice. Say, have you heard of Heart Attack?”

Straight to the point. The old Mikasa would have beat around the bush and engaged in small talk longer.

“The band?” Mikasa nodded. “Yeah, I’ve heard some of their music. Uh, Holiday, right?”

“That’s the one!” She was also . . . cheerier than normal, Jean noticed. “Well, I’m a publicist for their band. Basically I look around for places they could book gigs and events they could play at . . . All that fun stuff.” Sasha nodded, though it was clear that she wasn’t sure of the direction Mikasa was heading.

“And they’ve recently found themselves without a keyboard player.” Jean watched Sasha’s intrigue heighten. She had slightly tilted her head, her brows raising just the tiniest bit.

“Are they?”

“They certainly are. And, wouldn’t you know it, you fit the bill.”

Mikasa smiled. Sasha nodded, her gaze moving to where Jean stood behind the black-haired woman. He could tell she didn’t recognize him, which was proof that while people recognized their band name, they had no clue who the band actually was.

Sasha’s gaze flitted back to Mikasa, and she sat back on the battered stool at the keyboard. “So, what, are you holding auditions or something?”

“Nope. I’ve gone around to a few parks in search of street performers. The next big thing, you know?” Jean knew Mikasa was probably bullshitting this entire speil. He wasn’t even sure Mikasa knew talent when she saw it—she probably approached Sasha based on Jean’s reaction.

“So you’re a scout?”

“In a way, yes. But what I do is besides the point. The reason I’ve approached you is because I want to offer you the position.”

Sasha’s eyes widened. If she were standing, Jean thought she might have fallen over. “You want me to play with the band?”

Mikasa nodded. “I think you have what it takes to help them become the best artists in the world.”

Jean watched Sasha think. He watched the gears turning in her head as she considered the offer. After a moment, Mikasa reached into her pocket and pulled out a small notepad and pen.

“Here, I’ll give you my number. If you decide you want to join, go ahead and text me, okay?” Mikasa jotted down her phone before tearing the paper from the notepad and handing it to Sasha. Sasha gently grabbed it, bringing it closer to her as if it were a priceless artifact.

“Thank you. I’ll think about it and let you know.”

The two of them shook hands again before Mikasa turned. She motioned with her head toward the way her car was parked to Jean before the two of them fell into step together.

“You’re so stupid,” he said, though he didn’t mean it. He just wanted something to express his annoyance at Mikasa’s constant success with the band.

“No, I’m determined. This is your guys’ dream. Hell will freeze over before I let it fail.”

Jean hummed, but didn’t say anything in response.

The rest of the walk to Mikasa’s gray car was silent. It wasn’t until they had settled in, clicking their seatbelts into place and soft indie music playing through the car speakers, that Jean spoke.

“Do you think she’ll accept?”

Mikasa shrugged. She turned to look in the rear view mirrors before she started reversing. “Hopefully. I’ll be—”

Mikasa’s sentence was cut off when her phone started ringing. She had to double take at the number displayed on the console, but when she saw the unknown number, she smiled.

She pressed the green button, clearing her throat before saying, “This is Mikasa.”

“Hi. Sasha again. Uhm . . . When did you want me to meet everyone?”

Mikasa smiled, glancing at Jean. He rolled his eyes and looked out the window.

Heart Attack had a new keyboardist.

—

SASHA: Of course I accepted. I was living in my car when I met Mikasa and Jean in that park. It was not a good look. Honestly, I think Mikasa probably saved my life when she asked if I wanted to join their band.

I was excited, as one typically is when they join a band. Mikasa gave me a time and address to meet everyone that Saturday. It was the studio, and I met Mikasa in the lobby. She led me up to the room they were practicing in and introduced me. But when I walked in there was this . . . tension.

This was not what Sasha had imagined.

Well, maybe it was. There were three people in the control room talking amongst themselves, their voices unheard on the other side of the glass. The other four focused on their own instruments. Sasha didn’t know anyone’s name, but she would learn them as they spoke to each other.

Their actions were what Sasha would expect in a studio. She didn’t expect the silence. Or the looming feeling of doom lingering in the room.

“Sorry if they’re a little weird,” Mikasa whispered to her as she led Sasha to the keyboard. “Jean just announced he’s leaving the band.”

Sasha’s eyes widened, but she didn’t comment. She didn’t know which one Jean was, and even if she did it definitely wasn’t her place to offer her opinion.

She did, however, offer a soft hum. She felt like it would have come off as cold if she didn’t say something.

Mikasa handed her a green folder as Sasha sat herself in the stool. Mikasa briefly explained what songs they were running through today before she left the room altogether and joined the other people on the opposite side of the glass.

Sasha opened the folder, thumbing through the music until she found what she needed. She places the loose pages against the stand, something her personal keyboard didn’t have, before looking down at the keys.

It was a sleek instrument. Glossy black and probably brand new. Sasha adjusted the knobs to the setting she knew she liked before connecting a cord to the speaker.

“Alright, is everyone ready for the first run through?”

The voice over the intercom was loud. When Sasha looked up, she saw a blond man hovering over a microphone in the control room.

It was silent for a moment. When no one had any objections, the brunet with longer hair spoke up.

“We’re good. Ready when you are.”

“Sasha? You okay to continue?”

Sasha faltered for a moment as all eyes turned to her. She felt obligated to nod and say yes, especially with everyone’s gaze rested on her.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

Thank god she could sight read.

“Alright. When I hold my hand up get ready. I’ll count down from five. Once my hand goes down, Connie starts the beat.”

Connie held up two thumbs, drumsticks clenched in his hands, before lowering his hands and getting ready to hit his drums.

The blond in the booth held his hand up. Sasha watched as he lowered his fingers one at a time before pointing out.

Connie’s response was immediate. Sasha counted the beats in her head and internalized it, waiting for her cue.

The five of them spent the rest of the afternoon in the studio. When Erwin — the blond man that had been directing them from the sound booth — called for them to start shutting down the session, Sasha put her music back in the green folder and turned off the electronic keyboard.

She had learned everyone’s names and the loose dynamic they had with each other. On her way out, she waved to them all before closing the door behind her.

Once she got settled in her car, she exhaled a breath. A wide smile stretched across her face as the heater began working.

She drove to the parking lot of a gas station, triple checking to ensure her car was locked before pulling the lever that laid her seat back.

She stared at the roof of her car, wondering what this new opportunity would bring.

It had been a rough session, yes. No one had their parts perfect and some of the notes were discordant and there was only one run through where everyone came in when they were supposed to. But despite that, Sasha fell asleep with a smile.

That had been the most fun she’d ever had.

—

You were in a police station. You were in a police station and you were high.

Granted, your mind was clearer than it had been, but you were still high.

It was a first. One last hoorah! for the end of your junior year of sorts. Of course, it hadn’t really ended yet, but spring finals were less than two weeks away. You counted that as the end.

You, Jazzy and Ella had gone out. You’d planned to meet Dallas and a friend of his at the Chili’s just a few blocks from your apartment. After dinner, the five of you carpooled in Dallas’s car.

You really didn’t know how you ended up at the police station. You just remember Dallas’s friend, Rylan, pulling out a bag of weed.

Next thing you knew you were sitting in the back of a police car, the seats hard beneath you, and on the way to the station.

You were waiting for your dad. That’s what the officer had told you, anyway. You waited with both Ella and Jazzy, Ella absolutely knocked out and snoring against Jazzy’s shoulder. You leaned against her other shoulder. Dallas and Rylan had been taken someplace else.

“My dad’s gonna kill me,” you exhaled.

“We’ll go out together,” Jazzy responded.

“Who thought this would be a good idea?”

Jazzy shrugged, her shoulders lifting both yours and Ella’s head up. Ella snorts, but quickly falls into steady breathing.

Silence enveloped the two of you. There was no sound except for the slowly ticking clock, and even then each tick was quieter than you thought was normal.

You grabbed onto Jazzy’s hand and squeezed. She returned the squeeze, and it was just a few more moments before you heard voices and the door opened.

You lifted your head, meeting your father’s gaze. He was tired, his hair disheveled like he had woken up mere minutes earlier. Despite that, he was fully dressed in jeans and an old Blink-182 concert shirt.

He let out a breath at the sight of you and your two friends. You could tell it was from disappointment. That thought was enough to make you squeeze Jazzy’s hand harder and wish you could fall through the wall behind you.

Your dad beckoned you forward with his hand. You stood up and strode over to him. His arm wrapped around you once you were in his reach and he turned to walk out, but paused and turned back.

“Do you girls need a ride?” he asked Jazzy. 

She shook her head. “No, we’re okay, John. My grandma’s coming to get us.”

Your dad nodded. You have a weak wave to Jazzy before leaving.

You were told to wait in the car while your dad signed paperwork. You did as he said, not wanting to argue when he was so obviously done with you for the night.

You got into the front seat of his truck, turning on the heater and listening to the songs playing on the radio.

It was an oldies station. “Put Your Head On My Shoulder” by Paul Anka was playing, and you found yourself softly humming along to the song.

You quieted when your dad got in the car. He turned off the radio and started driving, which really only made the whole situation more serious since you were basically being forced to think about your actions.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

“It’s fine.” Your dad stopped at the red light, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel impatiently.

“No it’s not.”

“It’s not, but what can you do?”

Another moment of silence passed. The air was thick— so thick you felt like you were suffocating on it. The light turned green

John sighed, running a hand through his messy hair as he started driving again. “What is going on with you, Y/n?”

“What do you mean?” Your brows furrowed.

“You’re not acting the way you’ve been before. Your grades have gone down and now I have to pick you up from the police station? What the hell happened at Alice’s this summer?”

You just shrug. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened. You’d ghosted Damian, yes. Maybe you’d even grieved over it for a bit, but nothing had happened to make you . . . this.

John sighed again, glancing into the side mirrors as he switched lanes.

“You’re just like your mom.”

He’d mumbled it, so obviously you weren’t supposed to hear it. You weren’t even sure he meant to say it out loud, but the words felt like a knife to your heart.

To be like Alice was the last thing you’d ever wanted. You’d deliberately made so many choices so you didn’t turn out like her just to end up being compared to her anyway.

Maybe you were still a little sensitive from the weed, but tears sprung to your eyes at the statement. You sniffed before turning your head to look out the window. You wiped your eyes before the tears could fall.

“You have to get better, Y/n. I’m not going to support you if you can’t even support yourself.”

You take a moment to respond. Of course you want to agree. You want to say that you will get better, even if it was just so you didn’t disappoint him again.

But was that realistic? You knew that once a hole was dug it was hard to get out of. It was more difficult to build yourself up than it was to knock yourself down, and you had kicked yourself to the curb.

Your response left your mouth without much thought.

“Okay.”

—

It was almost more miserable in Tennessee than it was in New York. The only difference was the scenery.

You dad refused to let you go to Alice’s house the summer that followed your junior year. Naturally, you didn’t listen and bought a plane ticket anyway. Ella had driven you to the airport and dropped you off.

You hadn’t planned on going back. You didn’t even want to bother trying to get yourself out of the hole you’d dug, so what was the point of going back to school? You’d stay with your mom until you could buy your own place.

You’d picked up a job at a local diner, working every shift you could and shoving your tips into an emptied baby puffs container that sat on your desk, right below your bulletin board. The board was empty, save for one thing, and that was the card Hange had given you almost a year ago.

You considered the offer every day. You were too ashamed to ever show your face at your dad’s apartment again, and Alice was constantly jumping the line between being suicidal and a semi-productive member of society. Did you really have as much in America as you did last year? Would it be more worth it to go to Germany?

Every day you reconsidered the offer, and every day you gave yourself no answer and instead went to bed. You found yourself longing for that even more day after day.

It took copious amounts of courage for you to finally call one of the numbers listed on the battered card. It took you a moment to figure out how to do it, but a Google search later had you holding your phone up to your ear and waiting for someone to pick up.

“This is Hange Zoë.”

They’d said it in German. It took you just a moment to translate what they said in your head, and when you did you exhaled in relief. It was still Hange’s number.

You internally thanked your late grandmother for teaching you German when you were little. You had no real reason to use it, but it was coming in handy now.

“Hi. Uhm, I’m not sure if you remember me, but this is Y/n.”

Hange was silent for a moment. They switched to English when they said, “Remind me where I’d know you from.”

You took a deep breath. This was more nerve-wracking than you’d anticipated.

“You came to Brooklyn around this time last year. I was performing at a blue’s bar and you came up to me after.”

You hoped to god they remembered who you were. If they didn’t, then any hope you had of going somewhere would be blown out.

“Oh! Yes, Y/n Kraney.”

“It’s actually L/n now,” you softly corrected. You’d stopped going by Kraney after your dad compared you to Alice.

“Y/n L/n. Sounds like the next star.” You smiled. You couldn’t tell if they were being genuine or just saying that to butter you up, but it made you feel good nonetheless. “Now, I assume you’re calling because you’ve reconsidered my offer, is that correct?”

“Yes,” you said, perhaps a bit too quickly.

“Wonderful!” You heard shuffling coming from their line. Your brows furrowed in confusion from the sound, but you didn’t comment on it. “Is it right to assume you’re going to be moving here?”

“Yes.”

“What sorts of arrangements will you need? We can get you almost anything.”

You stuttered, wiping your sweaty palm against your pants. “A ticket there. And a place to stay. It doesn’t have to be extravagant, just . . . something.”

Hange went silent for a moment. You assumed they were writing something down. “Alright. We can get that done for you. Say, I’ve been wanting to show my coworkers your talent since I watched you in New York. Ya think that if I gave you a date and location you’d be able to come to an open house?”

“Like, where I’d sing?”

“Yeah. Lots of execs and producers go things like this to scout out the next big thing. I want to show Erwin we have that.”

“Okay . . . Yeah. Sure. Just let me know where and when.”

Hange agreed. They told you about an open night that they would be present at a bar called Quasimodo. You agreed to meet them there, and continued to make more plans about how you would get there.

Another thing you requested was a translator. Or someone that could teach you more German. Hange immediately gave you the number of a friend before promptly hanging up.

You exhaled when they did, wondering if you’d regret this decision later down the line.

—

Y/N: I think going to Germany at that time was probably the best decision I could have made. Who can say if I would even be here if I hadn’t decided to call Hange that day.

I boarded a plane nearly a week later. I met with Hange and they showed me to the apartment that had been rented for me, and I took a few German classes. I met up with Hange and Erwin at Quasimodo a few days later, and Erwin agreed to keep me signed with them.

CONNIE: I think someone told me once that Y/n was the one to go on after us at Quasimodo. I think it might have been Hange, actually. But I remember thinking how crazy it was that our paths were so close to crossing before we officially came together.

EREN: After the Quasimodo gig it was maybe . . . two years before Y/n came in for “The River.” I think. Without her, Heart Attack would have been a one hit wonder.

Y/N: Yeah, it was about two years before Hange proposed a collaboration. Those two years weren’t very eventful for me. Hange and I produced more professional sounding versions of all the songs I had made, and I was steadily growing.

JEAN: Erwin came into the studio with us one day. He told us that the label wanted to cut ties with the band.

ARMIN: We weren’t making very good music. Everything we made was doing horribly. Our songs actually flopped so bad that Erwin pulled a couple strings to have those songs taken off the public record, actually.

SASHA: That was really scary for me. Even if we weren’t doing well, being with Heart Attack was already giving me a better life. I had managed to move out of my car into a small studio apartment, and I was terrified I would lose that.

EREN: Erwin said he was this close to giving us up. I was convinced that session would be our last in studio, but then he brought up Y/n.

Y/N: I remember going out for coffee with my friend, Annie, when Hange called me. They proposed the idea of a collab with a band I had never heard of.

MIKASA: Adding Y/n into the mix was . . . an interesting choice. Not to say it was a bad one, but . . .

ARMIN: The girl Erwin proposed we make a song with had a very different sound than the one we were reaching for. We’d heard one of her songs on the radio before, and yeah, it was good, but it’s wasn’t really what we did.

CONNIE: After Erwin brought it up to us, we went back to the apartment and listened to some of her music. Jean was definitely not a fan.

JEAN: She was a fucking flower. All she did was write songs about her exes and how much she missed them or songs about how she wanted to find love.

CONNIE: He and Eren got into a fight about it. They were yelling to each other about whether or not to do the collab without consulting the rest of us.

ARMIN: Eren snapped and said, “Well you’re leaving the band anyway, so what does it matter?” 

EREN: He threw a fucking plate at me.

JEAN: Did he mention the knife he pointed at me?

EREN: I was cooking and made a general motion. It was not that dramatic.

MIKASA: It was a really bad argument. Jean and Eren have always had this strained relationship. The best analogy I can think of is like toxic exes. They were always fighting, but when they were able to lift each other up they succeeded together. A lot of the success we had came from them and Y/n as a trio. When they weren’t at each other’s throats, of course.

ARMIN: Jean had obviously brought up leaving the band before, but I think he had been putting it off because he didn’t want to separate himself from us. After that night, though, he was dead set on leaving as soon as possible.

What changed his mind?

ARMIN: Honestly, I couldn’t tell you. I have my suspicions, but . . . I’ll let you ask and find out from him. 

JEAN: I told Eren I would do one more song, and that song would be the one with Y/n. And when it wasn’t a hit, I would laugh in his face and tell him I told him so.

Y/N: I told Hange that I would give the band a try, but if I didn’t like what they were doing then I was calling it quits.

So you liked it more than you had anticipated?

Y/N: [smiling] Yeah. I guess you could say that.

the exposition is almost over I swear they all officially meet in the next chapter

i did not mean for this chapter to take me so long either i’m so sorry 😭

TAGLIST: @arlerts-angel @conniesrockstargf @fvckingeetar @pluckyduxck @kkkingsman @beaniebaby12 @catkidsposts if you'd like to join the taglist please comment or DM to let me know!

next part >>

[mrsroosterbradshaw]

london girl <3

jake “hangman” seresin x british!fem wife

soundtrack: London Boy by Taylor Swift™️

summary: the team is shocked when jake slips up and confesses that he has a wife. little do they know that he is head-over-heels for his wife and he gushes at how much he loves your accent 🤭

“I love my hometown as much as Motown, I love SoCal and you know I love Springsteen, Faded blue jeans, Tennessee whiskey”

jake seresin wasn’t the type to get tied down. in his college days at UT it would be go to a bar, dance, get a girl, go home with them, then leave. he had quite the reputation when he got into the navy, too. cocky, didn’t care about anyone but himself. so, naturally, when the dagger squad was all at the hard deck playing pool and darts, they were shocked when hangman finally let it slip.

“phoenix, how is the boyfriend? finally scare him off yet?” bradley said, jokingly. jake let out an airy laugh.

“har har,” she said to bradley then turning to jake, “i wouldn’t be laughing, you’re the single, lonely one.”

“nope, got a woman i love at home.” he said, the look of realization on his face once he realized what he had said was priceless. the squad started laughing. no, not a short laugh, bradley is rolling on the ground crying.

“yeah right. good one bagman.” phoenix said.

he decided in that moment that it was time to come clean, after four years of being married and with a little girl on the way, he let it slip. “no i’m being dead ass.” jake said.

“no way. i don’t believe you.” phoenix said.

“believe me or not.” he said, throwing his hands up in defense. “but i do. we have been married for four years and we have a daughter on the way.” jake pulled out a folded picture from his front pocket of his khaki uniform and handed it to phoenix.

“no fucking way, you’re tied down?” phoenix said in disbelief.

“yep, i’ll bring her by sometime! well that’s my cue, said too much and don’t wanna be drinking and driving because i wanna get home to my mrs.” jake yelled as he walked out of the doors of the hard deck, determined to get to his pregnant wife.

“But something happened, I heard her laughing, I saw the dimples first and then I heard the accent. They say home is where the heart is, but that's not where mine lives”

“darling. i don’t think they will like me. i’m not like you guys.” you say, growing self conscious of your 7 month pregnant belly.

“sweets, they are going to love you! i promise. we have to leave in about 5 minutes!” he yells after he kisses you on the cheek and walks into the mud room.

“don’t forget to feed the animals! i’ll go out and feed the horses while you do the cows, sheep and the goats!” you yell from across the house.

“gotcha sweets!!” your lovely husband yelled from across the house at you.

(time skip to the hard deck)

“you go ahead to your friends, this pregnant lady has to pee for the twentieth time today.” you said, walking away laughing.

“be safe! we will be over by the pool tables!” jake yells as he walks towards the pool tables that all his friends are surrounding and talking.

“seresin, as i live and breathe!” bradley said, sarcastically.

“hey bradshaw!” jake said.

“where is your imaginary wife at? chicken out and not bring her? oh wait, she isn’t real!!” payback butt in and said.

“who’s not real?” you say as you waddled up to the group.

“hey sweets!” your husband drawls out with that accent you love. “we were just talking about you!”

“all good thing i hope!” you say.

“so, i guess you are real! sorry, we are all just a little surprised when bagman told us. how did you guys meet?” phoenix asked you.

“well i was at a flower festival in San Diego with my best mates and we went to a pub after that was near and jake here was there because he was stationed nearby.” you started.

“i was with javy grabbing a few beers after our training and i went up to the bar to get us another round, but something happened, I heard her laughing, I saw the dimples first and then I heard the accent. and i instantly fell in love. i knew i had to have her.” he said.

“oh don’t even! i knew i had to have you when i saw you and i heard your sexy accent.” you said, side-hugging him.

“aw you guys are so cute!” phoenix gushed.

“You know I love a London girl, I enjoy walking Camden Market in the afternoon. she likes my American smile, Like a child when our eyes meet, darling, I fancy you. Took me back to Highgate, met all of her best mates, So I guess all the rumors are true. You know I love a London girl. girl, I fancy you (ooh)”

“when we got married, for our honeymoon we went to London so i could show him around my home city! i took him to the Camden Market and he won’t admit it but he enjoys it.” you say.

“ okay okay, you caught me. i do like it.” jake admits.

“hey jake?” you say.

“yes sweets?” he replied.

“i need a break.” you told your husband.

“okay i got you, baby.” jake said, he went behind you as you kept talking with the group and lifted up your baby bump. you let out a sigh of relief.

“thank you.” you say, breathless.

“okay!” phoenix exclaimed, “Jake is a real softy! i’m jealous because you are both so madly in love and i wish i had that with Marcus.”

“oh i bet Marcus loves you a lot!” you say, trying to convince her.

“oh no, not like how jake loves you. even the way he looks at you! i’m jealous!!” she says.

“he does not look at me in any way!” you told her. “right jake?” you say, craning your neck to look at your lover behind you.

“huh?” he says, snapping out of his daze.

“see? my point exactly!” phoenix points out.

“oh shut up jake.” you say, laughing and walking away with phoenix.

“what did i do?” jake asked himself, quietly. “what did i say?” he asked coyote, who was right next to him to witness it all.

coyote put his hands up in defense. “nope, that’s on you.” coyote then walked away towards you, chuckling.

“NO SERIOUSLY!” jake yelled across the bar.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s3 episode 9 thoughts

i have so much to say. i just copied and pasted my notes, and my thoughts were COMICALLY long. but it was SUCH a good episode so i have a LOT to point out. even more than usual, somehow.

(screams to let it all out and then tries to take a deep breath and gather myself)

okay. OKAY FUCK. okay. whew. we start from the top. the very very top, in which i click on the episode. and so begins an emotional rollercoaster.

this episode description mentions a train. as does the one after that!!! am i in for a two parter?!?! well, if so, at least i am prepared with this information, so i don’t get a massive shock like with duane barry! (author’s note: i was right!)

a train. huh. would love to ride one of those someday. unfortunately i’m american. we only really have cargo ones hanging about. but their noise is deeply familiar and comforting to me regardless.

(little did i know that this was the very kind of train to be featured in this episode!!)

camera opens on tennessee! children are riding bikes to watch a train. ah, good to know the desire to stop doing other things and instead watch a train go by is universal.

now it’s night at the train. is some graffiti action going to take place? the music is getting weirder as we look at the top of this train, and it appears we are in for no ordinary graffiti moment as some cars pull up. 

and these people are from japan! in tenneseee! boarding the train…? which is full of science stuff!! this is odd on many levels.

(japan to tennessee… whew, that’s a long flight. give these men some caffeine now!)

caffeine seems to be ignored because they are in surgery looking gear cutting something open. and green stuff flows into a jar? hey. not liking that. 

they are cutting into what looks like, in my opinion, some guts.

until people run in and start shooting!!! really truly shooting and killing everyone!!! what!!! what the hell!! who are these guys!! are they with cig man??? holy fuck, if that WAS an alien autopsy, way to ruin the scientific method with bullets in the lab!!

and they are zipping an alien into a bag!! so it was!!! the blatant disregard for learning here!! it’s appallingly american! who are these people?!!

bum bum bum bum… woo woo woo woo wooo wooo… woo woo woo woo WOOO woo… intro time.

mulder has his feet up on the desk. fiddling with… something. scully opens the door and he tells her to come on in, with the face of a man who is scheming. he has it all dark like a movie theatre!!!

LMAOOOO he ordered a video from a magazine of an alien autopsy. and that must be why he looks like a kid in a candy store. $29.95, plus shipping!!! THAT IS A LOT!!

she’s like, you literally cannot see what they are operating on. and she says it’s hokier than the one they aired on fox news. which means i have to google a few things to learn if that actually happened. actually i don’t want to even know.

he mentions the green goo and he says “it’s widely held that aliens don’t have blood, scully” <- girl how would she know that. also you literally almost died FROM alien blood. so explain.

they’re arguing the merits of what makes an authentic alien autopsy tape, and then he points out how the people burst in with guns right before the film cuts off. well, that could make it look more authentic, or less!

some guy in allentown got the tapes so they’re visiting LMAOOO road trip road trip!!!! to a very old looking house. 

the studio is called “rat tail productions” okayyy. i kinda like that. but it’s all boarded up so they have to try and break in.

and they find a dead body!! that is still warm!!! what is going on!!!

someone else enters!! and mulder chases after them and jumps the fence yelling that he is a federal agent. zooooom that is a speedy man. 

and just when it seems mulder has the guy, he starts kicking and punching and BOOM! down goes mulder. until he shoots something nearby to show he isn’t playing. 

mulder is wet from falling into a bunch of garbage… king. and the language barrier is being a barrier!

(sidenote i’m surprised they didn’t make mulder learn another language in school or for the fbi?? like actually really shocked. you’d think he’d have at least one other one, or a few basic phrases, under his belt. idk, where i’m from higher education in humanities related fields requires language learning, but he somehow escaped)

mulder is pretty despite being covered in garbage and bringing a man to a police station

scully says they can’t find an interpreter! this is not really shocking because they are in pennsylvania. 

“well look at this… a beacon in the night” says mulder whilst smiling, and who is it he glances upon but SKINNER?!?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?? are they in trouble?? does… skinner know japanese??

(mulder asks and he does not 💔)

skinner says they have to let the guy (kazuo sakurai) go because he is a high ranking diplomat. so if you’re a diplomat can you just… walk away from a murder scene and that isn’t a problem?? at all? i did not think it worked like this.

skinner asks what they’re doing and mulder says he’s tracking down a “video piracy thing” LMAOOOO least convincing lie ever. 

skinner tells him to go back home, and then very purposefully brushes into his shoulder before walking away. yowch! that has got to sting. mulder looks like he just got caught and is trying to charm his way out of it

scully rightfully points out that this makes no sense, and asks if he wants to drop it, but mulder says he paid his $29.95 and he is gonna get his answers!!!

LMAOOO he “forgot” to turn in the suitcase kazuo was carrying. it has a list of members of a ufo society with a local woman’s name circled!! was she gonna be their next target…?

he tells her to get a motel and he is going to go back to D.C. and be “a good boy” for skinner… LMAOOO, and he’ll show the files to his besties 

back in D.C., and woah, mulder looks like a real slut with his hands on his waist and his jeans and tucked in turtleneck sweater. i am NOT complaining. just merely observing. it’s kinda giving that one photo of the rock. i see where he took his style inspo from.

so the lone gunmen say that the japanese were looking for a sunken ship from wartime, and it looks like they found it, but they brought it to virginia? very weird. maybe they did not find a sub… but something else.

the diplomats are heading home. or not. because someone is beating up kazuo! huh?! WHAT!

scully on da scene in allentown pa. serving. knocking at a door of the person whose name was circled in the files.

but the person goes to answer the door and she says they know her. she’s like umm not sure about that?? until another person comes to the door and says “oh my god… she’s one” WHAT??

(is this like a secret society of people who were abducted or like. are they trying to scam her or something?)

she looks super freaked out. she’s trying to explain that she’s here for murder investigation reasons, but the lady in pink (penny) is calling and saying everyone needs to come over right away. this will surely make scully even more stressed.

they ask her if there was some unexplained event that happened last year. and also to please sit down. so you KNOW things are about to get wild.

mulder is asking about the ship that allegedly was returning through panama. and the boat was stopped! but then kept going? the guy he’s asking to look into this does not seem to be pleased to discuss this subject. 

scully is freaking tf out but trying to gently explain that she does NOT KNOW THESE PEOPLE. but they’re talking about being taken to “the bright white place” and that she was only taken once, but these other women were taken many times. WHAT IS GOING ON.

they ask her about regression hypnosis and she’s like i do not want to talk about this. (and yes i even TRIED IT) and she looks around at all the other women and it is creepy. SAVE HER… save them all.

mulder is running away from the guy he asked for the files from. he’s always going somewhere. looking at a boat. looking at another boat. is he gonna sneak on the boat? YES HE IS. HE IS JUMPING ON IT. elbowing a window open to get in. this is a wild man!! he will break into your boat!!!

he’s going through drawers looking for stuff and i’m thinking, oh man i really hope the boat doesn’t start heading out to sea… he has nothing to survive on. and we’ve seen them kill people, so don’t say “accidental” boat abandonment with a guy on it is out of the realm of possibility. but it IS the boat he was hoping for. and now he’s sneaking about its underbelly. 

NO! he has been caught. the boat is being swarmed by men with guns. he seems too tall to hide…. but he did!! AND HE JUMPS INTO THE HARBOR LMAOOOOO, NOOO, THE POLLUTANTS!!

back to scully. i was so caught up in the boat espionage i had forgotten about scully’s dilemma. and they say that she won’t remember what happened to her for a while. cut scene to her being blowed up again like we saw in s2.

and she is really freaking out now, because they point out that they all have the mark and she just wants to learn about this murder, damn it, not unpack trauma!!

but betsy, who she came to see, is dealing with very severe cancer. and they say that what she is dealing with is going to happen to all of them. WHAT??? “we’re all dying because of what they do to us” OH MY GOD??? she has tears in her eyes. WHAT!!! what. 

back to the boat. do i look like i give a damn about the boat!! no!! but mulder is crawling- at night- from the harbor. so did he stay there all evening or….

so he’s once again on the run. and soaking wet. please take a shower, my friend. you know not what they do in that harbor. 

he sees people pulling in to the warehouse nearby!! with guns!!! and we see him sneak by!!! no, mulder, consider going home and not getting caught!! but what if he finds something that can help scully…? and oh my gosh, he doesn’t even KNOW she’s slowly dying yet. oh my gosh wait i need to sit down (said by the girl who is literally sitting)

the orchestral score is popping off, too. he peeks in a window and sees a giant… thing? being gassed. with cameras out and about. like a blimp looking thing. 

somehow he gets a change of clothes. and he goes home but his apartment door was unlocked! so he has his gun. is it skinner? 

IT IS!! whew! that was best case scenario, so it was just wishful thinking on my part, but maybe i really am deeply attuned to this show. skinner is sitting there in the dark. we see some photos on mulder’s desk but they kinda just look like random places. one is some sort of field? and the other is a house, i think? not recognizable to me. but back to the plot at hand.

skinner tells him to put the gun down. sort of like you tell a dog to drop it. he obeys. aww, he is a good boy for skinner, like he mentioned earlier.

so skinner has some tea; kazuo’s body was found in a canal!!!! he didn’t make his flight!! and they government thinks he was killed over his BRIEFCASE!!! 

mulder plays dumb. then he admits that scully has the briefcase in her car. he seems like he’s trying to play it cool but skinner is NOT having it. “this is bigger than me, you, or the FBI, agent mulder” okayyyy king of being vague. and he says he is not getting involved!!! woah!!!

so mulder goes to… a senator!!! yes, the senator we saw very briefly a few times before, whose name is richard matheson? i didn’t really understand that in the past, but maybe it was building up to this. richard says to return the photos, but mulder says he’ll be entangled in a murder investigation, which he cannot afford because he is so close to the truth!

this senator claims to be telling mulder the truth about what is going on. and he explains what happens in tennessee, how the japanese doctors were murdered doing a secret thing. 

“what am i onto here?” , he asks. “monsters begetting monsters”, says the senator. ohhhhhhh that does not sound good.

(i hope he exposes the alien people and the torture and they blow up all the people that hurt scully and the rest of those women and then hold hands)

he’s back in his office with his glasses on. and i would be glad for a glasses mulder win under normal circumstances, but my heart is sick over scully. i take what i can get when i can get it, though, because he is a beautiful man in glasses. 

SCULLY’S BACK!! and she is still freaking out. she relays the news that she might be dying, and he looks up at her so innocently and says “but you’re fine, aren’t you scully?” OHHHH BABY. BABY. GROWN MAN. BUT BABY. OHHHHHHH MY HEART. MY HEART ITS MELTING. MY EYES ARE TEARING. “but you’re fine, aren’t you?” oh lord… he cannot lose anymore people. 

she is terrified- “am i? i don’t know, mulder” NOOOOOOOO MY BABY. STOP. DO NOT DO THIS TO HER.

he pulls up a photo and she says she knows someone in it, but that guy has been dead since 1965. mulder seems to find this difficult to believe, but last episode he was suggesting that someone was bleeding another person’s blood, so i feel he of all people should be open to this idea.

(oh…. they’re using unit 731 for the storyline here. and they have done that in the past as well but. wow. awful lot of baggage to dredge up there. very very painful and unhealed wounds)

((and i guess before they have done similar things involving nazis, right, remember victor? and his experiments? even if it was done before though, it doesn’t make it any less chilling to me. i’m not sure how i feel about using real horrific war crimes as plot points in an alien show))

but my reckoning with history aside, mulder says that four of the men in that photo were in the alien autopsy video. and they were murdered.

“murdered for what? or murdered by whom?” oh scully, you deserve none of the suffering that the world has given to you. NONE OF IT. if i were mulder, i would hug her and never let go ever. ever ever. 

he thinks they’re still trying to make an alien-human hybrid, but she still isn’t buying it, even after everything; she needs proof. she says believing is the easy part, but he disagrees. “you think that believing is easy?” he asks, and it hangs in the air.

oh, i want to linger in that space forever. the tension it creates, the things it reveals about him. how belief is centered on hope, how he has to fight for it, that it doesn’t come as natural as breathing as he might have you thinking. it’s hope for a better future, it’s hope for righting old wrongs, it’s looking where no one else will go find the answers. it’s about getting family back. it’s about fighting and sneaking and learning and even killing to get what you need to know. but it’s never easy. 

FUCK. I’M LIKE GONNA JUMP UP AND DOWN. THIS IS WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!!!!!! THIS IS THE STUFF!!!

they hold eye contact for a bit, until she sighs and breaks it (fuck me, i’m emotional) and he points out that they DO have proof, as he reaches for her arms- the spy photos were tracking a ship that pulled a UFO out of the ocean, and the UFO is in that warehouse that he saw earlier!! that thing i said looked like a blimp!!!

he says the US has a secret railroad. i yearn so desperately for accessible transportation. if the government said tomorrow, yeah, we have a secret rail system, i’m not sure how i’d react. perhaps relief?

there is very very very charged eye contact. 

okay, bringing the thingy from her neck to a guy who can understand it. it’s a “micro processor”, and there are a few companies that make them. and they are being used for many things. so was it made by ordinary people, and not alien tech…? who is doing the torturing and testing…? and to what end???

it’s all women in that room… is it for alien breeding purposes… oh, i shutter to imagine

back in west virginia!!! mulder has a leather jacket on and a dream as he climbs up into some sort of railroad building’s roof. his hair blows dreamily in the wind as he busts out some binoculars. if he were to be caught, he could probably convincingly claim he was a birder. i understand they go through a lot to find their birds. 

people are showing up. they’re speaking japanese and getting what looks like a LIVING ALIEN onto the train? mulder is on the move. the train is taking off. is he gonna play subway surfers irl and try to jump on that thing? yes, he is SPRINTING. but he realizes he cannot outrun a train. 

back to scully cam. she is watching footage. a japanese surgeon is taking off his surgical gear and she recognizes him!! OH MY GOSH SHE RECOGNIZES HIM FROM HER TESTING! NOOOOO!!! NOOOO!

she answers the phone like she wasn’t unpacking horrific information and mulder reports from west virginia. and she points out that she recognizes the doctor… but not from the video tape. NOOOOOOO. realization crosses his face, and i’m sure only adds fuel to his fire to get on that damn train.

so mulder is trying to catch up with the train. a handsome japanese man is being followed by the dude that killed the other guy earlier. AND NO!!!! the killer just killed the handsome japanese man and locked him in the bathroom. then adjusted his hair???

mulder JUST misses the train. perhaps this is for the best?

scully going home. WHY IS X THERE?!?!?!? he’s telling her to tell mulder to get OFF OF THE TRAIN. she rightly is suspicious but he is NOT playing around.

mulder is about to leap on top of the train when he gets the call from scully. and he asks who told her what he was doing and to stop it, and like me, she is also probably realizing she doesn’t know this dude X’s name. 

and he jumps on the train!!! but loses his phone in the process!!!!!

TO BE CONTINUED!!!!

WHAT THE HELL.

okay, my yelling aside, THIS is when the show is at its best, imo. THIS is the blueprint for me. character driven. heart of the plot. reveal after reveal but vague enough to keep me wanting more. the government is evil and every conspiracy has more conspiracies. getting to know what is ACTUALLY going on in snippets. skinner is there. this episode truly had it all.

EXCEPT an ending, of course, because now i have to WAIT to watch the next part. SO TRULY DIABOLICAL!

no no, i jest, i can take a cliffhanger most of them time. i just better not have ANY distractions tomorrow. 

whew, so much to unpack. i think there are two things that are sticking out the most to me here: scully’s terror and mulder’s belief.

her not knowing what to believe is true about herself and the world she has studied so carefully, being surrounded by strangers who claim to know her, that know things ABOUT her, and who tell her she is going to die slowly and horribly. how she tears up when she learns this. how she tried so hard to get control over the situation by pivoting to the murder case, only to be denied. how the reigns of control slip from her hands, and it is left to fate. and how horrific that is. how she cannot handle processing what was done to her, but is forced to, by seeing this guy who did unspeakable things to her again. how she says she needs proof. as if she’s biding her time, waiting for a full answer so that the reality of what she has gone through can sink in. if there’s never proof, maybe she’ll never have to process it.

and mulder, who thinks that belief is hard. who has sacrificed so much of his life to belief, put himself in danger countless times to find the truth that everyone around him either denies or ridicules him for. how he has little more than his work, because he needs there to be hope. if belief is terror for scully, to him it is a source of possibility. how they’re both wrapped into the same tragedy with entirely separate takes on what it means and how to proceed but whatever is bringing them together keeps weaving them tighter and tighter. 

AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHH. i could scream.

i actually typed all of that, took way more notes than usual, and STILL feel like i’m barely scratching the surface. i feel like i need to give a lecture on this subject matter to even sort of drain the giant well within me of feelings regarding them. his face, how he insists she has to be okay, right? right? and her terror when she admits she doesn’t know.

now. i hate to say it, but i have seen vague spoilers about what happens in the next season, involving illness. and i have a feeling i’m gonna cry like a baby because i’m so messed up just by this. maybe it’s a sensitive topic for me, or maybe i’m just too deeply attached to these nerds and need them to be happy. 

but the depth of my feeling is indicative of how amazing this episode was. it was fast-paced, but not too fast to follow. it explored our character’s hopes and dreams and fears. the dialogue and acting was excellent. how much can be said with just eye contact, and then it breaking, is stunning. i want to know what happens next, and despite my eagerness, i am too disciplined and sleepy to go onto the next episode. 

(i have some thoughts that i need to gather and articulate at a later time regarding the use of unit 731 as a plot point, but they’re still loading, and frankly it would be better to make a post just on that subject once i can figure out how to verbalize them and if i feel that i can confidently tackle the subject matter)

goodnight world, i’m gonna scream. 

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

The Blue Eyed Bandit

When a wanna-be cowboy rides in all the way from Tennessee, he’s laughed out of town, but Y/N can see something in him that others can’t, especially when their town becomes the target of ruthless gang of bandits.

Johnny Knoxville X Fem!Reader

(Cowboy!Au, Angst, Fluff)

5.9k Words

Warnings: Extremely suggestive content, prostitution, flirting, drinking, bar fights, guns, stalking, blood, wound care, knives, makeouts, hickeys, description of injury, gun sucking, degredation, groping, (attempted) kidnapping

An: I’ve wanted to write a story about Johnny as a cowboy for a while XD This was inspired by a lot of things, but especially the Mexico episode of Viva la Bam! I specificly wrote this story to be set in the ‘1850s, though it’s not explicitly stated. I did more research for this fic than any other I’ve written before, on topics from wound care to desert fruits and breeds of horses! It was super fun to write so please let me know if you would be interested in something similar to this in the future!!

You were lucky. It’s odd to say that working as a prostitute in a parlor house would be the luckier of any number of options, but it was. Leaning against the dry, rotting wooden post that held up the roofed porch of Madame Evette’s Gentleman Parlor, your current place of board and employment, you rolled this idea of luck around your mind. There’s always worse options, like that brothel up the road that had half its staff wiped out in the last smallpox outbreak. Working here, you always had a hot meal, warm baths, proper living quarters, health insurance, and much more reputable clients. In fact, you had started to get familiar with your regulars because nobody new ever seemed to come there. Looking out at the high, sandy bluffs that framed the desolate, arid New Mexico landscape, you realized that this was a town that new people didn't want to come to, but whose citizens seemed to want to leave by any means.

Lost in thought, you hardly noticed when a man walked up to the creaky railing you were leaning against until he tipped his hat at you with a warm, half smile, “Howdy, ma’am.” It shocked you how cordial he acted to you of all people. Still, you met his eyes. “Hi.” You recognized him- one week ago, this wanna-be cowboy from out east rode into here of all places to pursue his wild west fantasy, and he was already the laughingstock of the town. Still, you humored him a little, “What can I do ya for?” While he was a little dorky, you recognized the charming air he had about him that none of your other clients seemed to possess as he made conversation, “Well, I was under the assumption that this is the place for a gentleman like myself to find some company and,” Holding out his palm flat to take yours, he spoke low and with an accent you couldn’t quite place, “I would be delighted to be graced with yours.” Part of you assumed this was some sort of cruel trick he was pulling, treating a woman like you as a common lady, but you gave him your hand anyways.

Just then, the Madame caught sight of this through the window and swiftly came storming outside with a broom, “Keep those dirty paws away from my girls!” The commotion seemed to draw a good deal of attention as some of the girls inside peered out the door in various states of undress to giggle at the spectacle going down on the porch, and then there was you, caught in the middle of all this. “This is a proper establishment! You can take those dusty boots of yours down to the whorehouse across the street!” She chased him out into the streets, and there went the cowboy, ducking down an alleyway, laughing to himself.

You and the rest of the girls spent the evening lounging about the well furnished parlor, drinking wine in your garters and stockings while you entertained tonight’s men. Despite what people may think, your interactions with patrons didn’t start in the bedroom- there’s some drinking and singing and fraternizing one would usually have to get past before the fun stuff started. But the whole time you were chatting up the fat cat town banker while he puffed away at his cigar, you couldn’t help but think back to your interaction with that cowboy from earlier. There was something different in the way he treated you- how he saw you compared to how the rest of the town did. Most of the men you tended to wouldn’t be caught dead in your presence outside of this place, but he felt no shame in the slightest to interact with you. In fact, he seemed to have taken a liking to you. The thought made your chest feel warm.

Then, out of the blue, there was this great commotion outside, loud enough to rattle the crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Oh. This couldn’t be an earthquake- earthquakes aren’t usually accompanied by the whip cracking sounds of gunfire. Oh. This had to be a saloon fight gone bad. You nearly fell to the ground as everyone in the parlor flooded out the front door for a chance to bear witness to this spectacle, and of course you followed shortly behind because while you were a lady, you were never one to miss a good fight. There was always something or other going on in this town, whether it be a shootout or a bank robbery, so most people were sort of desensitized to it at this point. Dashing out onto the dusty streets, all indigo from the night, so many people crowded into the little tavern next door that you would’ve thought the cheap wooden floors would’ve given out from sheer weight. The place was buzzing. You weaseled in, squirming past people. At first, all you could see over the heads of those in front of her was the town bartender Steve, the one with the shaved head, cautiously emerging from where he had ducked behind the counter, all pale under yellow lamplight. The bar in front of him was completely splintered and half of the bottles that sat behind it were shattered, sticky amber liquid draining down the walls and to the floor. The whole thing was pretty damn tragic- you knew Steve, and by extension knew how he had been busting his behind, having practically built this place from the ground up and kept it running with only a couple saloon girls for help. It was his way of fulfilling a passion you always found to be pretty selfless: making people happy. Albeit, it was through alcohol and cheap bar tricks, he still took it seriously, like it was his baby, and in one moment it was destroyed.

As you squirmed closer to the front of the crowd, that’s when you caught it. A blur of mauve then step on a chair, step on a table- crash! A man leapt out of a window with an armful of cash, green bills fluttering in the air with the sparkling shower of glass. Immediately, you recognized him, but anyone in town could with one look at that purple mink duster with the strange heart symbol on the back that hung from his shoulders or with a glance at that face that was just made for wanted posters. But just like that, he disappeared into the night. And there, on the floor at the feet of the people who had front row seats to all this, was the cowboy from earlier, and he did not look good. Well, he looked good, but he looked unwell, especially with the slowly growing red stain on his shirtfront. “My, my, my…you gotta deathwish, boy? Or are you just plain stupid?” A man standing at the front of the crowd glowered down at him like he was horseshit on his shoe, “Ana’body five miles round’d know not to mess with them bandits.” If it wasn't bad enough, he had picked a fight with the leader of the meanest gang of ruffians in the west, this ruthless fellow that went by the name Bam on account of all the chaos he caused wherever he set foot and that subtleness wasn't necessarily his style. Of course he didn’t know what he was getting into, but the bandit king was gone, and everyone had forgotten about the cowboy that was still bleeding on the hardwood, so you ran over to the bar for a wet towel. Still shaken up, Steve handed you the bar cloth he was unconsciously gripping and, as the townspeople filtered out, you went to tend to the man in the ground.

“Whats’re name, cowboy?” It was pity that urged you to help him, surely. As you peeled away the dark cloth that stuck to his skin, his chest rose with heavy breaths. He watched with half lidded eyes as you dabbed away the blood that was steadily trickling from where he was grazed with a bullet, swallowing as your hands ghosted over a faded tattoo of a woman’s name on his chest before he murmured in a voice still hoarse, “Johnny.” Smiling softly, you finished up cleaning his wound, “Well, what you did back there was mighty brave, Johnny.” Now that you got a look at him, you couldn’t deny that he was a pretty well shaped young man. Cracking an exhausted grin, he let out a labored chuckle, still polite despite the circumstances, “Well thank’y, ma’am.” Gazing up at you with those blood loss dazed eyes, Johnny murmured, a little embarrassed, “I’d invite you back to mine, but I don't think it’d be your style, considering. I, uh- I’ve been sleepin’ in the horse stables for the past week…” There was something undeniably endearing about that fact. You helped him to stand as you went to pull yourself up, “Well, what about tomorrow? We could have lunch together.” Stumbling to his feet, Johnny drawled, “That sounds like a fine idea.”

So you dressed up nice that Sunday in a dress you “borrowed” from one of the other girls that worked at the parlor with you- this vibrant pink dress, the color of ripe red pitaya fruit. The usually lively streets of the town were deserted on Sunday mornings, and since you avoided leaving the parlor during the day due to the looks you got on the street, Sundays were the only day you really went out for fresh air. Johnny was already waiting for you in front of the bar, still in the same clothes as yesterday, bloodstains and all. Seeing you fully dressed for the first time in a sort of ‘you clean up well’ moment, he looked you up and down before a smile crept onto his lips, “Why aren’t you at church?” You shrugged, “I ain’t exactly the churchgoing type, and if I was, they don’t take too well to my kind. You?” The two of you began to walk down the dusty streets, the midday sun beating down and warming your skin. Johnny walked in step with you, inching a little closer, “Well, neither am I.”

You ended up at this little oasis up on a hill at the outskirts of town- one of the few green places left in this god forsaken place. Sitting down on the grass under a Blue Jacaranda tree, you set your woven basket that you carried the food in down and you caught Johnny nearly drooling as you opened it. It was all food you found lying around the parlor- fluffy pink and white conchas, warm boiled esquites, and a package of salt pork wrapped in brown paper and twine. Handing him one of the pastries, he tore into it like a starved man. Noticing your surprise at his eagerness, Johnny stopped himself and added bashfully, “Sorry…In- In all truth, ma’am, I’ve been livin’ off’a bar peanuts for the past few days…” It was believable- that cowboy was looking mighty thin. Of course, he went right back to eating.

The two of you talked for a while. He told you all about the mishaps that happened to him on his journey there all the way from Tennessee, a part of the old Southwest territory, and about how before he realized he wanted to move out west to pursue his cowboy dreams, he was a writer for his town’s newspaper. There was no shortage of stories with this man, and you couldn’t complain because he spoke with this vividness to his words that just captivated you. Johnny asked you about what it’s like in your line of work. You told him that you grew up on a farm and came here for a better life, some life that turned out to be. But as long as you had a clean bed to sleep in and warm meals, you’d be pretty content.

“So,” You started after a silence, “How’s that wound healin’ up?” Swallowing what was in his mouth, Johnny loostend the top few buttons of his shirt and pulled the collar to the side over his bicep, exposing the half scabbed over pink flesh. Maybe it was just an excuse to touch his chest, the intimacy made more so that you were leaning over his body as he sat up on his elbows, looking down at you. Fighting back a blush from creeping onto your cheeks, you blinked and met his eyes, “It, uh…doesn’t look infected, no.” As you pulled away, your gaze lingered on his still open shirt, “Is that your woman’s name- on your chest?” Johnny glanced down at the name scrawled on his tan skin, “Nah. S’my daughter’s.” Never in your days could you imagine a man as young as him a father. Still, you couldn’t help but ask, “So she’s waitin’ for you with your lady back home?” Shaking his head, he smiled gently as if remembering something fondly, “Oh, no- my little girl’s all grown up. And my wife,” he wiped some crumbs off of the side of his mouth, his voice falling a little serious, “well, she left me ‘bout a year ago this November.” You asked for an inch and he gave you a mile. At this point, you couldn’t deny that you were interested in him, but you still maintained your stuff demeanor, “Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” Glancing up at the sky, you shielded your eyes with your hand, “S’noon. Church should be letting out soon.”

Conversation was light as you walked back in town and he dropped you off at the parlor like a gentleman. You made a resolution that this would be routine- outcasts like you needed to stick together after all, or at least that was what Johnny said. It was cute, in a way, all this wisdom he had. As the two of you were chatting as you passed an alleyway, you saw something out of the corner of your eyes- this dark figure and a glint of something diamond blue that sent chills down your spine. But when you turned to take a second look, the shadow disappeared.

That next morning, you and some of the other girls were relaxing on the porch in your frilly underclothes and chatting because you had no clients and, in your line of work, that is what you call advertising. Every now and then a man passing by would whistle at you and you’d have to go up to the rail and flirt with them a little, standing just where you did on that day you first ran into Johnny. His plight still occupied your mind. Poor guy- his daughter left him and so did his wife. He’s probably a very lonely man. Before you could get to thinking about how you would be more than happy to help him out a little with that loneliness, your attention was drawn elsewhere. It seemed that you were too slow to notice the panicked looks and the people starting to make themselves scarce until a hush fell over the street and the air was so tense you could cut it with a knife. Just as you could’ve sworn you could hear yourself sweat, that’s when you saw him.

This hulking, dark mass looked like a vulture on the prowl as he sulked past a roadside fruit stand. There was no question who this was. Your blood ran cold at the dark chuckle that reverberated through the bandit king’s throat at the poor, shivering man who owned the stand as Bam snatched something out of one of the baskets full of fruit, not bothering to pay for it. He was subtle and silent there, something nobody had ever known him to be. Flicking his Bowie knife out of its leather sheath, the silver blade glimmered under the hot southwestern sun like sparkling hot oil as he wasted no time carving the skin off of that pitaya fruit. Though his eyes were concealed under the shadow of the brim of his hat, you felt Bam’s chilling gaze on you from that predatory grin he wore as sticky, red juices bubbled up around the Damascus steel, smearing across his blade and dribbling down his fingers. As if to emphasize a point, he dropped the now discarded peel to the ground and brought the knife to his lips, a serpent-like tongue flicking out to lap at the last traces of sweet nectar from the sharp, glinting edge.

And he smiled at you.

A cool wind blew through the air as you and Johnny sat down at the top of the hill that Sunday. “You know, ma’am,” Sitting with his legs out, cowhide boots stretched out in front of him on the grass, he turned to you, “I never caught your name- your real one, I mean.” Glancing up from the basket, you shook yourself from your thoughts of your encounter with Bam that last week, swallowing before you replied, “It’s, uh- it’s Y/N.” A warm smile spread across his face as you spoke, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. “Y/N. That is a mighty beautiful name.” That warm feeling- that same feeling as before, swelled up in your chest as you stared out onto the golden desert that seemed to stretch on for miles in the early morning sun. “Johnny.” You cleared your throat, “Is this how you expected it to go? Life, I mean.” God knows that you didn’t. You came here looking for a better life. What a sham that was. It was rare that you really got to feeling sorry for yourself, but sometimes, and especially after what happened, it was hard. Feeling nauseated, you hadn’t touched a crumb of the food you brought for the both of you, while Johnny had eagerly gotten through more than half the basket by the time you spoke up. “If you’re askin’ me if I thought I’d end up a cowboy, traveling the land and rightin’ wrongs, I would say yes.” He added hurriedly, a little embarrassed, “But, so far in this town, that ain’t exactly what I’ve been doin’...”

“So, you’re not gonna stay?” Unconsciously, you had inched just a little closer to him, nearly laying your head on his shoulder as the two of you talked. This clearly didn’t pass under Johnny’s notice as his voice fell sweet like honey against your ears, “Well, I didn’t say that. What I mean is, “ He turned toward you slightly, so close to your face that his lips nearly brushed against your cheek as he spoke in a low, slow voice, “all I’d need is a reason to stay.” You only then just noticed how, with the way your face was tilted towards his, your lips were nearly, almost touching. And then they did. But it felt nice- different from the sloppy men who had stolen kisses from you before. It felt soft, and natural. Almost upon contact, Johnny sat back with wide eyes, surprised at his own impulsive actions, “O-Oh lord…” His voice got real quiet, nearly wavering, as he blushed softly, “That may’ve been the least gentlemanly thing I’ve ever done.“

You stopped him, placing a hand against the soft fabric of his dark, half unbuttoned shirt front and leaning back in to gently press your lips to his, your eyelashes fluttering shut. Johnny’s warm muscles were initially tense under your touch but as he relaxed into the kiss, so did his body, letting out a soft groan against your lips. You had never made a man blush before, much less react so earnestly. Reaching out to you, the cowboy’s hands found purchase in your clothing, calloused fingers tangling into your calico dress as he hurriedly undid the brass buttons. Your heart fluttered in your chest and your head swam from the passion and desert heat as you started to think that this was maybe what love was supposed to be. Johnny’s breath came out in hot pants against your newly exposed skin as he hungrily sucked mauve blotches onto your neck and chest, his facial scruff tickling a little as he practically devoured you. But he was gentle with it. So sweet and gentle.

Nothing could have pulled Johnny away from you then, not even the gunshot that cracked out loud in the town below while the two of you were still caught up in the heat of the moment, so you were the one who had to pull his face away from your bosom by his hair. You could feel his breath fanning out against your skin as you sat up to get a better look at the commotion. Howling and cackling like twin coyotes, off rode the bandit king away with his fair haired cohort, arms full of loot from their latest hit- the town general store. They had swiped a small fortune in gunpowder, dynamite, and tobacco. Of course, this drew the townspeople away from church early, especially when one of the two young men who owned the store ran out, shouting and brandishing a shotgun. He fired three or four shells in their general direction, but his shots didn’t come near the hides of the bay mustangs nor the bandits that rode away on them, kicking up dust.

Johnny went back to the horse stables that night and realized just how much everything was looking up for him. He had a roof over his head, the favor of a lovely woman he would quite frankly lay down his life for, and hot meals every night courtesy of the man who owned the stable, a fellow by the name of Chris who he had gotten to know pretty well. In fact, besides the town bartender Steve, he was his only friend, but it was hard to count Steve as a friend because he was always tacking extra tequila shots onto Johnny’s tab while he distracted him with some trick he picked up in the circus. Still, he could let that slide because business was business. Chris, on the other hand, was just a sweet guy who loved horses, and he had taken such a liking to Johnny’s horse, Noami, that he let him sleep in her horse stall there free of charge.

So that explained why he was in the stables in the middle of the night, laying back against her shiny, chestnut coat as she slept with her head against his chest, snoring softly. Funnily enough, it was the horse sleeping against him that woke up first when a dark figure hopped the front gates into the stables. Blinking awake after she stood up, Johnny sat up curiously to catch sight of the silhouette opening stall doors. He thought about Chris- all those nights of charity and companionship, just for him to let some two bit their run off with his buddy’s pride and joy? Oh, no way in hell he was going to let that happen. A flash of emotions went through his mind as he threw himself to his feet and stood up to block the front gate. Johnny’s voice was nearly a growl as he gazed across at the bandit who was currently trying to make off with Jezebel, Chris’ prized palomino mare. “Y’aint leavin’ with her.” Though he didn’t initially recognize him, Johnny put two and two together quickly.

Bam was dead quiet, only visible as the tombstone shape he made in the darkness as he got low, light glinting off of the silver spurs affixed to his heels. Then, all at once it was as if the cowboy had taken a steam engine to the solar plexus, while in actuality it was a black suede wrapped fist that had knocked the air from his lungs. Still, Johnny stayed on his feet, coughing hard and hitting him with a poorly placed uppercut that knocked that hat clean off of his head. Bam sputtered, his mouth now bloodied and dripping onto the sand as he ducked down, taking a step to the side as his right hand reached for the gun afixed to his hip. It was no wonder the bandit king would fight dirty. Before Johnny could duck away, cold steel collided with his orbital bone in a skillfully placed pistol whip and he was knocked out cold. As the cowboy’s body fell limp to the ground, Bam huffed and spun his trusty piece around a finger before slotting it back in its leather holster, shooting a look at the man below him that spelled out that his resistance would not go unpunished.

When Johnny woke up, the first person to come to his aid was the stable owner himself. Chris picked him up under the armpits, lugging his half awake self over to a wooden chair in a corner and leaving him there as he went to fetch some medical supplies from his home next door, leaving the door open as midday sun flooded in. Blinking awake, the first thing Johnny did was look around to see if maybe what had happened last night was a bad dream and that the horse was still waiting in her stable, which was especially hard given the purple swelling around his left eye, but her stall door was wide open from the previous night. As Chris returned with a leather medical bag, Johnny coughed, his voice gravelly, “He- he got away with Jezebel…” This was a low point for him. It seemed that no matter how or when he tried to intervene, there was nothing this cowboy could do, even for the man who had shown him such charity. Kneeling down and threading catgut sutures onto the curved needle, Chris seemed forlorn, yes, but there was an appreciative inflection to his voice as he stitched up the split in Johnny’s cheek, “But he could’ve gotten away with a lot more if you weren't here. I’d say that makes you a hero in my book!” Turning it over in his head, he decided that maybe he had a point with that, but he still wasn't going to tell Y/N. She didn’t need to know. As the needle pierced the cowboy’s skin, he winced, sucking a breath in through his teeth. As Johnny peered down at the dried blood that certainly wasn't his that still remained on his knuckles, he swallowed hard, his voice still tense and very grave, “I’ll get’re back for you. Promise.”

So you heard no word of the stolen horses the next morning and went about your day without a care in the world, tending to clients as usual. You were especially busy that night, feverishly going from man to man, doing your thing and racking up quite a sum in commissions from all the whiskey you pawned off. In fact, you were so focused that you nearly jumped when you heard your name, “Y/N.” Madame Evette tapped you on the shoulder, drawing your attention away from the client you were currently entertaining, “Room seven. There’s a gentleman waitin’ for you upstairs.” It struck you as odd because while men who wanted to skip all the fluff wasn't that uncommon, it didn’t happen every night. Apologizing to the fellow you were talking to with a red lipsticked kiss on the cheek, you turned to hurry up the creaky staircase, making clicky noises against the wood in your little heeled boots.

Wandering down the hall of rooms upstairs, you cracked open the door of room seven to darkness inside from a put out lantern. Oh, poor guy- he must be shy. That makes the whole no canoodling thing make more sense. As you closed the door behind you, you noticed that there was just enough light from the moon trickling in the open window that you could still see a general outline of the man sitting in the wooden chair at the far corner of the room with his knees about a mile apart as you approached him, doing your little flirty routine, “So, what can I do ya’ for, handsome?” Wordlessly, the figure gestured down with two fingers and you knew what he was asking for, especially after he shifted his hips to sit lower in the chair with a huff. Getting onto your knees, you positioned yourself between his thighs, the floor chilling the skin of your bare legs. Reaching out, you started to undo his pants, and while the downstairs parlor was consistently noisy, the soft metallic clinking of a belt buckle was the only noise in the otherwise silent room. Your lips fell open and your eyes suddenly went wide at the sudden, unmistakable ice cold feeling against your forehead.

It was the muzzle of a revolver. The voice that rumbled out of the man above you was nearly a snarl as he spoke through his teeth, “You make one peep an’ I swear to god,” he pressed the tip harder against your head for emphasis and you could swear you heard a smirk in his voice, “I’m puttin’ this bullet in your fuckin’ skull.” Your heartbeat pounded in your ribcage as you felt your head swim and you thought that this is what it feels like to be a jackrabbit caught in the jaws of a coyote. Quivering, your gaze nervously trailed up his body, and you could feel the color drain from your face when your sight fell upon his glinting, all too familiar vulture eyes, flickering like blue hot steel. Click. The bandit king slowly pulled back on the hammer, his hand so close to your face you could see his fingers curl around the mother of pearl handle and read the words etched into the barrel as he tightened his grip with his finger on the trigger. And he chuckled this deep, predatory laugh, grinning down at you with a mouth full of fangs as he spoke slow, deliberately, “Now you’re gonna stand up nice n’ slow with those hands b’hind yer back- and you are gonna be real quiet.” Frozen in fear, you couldn’t move under the shadow that looked over you even if you wanted to keep your brain inside your skull, which you really, really did. “Y’takin’ me fr’a fool, whore?” Bam’s thick accent deepened with agitation as he spit his words, nearly barking, “I said,”

“Stand. Up.” A gloved hand roughly tangled in your hair and yanked you up on shaky deer legs, forcing you to weakly comply much to his satisfaction with the gun still snugly pressed against your forehead. Standing maybe six inches away from you, you picked up on the distinct scent of alcohol and tobacco on his breath. With how his gaze lingered at your lips, you could tell he was getting an idea of something else he could do with that gun, but he just nodded, relenting just slightly at your compliance, “That’s it, girl. Now turn around.” Standing up after you, Bam jabbed the revolver between your shoulder blades making you arch your back as he harshly grabbed your wrists and deftly bound them with the red bandana he wore around his neck. Pulling the gun away from your spine for a second, a warning shot cracked out through the ceiling that made you jump, your eyes nearly bugging out of your skull in fear as you yelped. But your terror was funny- so damn funny to Bam as he pushed you along, the burning hot muzzle returning to where it once was.

The scene downstairs was absolute chaos after that bullet went through the ceiling. Startled patrons and half clothed women scrambled outside, flooding into the streets and attracting quite a bit of attention, especially from the cowboy that was lingering outside the horse stables before he was set to retire for the night. Even though every instinct in him told him to stay away based on the outcome of his previous heroic efforts, Johnny’s body lurched forward almost involuntarily, dashing towards the chaos that Madame Evette’s Gentleman Parlor had become. Pushing past frightened patrons, he stormed in right as Bam was walking you down the staircase as you stumbled in front of him. Your panic-stricken eyes met Johnny’s (or at least, the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut) as he stared at the scene in front of him, his tone stern but his fear giving way to a trace of vulnerability in his voice after he swallowed hard, “Let her go.” The man behind you tugged you back hard by your bound wrists as the gun relocated to your temple, wedging you in place between the weapon and where the bandit king rested his head on your shoulder, nuzzling against your cheek. “Oh, no way…” Bam held eye contact with Johnny as purred into your ear, speaking melodically as he taunted both you and him, “I gotch’re woman…an’ I don’t feel like givin’ her back.” Adding insult to injury, with his torso pressed snug against your back in a crude imitation of intimacy, his free hand, which was sitting on your hip, slid up your body posessively, reaching to roughly fondle your chest as he let out a low, predatory growl, his gaze challenging the cowboy across from him.

If you could’ve seen the white hot fury in Johnny’s eyes. Blinded by rage, he didn’t even consider using the pistol tucked into his holster, instead lunging to tackle Bam to the ground. You slipped out of his tight grasp just in time, clamoring to safety on your hands and knees on the hardwood floor as the cowboy just wailed on the guy. The struggle between the two was like watching two bighorn sheep with their horns locked in conflict, a blur of instinct and emotion, all rabid and teeth and fists. Letting out shuddering breaths, all you could do was watch the violent scene in front of you with your heart pounding out of your chest, not daring to move an inch. The only thing that could’ve pulled Johnny off of the man beneath him was when the town sheriff stormed in, grabbing him by the back of his shirt collar and throwing him off of the bandit king, or what was left of him as he lay limp on the ground. He was beaten to a pulp, almost literally- just a wheezing, bubbling mess of blood and bruising with a few teeth missing. Pulling Bam up by his sweat soaked black curls, Sheriff Tremaine held him to dangle in the air, glaring at the man in his hand with unadulterated disgust, “You’n you’re little gang’re goin’ away for a while.” There was no doubt that he had witnessed the brutality the cowboy inflicted, especially with the blood still dripping off of his still raw knuckles, but it seemed that he would let it slide this time, glancing to you and Johnny and tipping his hat, “We’re gonna get to roundin’ up the rest’a these bandits.”

Without a proper leader, the most fearsome gang of criminals in the west were left with nothing to hold them together, letting the sheriff's men easily pick them off and throw them in the slammer where they rightfully belonged. Life, for once in that godforsaken town, was peaceful. And Johnny? Well, after he was credited as the man who took down the bandits, he was hailed as the town hero, especially after he helped rebuild the bar and returned Jezebel to her stall at the town stables. Even Madame Evette had taken a liking to him, permitting him to come and go to the parlor whenever he felt the need to visit you- on the condition that he got a new pair of boots.

[letsgobarbs]

Part (1/6): (Who is in the barn?) Must Be Santa

Series Index

Part 2

Chapter Warnings: Unwanted sexual advances (nothing too graphic), swearing, girls fighting, canon typical violence, toxic family situations, accidental drug use, discussions of cheating.

It was Christmas Eve, and Jack was being attacked by the Chupacabra in the barn. It was trying to suck his blood out through the skin, he wished it would just take a bite and put him out of his misery. He needed a damn nap. Except, it slobbered some more over his neck and wet the neckline of his t-shirt. Ew.

All right, he was being unfair. The Chupacabra sucking what he knew was going to be the ugliest hickey in a few hours was a beautiful, tall, leggy blonde, proportioned just the way any man would like ‘em— just the way Jack would normally like his women too. And she wouldn't be here if he hadn't seduced and lured her out.

He had already inserted the tracking device. Admittedly, it wasn't his best work, she didn't cum. But he was cold, tired, and hungry. He wasn't going to do more work than necessary. His fingers were stiff and aching from the cold. His balls were also stiff and aching from the cold. His entire body was stiff and aching from the cold. Briefly, he wondered if age was catching up to him. He wasn't old by any means, he was fit as a fiddle and hopefully would stay that way. But this was one of the moments where he was just weary. He wanted to go home. But you don't have a home. Jack wrestled that annoying little thought back with a huff. It’s just the winter blues.

“Yeah? You like that daddy?” He was nobody’s damn daddy.

Seriously, when was this girl going to notice his still flaccid dick and call this whole thing off? He hadn't wanted to say anything, but he would claim erectile dysfunction and beg off this tryst if he had to.

A soft gasp pierced through the air, hardly louder than a whisper but potent enough to bring everything to a standstill. For a moment, not even the horses whinnied. The blonde chupacabra ever so slowly turned back to face the intruder while Jack lifted his head to see… Santa? Of course, he was caught in his naughty moment. Jack was jealous, his saviour looked mighty warm bundled up in a red Santa Claus jacket, a white knitted scarf covered up the lower half of their face like a beard while giant fogged-up specs covered the upper half of Santa’s face. Their guest had the fur hood of their jacket thrown over their beanie keeping them snug as a bug. He couldn't make out a single patch of skin, hands covered by glittery, Christmassy gloves and feet planted firmly in red, weather-sensible boots. It was the exact opposite of his dishevelled state: pants undone, shirt crumpled, and hat knocked off to some corner.

Santa was gone quicker than a cat on a hot tin roof. He would've thought them an apparition if the orc from Lord of the Rings hadn't let out a battle cry— it also smushed his balls under its knee trying to stand. Jack swallowed any cry that could've come from his mouth resulting in a muffled groan. Not that any of his cries would've been heard over the screeching.

“YOU BITCH GET BACK HERE!!” Followed by a dull thump of bodies hitting the ground. He spread his legs to ease the ache between them, hands coming over his crotch to gently cradle it and dampen the pain. Jack was gonna stay right here, thank you. The hay was finally starting to feel comfortable under his back.

“WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE A TATTLING FUCKING WHORE!” That was probably Blondie.

“BECAUSE YOU’RE ENGAGED? YOU ARE ABOUT TO BE MARRIED IN A FEW DAYS AND YOU’RE BUMPING UGLIES IN THE BARN WITH SOME RANDO” Jack had to snort at the bumping ugliest bit. And she was right too, little Miss Tennessee was having herself a winter wonderland wedding right before New Year’s. He admired the set of lungs on these girls and their ability to scream louder than the wind and storm raging outside.

“YOU THINK YOU’RE SO MUCH BETTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE. BUT YOU'RE JUST A LOSER WHO COULDN’T KEEP A GOOD MAN LIKE COLE. SO WHAT IF I FUCKED THE OLD MAN IN THE BARN? NOBODY’S GOING TO BELIEVE YOU BECAUSE YOU’VE BEEN PANTING AFTER COLE LIKE A BITCH IN HEAT. BUT HE’S NEVER WANTED YOUR FUGLY ASS. HE. CHOSE. ME!”

Another gasp, a dramatically loud and affronted one— a sound that reverberated through Jack as well. WHO was she calling old? He finally heaved himself off the floor and meandered outside, he knew better than to get in the way of a catfight but there was only one way out. So, he was hoping the two ladies would be too preoccupied to notice him slip past.

And they did seem preoccupied, both of them were covered in snow, currently rising from their scuffle on the ground with a double-handed grip on each other’s locks, shouting at each other to let go first. Classic, tearing each other’s hair out. The key to ripping out someone’s hair in a good old-fashioned squabble is to grip a small amount of hair, further away from the scalp— Blondie had it right. The other one, however, had fisted a large chunk of hair right at the scalp, it wouldn't work because the force of the pull was more spread out. She abruptly yanked Blondie’s head so far back she faced the sky. Oof, that would work if you wanted to give them a crick in the neck. Jack wondered how far and how hard he would have to pull back someone’s head to neutralise them. He would have to remember it the next time he was in a close hand-to-hand.

Just as he walked past them, there was a sick crunch, and Blondie landed flat on the snow, a splatter of blood reaching close to his boots. Jack peered down at the body, brows furrowed and a bit befuddled at the turn of events.

“She’s not dead, is she?” A trembling voice asked. He sincerely hoped she was not, for everyone involved. He bent down to check for a pulse. And found a weak but steady one. The shallow rise of her chest told him she fainted but was alive and well— as well as she can be with a bruised nose that is.

“She’s fine.” Is all he offered in response before turning around and walking away.

He had only walked a few paces until the same voice called out to him, this time a lot calmer and far… sweeter. The voice of a woman about to ask him for something. He really should keep walking, life would be simpler this way.

“MR DANIELS?” Damn it, she knew who he was. Now he was going to have to mind his manners and play nice. He looked back at her with a well-practiced quizzical smile— the very picture of an innocent bystander pulled out of his reverie. She had Blondie hoisted up by the underarms, trying to drag her through the snow.

“Could you get her legs, please?” All he had in response was a deeply tired sigh. He helped her anyway.

They shuffled back to the barn and delivered Blondie back to the very stall they had been caught in. He watched her shift Blondie’s legs from where he had unceremoniously dumped them so she lay entirely on the dry hay and not with her butt on the cold, damp ground. It was a surprising amount of care for someone who had just called her fugly. Personally, he would not have forgiven that. Finally, he followed the little saint out again, only for her to abruptly turn around for the stall again. Jack was at his wit’s end.

Nothing was going the way he wanted it to. He would leave this girl here if he didn’t need to convince her to keep shut about what she saw tonight. Maybe he could still leave her and figure it all out tomorrow. Maybe things really will go as Blondie said and nobody will believe her. Jack ignored the burning pang of sympathy he felt for the girl, life was tough.

She took off her coat and draped it over Blondie, making sure to gently tuck the sides in to keep the cold out. When she took off her scarf to fashion a blanket for Blondie, Jack had to hold back many expletives. He did say them very loudly in his head though. It was her, Gin’s niece, the quiet, wallflower one with the too-observant eyes.

Firstly, He couldn’t leave her here. Gin would bite off his head for not ensuring she was safe. Secondly, she will be exposing this hook-up to everyone. Because Blondie was her cousin, and also Gin’s niece. Thirdly, despite what Blondie might believe, Gin will believe every word out of this girl’s mouth. She is his favourite niece, he loves her like she is his own daughter. Fourthly, and most importantly, he was utterly FUCKED. He was going to have to think up convincing excuses for why he was hooking up with Gin’s engaged niece; and for his callous treatment of both those girls by trying to abandon them at the barn.

He didn’t become a senior agent at Statesman riding coattails, Sugar. Jack analysed the situation at hand. In spite of their ugly spat, the two were clearly family. While Blondie might not care for that, she did. Leaving behind an unconscious but toxic cousin in the barn during a snowstorm with nothing but the warm clothes off one’s back was some serious tough love. She would want what’s best for her cousin, so maybe she could be persuaded not to rat her out publicly. They could keep the information under wraps just until he had finished his mission, and this fiasco would no longer be his concern.

But there was definitely more to the story with this Cole person. What if she did want this man and used this event as a way to sabotage Blondie’s wedding? The correct course of action is to escort this girl to her room and ensure she sleeps. Then he can waylay her before breakfast and talk her into secrecy, if she remains unconvinced she will be sleeping some more— only until the evening when he’s long gone. He sincerely hopes she agrees, he would hate to ruin her Christmas.

Jack hadn’t controlled his expression fast enough before she turned to look at him. He watched her features shift from awkward to defensive. How long had it been since he met someone so easy to read?

“The barn is heated, she'll be fine.” Sweetheart, he would leave Blondie there even if it wasn't heated.

“Oh, she'll be fine, but you won't. It's colder than a witch's tit out there. At least keep the scarf.”

“No, it's fine.”

Jack cocked his head into a look of disbelief, were you not trying to pull each other's hair out just moments ago?

“She’s not the worst. We were always compared growing up. I think it’s given her a lot of unresolved insecurities and trauma.”

He levelled a gently critical look at her. It was good to be kind, but he didn’t want her to be a pushover.

“She’s old enough to know better, Honey.”

Jack beckoned her along with a jerk of his head, it was best they hauled themselves back to the mansion as quickly as possible. She was already shivering and all she had on was a knit sweater. Jack considered sharing his jacket or holding her closer during their trek— his training ensured he could withstand extreme temperatures better than her. Jack reached the bottom of the knoll having made his decision, it was only polite to offer, at worst she would turn her nose up at him. He turned around, arm outstretched to pull her closer, only to find she hadn’t even bothered following him. His jaw ticked in frustration, can nothing go his way for once?

Jack spied her walking in the opposite direction, away from the mansion. Was she directionally challenged? He felt the wind pick up, encouraging him to just go back alone. He took a deep breath, cold needled his lungs and his throat felt scratchy. Snow shrouded him and he couldn’t quite remember what being warm felt like. He watched her disappear over the other side of the knoll before following her. He couldn’t just let her stroll around in the dark during a storm. It was getting difficult to hear now with the wind howling, and he could just make out her figure ahead. The cold pierced through his hair and numbed his scalp. Hair? He lost his damn Stetson. He whipped around to see his hat rolling away in the air. His throat burned from exertion, cold and anger. He looked back to see he had lost sight of her in the dark. He had also lost sight of the hat.

Jack ran in her general direction kicking up the snow behind him until he caught up with her huddled form trudging across the field. He stopped her with a hand on her elbow.

“The mansion is the opposite way. It’s”— two of his fingers pointing behind her—“that way.”

“Oh, I know. I’m not going back tonight. Thanks though. Goodnight.” Goodnight? It most certainly was not. Jack raised both his eyebrows hoping they would push away his rising irritation. She had already walked away from him before he could say more. He had no choice but to follow, fighting against the force of the gale as he did so. Thankfully, they approached a cabin just behind the bend. Reluctantly, he would give credit to her quick thinking— the walk to the cabin was a much shorter one than the one back to the mansion.

It was a relief to enter and finally close the door behind him, even if the heaters had not been turned on. The lights were out, and the cabin seemed unoccupied. She turned around abruptly when the door shut, looking at him alarmed.

“How did you get here?” Did she really not notice him following her? Her survival skills needed some work. Gin needs to give this girl some self-defense training, or at least train her to be more aware of her surroundings. It was hard enough being a woman, and to be defenseless on top of it? Unacceptable.

“Followed you. It’s not smart to walk around in the dark. We’ll stay here until the storm dies out.” Jack fiddled with the temperature controls in the entryway. The heaters turned on with a groan and rumble. He felt his limbs sting while trying to defrost, and his ears still burned from the cold.

“But there’s only one bed.” Jack turned to face her. He saw her, properly, for the first time. He hadn’t paid too much attention when they had been introduced before dinner, but she looked lovely. Her features were a harmonious blend of soft and sharp with full brows, gracefully high cheekbones, a rounded button nose, plump cheeks, and the most kissable pair of lips lined by an exquisitely sharp cupid’s bow framed by a very tiny freckle to its left. Her eyes reminded him of warm mulled wine. And they seemed larger as she gazed up at him from behind the frames. She looked so tooth-achingly sweet, and a damn pain in the ass. Only one bed, my ass. So, they’ll share, like adults. He’s not risking his back on the floor unless it’s a life-threatening situation. Or she’s welcome to take the floor.

“I’ll take the floor.” He had NOT meant to say that. But he couldn’t say more when her shoulders slumped in relief. Jack warmed his hands by the radiator, currently, it only felt like three mouths blowing out warm air onto them. Hopefully, it heats the place before he has to lie down on the ground. Having learned his lesson, Jack herded her to the bathroom with a hand on the small of her back. He propped her up against the bathroom vanity as he rifled through the bathroom cabinets for a first aid kit.

“Blondie scratched you up good. Let’s see—”

“You don’t remember her name do you?” He would not answer that.

“You don’t remember mine either.” Jack searched her face for offence or censure, only to find twinkling eyes and quiet amusement.

“I was introduced to a lot of people tonight.” He offered as excuse.

He reached out his hand between them for her to take, “I’m Jack, Jack Daniels.”

She gave a firm handshake, her hands were still freezing. To her credit, she did not snort at his name, “I’m Shirley, Shirley Temple.”

“Sure you are, Sugar.” He chuckled.

“Is Jack Daniels really your honest-to-God, legal name?” She sounded curious but there was also a teasing lilt to her voice. He wet a cloth under the tap, then wrung out the excess water.

“Yup, was named after my grandpa Jackson. My folks realised the joke after the ink on the birth certificate had dried.” His father had been a narcissist who wanted to name his kid after his favourite alcohol. He didn’t have grandparents. Jack gently wiped at the scratches on her neck.

“My name is Marley Herer Davis.” She turned her head so Jack could clean the blood by her temple.

“Davis? I thought your father and Matthew were brothers.” Gin’s family name was Brown— Matthew Brown.

“I wasn’t given the family name. I was conceived on the campgrounds of Davis Mountains State Park, under the stars as God and my parents intended, I’m sure.” Her giggles were interrupted by a hiss as he dabbed the antibiotic ointment over the cut on her cheek. Blondie had gone for the face, thankfully it won’t scar.

“Yeah? Where’s Herer from?” He checked her hands for injuries, making sure she hadn’t hurt herself throwing that last punch.

“Their favourite strain of weed, duh.”

Jack huffed an amused laugh, “Don’t tell me Marley is for Bob Marley.”

“Oh, but it is. Their favourite artist.” Oh Lord, she was entirely serious.

Jack stared down at her, unable to react. He had hated his full name and dreaded every occasion it would be used. He had gone through high school as Jay. It had been years into his job at Statesman that he reprised his legal name— leaned into the gimmick of it.

She offered a chirpy explanation, “My parents were hippies.” Yeah, he figured.

“We should do something about your wound too.” She gestured vaguely at her neck. Ah, the hickey.

“It can’t be that bad.” Jack checked in the mirror. It was worse. There was a lump on the side of his throat. He stared at himself in abject horror, hoping he had packed a turtleneck.

“Maybe we can massage it away?” She asked with a grimace, entirely unsure about the prospect as he was. This bruise was going to be gnarly anyway. But he offered her his neck.

“I’m not touching it until it's washed.” She extracted the washcloth from his hands and gave a rough, wet scrub at his neck.

“OW!” An expression of injustice more than hurt. He had tried to be so gentle with her. She gave him a chastising glare. He tried to hold back a smile, she looked like an irate school teacher with her scrunched brows and pursed lips. He was tempted to kiss the scowl off her face. Or not. He was not tempted.

She fished out some cream from behind the mirror, it smelled strongly of jasmine. Jack wasn’t a fan, but it was too late to say anything when a small dollop was already smeared on his throat. Maybe they should have disinfected it first. She pressed both her thumbs to the bruise, and the rest of her hands framed his neck but instead of choking him, as he was used to, they gently cradled. Even as he closed his eyes to avoid meeting hers, he could not escape the intimacy of the moment.

“Do you have a nickname you prefer to go by, Sugar?”

“Nope. Been Marley all my life, didn’t mind it.”

“What about you, Jack? Another name you find more comfortable?”

“Wouldn’t mind being called the odd Sugar Britches.”

Marley snorted, he felt her warm breath under his jaw. “Oh is that right, Darlin’”

Jack cracked open a single eye to fix a reproachful gaze on her, “That was quite possibly the worst Southern drawl, never do that again.” This time Jack did not hold back a smile at her laughter. He felt warm. Must be the heaters working.

The heaters were, in fact, not working. The cabin was certainly warmer but he could hear her teeth chattering even when she tucked herself in bed. Jack got comfortable on an armchair by the window that faced the bed, they had found extra pillows and blankets for him.

“You know, um, it’s okay if you joined the bed. It’s big enough for the both of us.” Marley was worrying her lower lip between her teeth either from discomfort at sharing the bed with him or to stop her teeth from being noisy. She demurely turned back a side of the blanket in invitation, patting the bed for extra measure.

“You’re sure?” He didn’t move to stand until he had a confirmation. She nodded. Jack pulled his t-shirt over his head, leaving it on the armchair, before joining her under the covers.

“You’re going to sleep shirtless? In this weather?”

“Hush, it’s how body heat is shared, c’mere.” He pulled her into his arms without waiting for a response. He placed an arm under her head, the other arm wrapped around her waist, holding her flush against him. Marley shuffled closer still, her head nestling into his shoulder, her hands coming around his waist— icy fingers splayed across his back— and her feet tucked under his. He felt her relax with a sigh while they basked in the warmth of each other.

Marley’s hands unwrapped from around him and reached under her pillow. He instantly missed the weight of them. She pulled out two individually wrapped brownies.

Jack reared back, “You had brownies on you this whole time and you hid them under the pillows?”

“Well, I’m sharing now, it’s a peace offering.” Her tone was appropriately placating.

“I know you might not want to talk about what happened in the barn, but you know I will have to tell my family.” She continued.

“It didn’t mean anything.” But his words held no value. It was still wrong.

Jack bit into his piece of brownie, it was the best he had ever had the pleasure of tasting— a delightfully gooey, fudgy centre with the perfect flakey top. Marley followed his lead, thoughtfully chewing before she continued the conversation.

“It was still wrong—”

“This is delicious, by the way.”

“—Livvy is going to be married in a few days. It’s still cheating. Uncle Matthew is going to be very mad at you.” He reached for the crumb she dropped on his chest and popped it into his mouth.

“Please don’t drop crumbs, I don’t want to wake up to creepy crawlies in our bed. And, yes, your Uncle will be very upset with me. Your entire family, I suppose.”

“It’s winter, shouldn’t the creepy crawlies be hibernating? And don’t worry. It won’t be too bad for you, not everybody is going to believe me.”

“You ever seen one of those house centipedes come fall—”

“Please don't, it'll give me nightmares.” She interrupted with a shudder of fear.

“Then why tell people if they won’t believe you?” Jack pulled her closer than before, tucking her face in his neck. She smelled of sugar cookies, brownies and a faint blend of spices.

“‘s my ex-fiancé. He was cheating on me, everyone knew. Nobody told me. They just laughed, made fun of me for trying to make it work. Somebody should have told me.” She mumbled into his skin. Jack felt a single tear sear into his skin. But it only burned because his skin was still chilly, at most, he only felt sorry for her. If he ever found that scum…

Jack closed his eyes softly patting her head and stroking her hair, consoling and comforting while he dreamed up ways to torture her ex.

Marley blinked awake weightless, serene, and a little unsure of her surroundings until she recognised the dark, exposed beams in the ceiling. She kicked at her comforter, it was keeping her from floating up to the beams.

“SSHHHH. DON’T MOVE.” The comforter was screaming at her.

“WE HAVE TO KEEP QUIET. SOMEONE’S HERE. THEY’RE OUTSIDE WE HAVE TO HIDE.” Jack was a comforter?

“What happened? Why are you screaming?” He felt smooth under her fingers— velvety like orchid petals or carnations. Her words were still a bit slurred from sleep.

“I’M NOT SCREAMING. YOU ARE SCREAMING! YOU ARE GOING TO GIVE AWAY OUR LOCATION.”

Her hand came up to fist his hair, pulling his head up from her neck where he was screaming into her ear. His eyes were wild and paranoid, darting around for signs of danger. Jack refused to be pulled farther away, hunkering down over her form like a soldier falls over a live grenade— knocking the wind out of her. Oh no, she must have grabbed the brownies from Grandma Marge’s stack. Grandma had said she was working on some great edibles to get through the wedding; and they seemed potent, all right.

“We gotta whisper, Jack. We gotta whisper so they don’t hear us.” He didn’t look like he was quite understanding her.

“I’ll protect you from them.” Thankfully his words came out in a hushed whisper that felt like being gently tickled by a leaf. Like in the cartoons, Marley giggled.

“We gotta hide, in the kitchen.”

She nodded sagely in response, “Great idea. And then we can eat.” Her stomach felt like it was suctioning, there was a vacuum whirring inside her and it was going over the walls of her belly.

“Okay, get down, and then crawl. Body flat, don’t use your knees. Just the elbows.”

Marley imagined herself gliding down to the floor and crawling as gracefully as a cat, but her body refused to cooperate. Instead, she slid off the bed like a melting clock in one of Dali’s works. Those were so funny, they looked how she felt— wrung out.

These were some really pretty floors, how come she hadn’t noticed them before? The wood pattern was rippling, and Marley was getting very tired of trying to wade to the kitchen. It was to the right, she knew, it’s just past the bathroom door, to the right. She just had to crawl like a little alligator and turn right, but it just wasn’t the right moment. Jack caught up to her, lifting his torso into a beautiful cobra pose that would give any Yogi a run for their money.

“How far is the damn kitchen?”

“Just to the right, Sir,” Marley informed him with all the aplomb of a young cadet, “But I can’t do it, Jack. I don’t know how to baby crawl turn to the right… HOW do babies change direction?” She didn't know whether she should laugh or cry, what if she was never able to take a turn ever again?

“Baby crawl?— You were su— supposed to army crawl. Like the soldiers—” His words were punctuated with laughter. He was so cute.

“We’ll never make it if you baby crawl, it’s too far”—He giggled some more—“I was telling you that.”

“Well, I can’t hear you if I can’t see you, silly,” the floor was starting to feel like jello, it was so comfortable, “they won't check the floor for us, the people outside.”

“They need the floor to walk though?” Jack joined her to float on the floor.

“They need to walk? Pussies. Real men”—Marley snorts—“real men levitate.”

They both snickered at that.

“I can take ‘em, Jack. Not afraid of any walkers.”

“Who”—Jack was lazily pawing at her sweater, caressing it like one would a puppy—“Who’s Walker?”

“The people looking for us, duh. Where are they? We’re gonna look for them. I’ll protect you, Princess.”

He gave her a heart-stopping, crinkly-eyed, crooked smile, squinting up at her with his straight teeth and dimples on display.

“I’m a princess?”

“The prettiest.”

Jack tittered, and both his hands came up to cover his face as he turned it sideways towards the floor in a surprising show of bashfulness, “They’re outside the window, watchin’ us,” he mumbled.

Marley shot up to look outside looking for anybody lurking and just as quickly dropped down again. There really was someone outside! Marley made a fist, testing her grip before she planned how to throw her punch. Oh God, this wasn't gonna go well, her body was just so… smush.

“Wrist straight, keep your thumb out, throw your weight into it, baby.” Baby, he called her baby. Marley bolstered herself, she will protect Jack.

It all happened so slowly, her hand was flying to… the window! That was her reflection, her hand was going to punch the glass. She could already feel her hand hurt and it hadn't even hit yet. Suddenly, she was Professor X trying to mind-control her arm back but it wouldn't turn around. Marley could feel the tears coming on, she had lost the power to turn, and she could only go straight for the rest of her life. What if someone calls out to her from behind and she can't turn around? Like Uncle Matthew, or a barista? Should she start sidewalking? She's going to look like a crab!

Before her hand could hit the window, her fist was covered by both of Jack’s hands— like a patty between burger buns. Ugh, she's starving. Was he so fast? Or was she that slow? He turned to her with large twinkling doe eyes, brows furrowed and lines running across his forehead.

“You can't protect me. I protect you, that's m’job.” He gently squeezed her hand between his, just touching him felt so good. But she muscled out a single finger from his grasp to point at the window.

“Jack, I don't think there's anybody out there. It’s our reflection, silly.”

He looked at the window like it was a misbehaving child.

“Oh.”—He burst into laughter, pulling her hand along with both of his to muffle it—“ That was SO stupid of me.”

Jack turned to her with a look of triumph, “I figured out how to turn into the kitchen though…”

He turned his face up in a smug satisfaction, it didn’t help that she looked up at him like he was the second coming of Christ.

“We can just walk!” He declared. Comedy gold. Of course, they could.

They were still falling over in convulsions when they reached the kitchen and found the fully stocked pantry.

“This is some fancy cabin,” Jack noticed. For a moment, they both stared at the food boxes like Santa had personally deposited them down the chimney before breaking into the most gourmet meal.

Frozen grapes with toasted Pop-Tarts? The mix of hot and cold was a drug in itself. Sweet canned pineapple with Takis? Delicious. Apples and peanut butter? Classic. It was as if they had found the Holy Grail when Jack discovered the jalapeño poppers and cheesy garlic bread in the freezer. They had demolished some buttered-up toast before Jack claimed to be ‘worn slap out’— whatever that meant, she hadn’t slapped him.

But nobody should have to sleep without a bowl of cereal in their tummy, not if Marley had anything to do about it. So, she made him one of her specials. And he had the utter and unmitigated gall to call her a psychopath for warming up her cereal in the microwave. But as they sat, foreheads almost touching, sharing a warm bowl of soggy plain cornflakes topped with bananas and a drizzle of honey, shivering when an odd draft of cool air attacked them from an unsuspecting crevice, she realised it was, quite possibly, better than sex.

“It ain’t better than sex. It’s divine, but better than sex? Me thinks not.” Jack responded. Had she said that out loud?

“You moaned it out loud, Honey.”

“It’s better than most sex, at least.” It definitely was. She didn’t know what kind of sex he was having, but she couldn’t remember a sex encounter better than this bowl of cereal. And wasn’t that just so sad?

“Hey, baby, don’t cry. It’s good cereal. It’s an amazing fucking bowl of cereal.”

“When did you have sex that was better than this cereal?” She wanted to know. Nay, needed to know; what was it like?

That gave Jack a pause, and he really thought about it. Then he thought about it some more. And some more. He hit her spoon with his when she impatiently went back to eating without waiting for his response. It was so very difficult to recollect.

“You know, I can’t remember if I ever had sex that good.” He admitted and it was a little sobering.

“SEE! There just isn’t sex better than this.” Marley felt victorious.

“NO, no, there has to be. Like, no way a cereal— no matter how good— beats sex. IT JUST CAN’T!” Jack was scowling at her, lips turned down in the most petulant pout.

“Did you know cornflakes were invented to stop sex and masturbation?” A fun nugget of information. But as Marley looked at his bottom lip still sticking out in an irresistible little moue, she had to admit that it was a shit fucking invention. Shit fucking, HAHAHA. Nothing about this bowl of good fucking cereal made her not want to kiss Jack.

“Did it?” Jack wasn’t meeting her eyes. He was too busy looking at her lips. Were they about to kiss right now?

“What?” Her voice was nothing more than a breathy whisper.

“Stop sex and masturbation?” It obviously didn’t, idiot. Because Marley was leaning in now, grasping onto the bowl of cereal so it wouldn’t spill. Jack was pulled towards her with a force that defied gravity, it tugged so strongly within him— if she were in space, he’d be untethered to Earth.

It was the worst kiss. There were too many molecules between them. Jack ended up sucking on air, and Marley kissed his lips just to the left. Their trajectories not aligning despite the pull between them. They tried again but only achieved a warm pressing of mouths through which they both waited, eyes wide open, for the kiss to happen— but their lips seemed incapable of moving.

It only spurred more laughter before they returned to alternating spoonfuls of the cereal into their mouths. Still, Marley thought, there was an odd sense of depression when you have climbed the tallest mountain and there are no other taller mountains. Because what next? Similarly, it was depressing to know that this cereal was better than sex. Because what next?

“Was that asshole cheating ex of yours any good in bed?”

“Hmmm… I don’t know. I think I was bad at it. Never felt attracted to him that way. We grew up together, all three of us. We were best friends.” Her gaze was far away, and there was such a heart-breakingly forlorn note to her voice that made Jack want to rearrange his organs to make a small nook for her and fold her in there— somewhere just under his ribs where she would be snug and secure.

“Love’s great and all. But I didn’t love him, ya know? It was a family arrangement. That’s why it’s so hurtful. I was just trying to make it work for our friendship. I didn’t care that they slept with each other. But I”—this time Jack did hold her, snotty tears and wobbly limbs. And when his skin touched hers, he found that if he tried hard enough, he could burrow her under his skin—“I had to catch them in action, at his office. While I was bringing him lunch. It was humiliating. And some of his other friends were there. They looked at me so gleefully, watching to see how I would react. To see if there would be a catfight.”

“Well fuck them, Honey. You deserve better and those fuckers will get what’s coming to them.” And he meant every word. Jack didn’t understand how anybody could have someone so sweet, caring and kind in their lives and then betray them so ruthlessly.

“I don’t know, they’re getting married in a few days. And I kinda hope they’re happy together. All this fucking pain and hurt isn’t worth shit if they’re not happy together at the end.” Marley pulled out of his arms and walked away, seemingly done talking about it. The bed was looking so inviting, her eyes half-mast with fast-approaching slumber.

“Oh My God, it’s that Blondie cousin of yours. Your cheating ex-fiancé is marrying your cousin.”— The realisation struck him like the first spray of cold water from a shower before the hot water spurts, and in this case, he was blazing with rage—“What did your family say? Why didn’t they put an end to this?”

“What would they say? It’s a business deal. Doesn’t matter if they swap out one sister for another. Her parents gloated about it, that their daughter caught Cole’s eye.”

“What about your Uncle Matthew? Why didn’t he say anything?” Jack was feeling belligerent and foul. His face scrunched up like there was a perpetual bad smell in the room. How come nobody stood up for this girl? Put Blondie and her parents in place? Maybe her revealing what she saw in the barn wasn’t a bad idea, after all. Fuck this mission, it wasn’t going anywhere anyways.

“Uncle Matthew was away.”—He was probably on a mission, Jack guessed, nothing else would have kept him from her at a time like that—“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to make this bigger. After my parents passed away, Livvy’s parents took me in. I should be grateful. I didn’t have any other family willing to take care of me. Until my grandparents took me in, that is.” Marley discovered the TV remote, fighting off her sleep to switch through the channels.

Even if he wanted to ask her more, Jack was unable to form any words around the heaviness in his throat. He would ensure that asshole ex of hers and that cousin got a little comeuppance before he left. But the thought of administering his personal dose of justice wasn’t as cheering as he thought it would be. He would protect her and avenge her tomorrow, but what about after he left? As he settled in bed, tucking Marley into his side, pulling her leg over his waist, he registered her warmth. She was burning him, not his skin, but somewhere deeper within him that Jack suspected he would never be able to extract her from. And the thought was terrifying.

“The fuck is an aglet?” Jack was pulled out of his existential spiral by some triangle-headed cartoon singing about… shoelaces. Huh. Jack had always believed cartoons were for kids, but this stuff? This stuff is brilliant. He needed to pass Ginger some of these ideas. Delete-From-My-Mind-Inator could solve world problems. A Chicken-Replace-Inator? It could save a life! Zap yourself when you’re stuck in a sticky situation and instantly be replaced by the nearest chicken— way better to be in a coop than a coup! Genius. And they NEEDED one of those Football X-7 Stadiums Phineas and Ferb built. This stuff could change Statesman. Why weren’t they using more money to fund this type of research and development? Truly, the only reason so many people can’t think outside the box is because they invented their own box. Not Ginger, though, she could do stuff like this. This time, Jack slept to the thoughts of recruiting Perry the Platypus to Statesman, Dr Doof and Mustache-Inator competing with his mustache.

Series Index

Part 2

[shannendoherty-fans]

February 25, 1995 - Hello Magazine. Photos by Jadran Lazic.

Shannen Doherty in her Hollywood Home.

Beverly Hills 90210's bad girl turns over a new leaf

Since she left school in Tennessee to begin her acting career in 1981 at the tender age of ten, Shannen Doherty achieved early fame through Little House On The Prairie and went on to superstardom with her role as Brenda Walsh in Beverly Hills 90210, which she played for four years before leaving in unhappy circumstances. Along with her fame came a reputation as a partygoing wild young thing.

But, despite rumours about her tempestuous nature and off-screen temper tantrums, American television viewers have flooded producer Aaron Spelling with letters demanding her return to the series.

Shannen will be returning to Beverly hills 90210 to make a guest appearance, but in the meantime she has traded her tight jeans for feminine bustiers and demure new look for her role as Margaret Mitchell, author of Gone with the Wind, in a new television film about the faous writer's life.

Another part of her past that Shannen is ore than happy to leave behind is her involvement in several well-published arguments with boyfriends.

Shannen has been engaged twice – first to Christoper Foufas and then to Dean Factor, heir to the Max Factor Fortune.

then, in September 1993, after a very swift courtship, she married Ashley Hamilton, son of actor George Hamilton. Their marriage broke down just five months later, but Shannen can now recognise that she learned something positive from that most difficult episode.

Meeting her current boyfriend, 27-year-old director and producer, Rob weiss,seems to have marked a major change in her life. Heis rumoured to be the director of a forthcoming Oliver Stone production based on the Bret Easton Ellis novel, American Psycho.

After dating Rob for a year, Shannen now leads a much calmet lifestyle and spends much more time in her beautiful home in the Hollywood hills. it was there that the petite, raven-haired actress spoke to us about her new-found tranquility and her hopes for the future.

You started acting when you were only ten, do you ever regret that you started so early in your life?

"Yes, because I missed going to regular school and having classmates. I used to learn on the set with a tutor, so I was constantly in the company of adults. I didn't have a normal childhood and I am sorry about that."

Michael Landon produced the series Father Murphy in which you appeared, then he hored you to play Jenny Wilder in The Little House on the Prairie. Was he a very important person in your life?

"He was my mentor, my idel. Michael was like a second father to me. He was the most gentle man I have ever met. I can sincerely say that he was my teacher and my guide."

Did you enjoy working on your recent portrayal of Margaret Mitchell, the author of Gone With the Wind?

"I was so happy to get the part, as she had always fascinated me. And i must admit it was great fun to dress up in the very feminine costumes of that period. I read everything I could find about Margaret Mitchell. To learn her southern accent I went to live in North Carolina for a month before we started shooting so I could be among people who spoke that way. I also worked with a dialect coach."

What are you working on now?

"My boyfriend is going to direct a movie and I'm going to play in it. But I won't say any more becuase the project is in its early stages."

Do you prefer working in film rather than television?

"Yes, that's my plan. I want to get my own production company rolling and start developing and producing my own things. I want to continue to be an actress, but only to play the roles that excite me."

Can you tell us a little more about your boyfriend, Rob Weiss?

"He makes me happy. He has a lots of ambitions, a lot of drive,and he has a lot to teach me. Rob learns a lot from me, too. It's a very supportive relationship and it gives me a stable and happy environment."

Was meeting Rob a turning point in your life?

"Without any doubt. But to be honest with you. I've grown up a lotin the past year. I am stringer and I have got out of two bad situations."

Would you like to elaborate on those bad times?

"I'm talking about Beverly Hills 90210 where I was unhappy in my last two years with the show. Then there was my marriage to Ashley Hamilton in which I was even more unhappy."

Do you feel that your marriage was a mistake?

"Yes, it was. I know that each experience teaches you something and I have learned a lot from that one, but living through it was very difficult. I knew on my wedding day that it was a mistake, and I went through that whole day knowing in my head that I really shouldn't have gone ahead with it."

Then why did you marry Ashley?

"Because all of my friends around me kept pushing ,e to get married. 'Go ahead, do it! Do it!' they would say. I couldn't back down. So I did it. a month after our marriage I found out that Ashley had many problems that I had not been aware of. I loved him because I thought he had a good heart. But there are so many kinds of love. Now that I am really 'in love' with Rob, I know the difference."

You seem to have a very good relationship with Rob?

"Exactly. Since we are also close friends, we understand and learn from each other."

Do you forsee a wedding in the near future?

"Oh, it's a good way off yet. Right now I want to concentrate on my career."

Are you a little scared to try marriage again?

"A little. I have only known Rob for a year. We need more time to learn more about each other. But I am not against marrying again. And the next time I get married I would like it to last forever. So I'm not going to ruch things. I'm being smart and taking one day at a time."

Can you talk about the problems that you had on Beverly Hills 90210?

"The first two years were great. We were a bunch of young actors who became good friends, we were happy. My character, Brenda Walsh, was fascinating.

"Then Brenda changed and I did not like the character I was protraying any more because the writers and producers made her less interesting to me. She seemed to have far less range, the character wasn't challenging me as an actress. So I asked to quit. But I was under contract and they didn't let me leave for another two years."

How did you manage to work so long in a situation you didn't like?

"To a certain extent those two years felt as if I were serving a prison sentence! But some of the people were really nice and I leanred a lot from the experience."

In what ways have you changed since you left the series last spring?

"I'm more patient, more mature. Don't forget that at the beginning of the series I became suddenly famous. I didn't understand how to deal with fame. It was a huge responsability that I was uable to cope with at the time.

"I was probably too young and too naive, to handle the unhappy situations. Today I am stronger. I have a certain inner peace that allows me to deal with anything."

With your experiencem if you had children would you want them to go into acting?

"No. I'll never have my child in this business."

We've so often heard you described as a tempestuous wild-child. Could you describe the real Shannen?

"I am quite a nice person. I was lucky to have great parents who brought me up well. When I read nasty things about myself, even though they were 90 per cent untrue, they hurt terribly. It was an insult to my parents who do not deserve to hear that their daughter was so naughty. Especially as I wasn't."

How do you cope with the stories?

"You just have to deal with it the best you can. You start by getting angry and wanting to change things. But it doesn't work that way. so you have to learn to live with all the stories. I was never ableto stop them anyway.

"Now I am strong, very ambitious and I think I also have a good heart. My good friends can attest to that. I like to hel`p people and I am a good loyal friend.

What do you like to do when you're not working?

"I love cooking. And I love shopping, that's my downfall! But I am also very wise and I give myself just so much money to spend each week."

What kind of clothes do you like to wear?

"At home I wear mostly jeans and T-shirts, things that are comfortable. But when I go out at night I like to wear flowing long dresses. I like to look very feminine."

You used to be seen at all the hot nightclubs but more recently you've left that scene alone. What happened?

"Now I stay here in the evenings with my boyfriend. We cook, we eat, we read, we listen to music. We are happy at home alone. We are in love and it's pretty frightening, we are a bit like an old married couple! I know exactly what he's going to say and he knows exactly how I'm going to react to something. We can predict almost everything about one aother, which is actually great. It's very comfprtable."

If you could change anything about yourself now what would it be?

"I want to stop smoking. I always promised to myself that I would. I also want to take better care of myself. I adore cheeseburgers and French fries, they're my daily lunch and I know it's bad.

"Apart from that I don't think I would change anything. I like myself. My parents and my brother Sean like me too. I'm happy. I can0t ask for anything more."

Interview: Christopher Monroe.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

use a photo on your phone camera roll and write a quick scene/hc for it

Hi Nonnie!!! Funny story, the last time I wrote for these two, I was on pain meds for a tonsillectomy. Now, I've got Covid and I'm awake at 4:19am posting this story. I hope you enjoy!!

Title: My Little Strawberry 

Rating: Mature, 18+, Minors - DNI 

Pairing: Syverson x Black!Reader (Peaches) 

Fandom: Sand Castle 

Word Count: 556 

Summary: A follow-up to Shape Up. Sy has a conversation with his baby girl while she’s still in your stomach. 

Warnings: mention of creampie, sexy fluff?, mention of oral sex (f receiving) 

A/N: Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.  

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics 

Support/Reblog banner by me

My Masterlist 

“There she is. Eating her breakfast. Looking mighty fine as usual.” Sy walks up to you and kisses the side of your head. 

“Whatchu want, boy?” You smile up at him through your lashes. 

“I ain’t want nothing at all, Peaches,” Sy holds your chin and gives you a peck on the lips, “But there is one thing I had to talk to Strawberry about.” 

“Strawberry?” Your cute little eyebrows scrunch up in confusion and Sy turns your chair around to face him as he laughs. 

He runs his hand over your swollen six-month-pregnant belly before kneeling to talk to it. “Hey there, Strawberry. How’s Daddy's little girl?” 

“I see you stuck with the fruit theme. And since I’ve been eating strawberries for months now, you named her after my craving?” You could barely hold in your laughter at your husband’s tenderness. 

“I don’t know. It seemed perfect. And I know she’s gon’ be sweet if she’s half you,” Sy planted a kiss on your belly before standing up to his full height. “And since she’s half me, I apologize in advance for her temper.” 

“I knew what I was getting into when I wouldn’t let you pull out, you know that right?” You bite your lip and wink at him. 

“And I knew what you were doing when you turned on Tennessee Whiskey and poured me two fingers of Jack. And you were wearing that damn sundress with the little yellow flowers on it. Pretty as a picture.” Sy remembers the night you made Strawberry fondly. 

“So, what did you have to talk to Strawberry about, baby?” Popping a sliced piece of fruit in your mouth, you chew and wait for Sy to start talking to the baby. 

“Alright, Strawberry, so look. Mama here has been such a sweetheart. She has given you a nice first apartment while continuing to take care of your old man. So, I was thinking of getting her a little something. And I wanted your opinion on it,” Sy leaned in to whisper into your belly so you couldn’t hear, then turned to place his ear close to listen to what the baby says. When he leans back, a smile paints his features. 

“Well? What did she say?” You ask, more than invested in Sy’s little conversation with the baby. 

“She told me to thank you for taking care of her and me. And she told me to make sure I pay attention to you when you’re being ornery because that just means you need a firmer hand.” Sy rubs the sides of your belly. Moving his hands up to your waist and then further up your sides to cup your face. 

“She said all that?” Your eyes close as he rubs a thumb over your cheek, already feeling warmth rise under your skin. 

“She did. She also said I could probably take you upstairs right now and have my way with you. But I’m gon’ let you finish your breakfast first.” Sy sits next to you, picking up your fork and feeding you. 

You take the offered bite and get up from the table, picking up the bowl of sliced strawberries. “C’mon, I can eat these in bed while you eat me in bed.” Winking again, you turn to scurry up the steps with Sy on your heels. 

**Taglist**

@brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25 @kebabgirl67 @thabiddie23 @astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry @rebelangel1102 @raccoon-eyed-rebel @geralts-yenn @peyton-warren

[cowgurrrl]

This is incredibly random but it made me think of you; Oh, how I want my rockstar husband Joel to sing Tennessee Whiskey to me..🫠

Saphy, thank you for your patience and your beautiful brain

Tennessee Whiskey

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: PS sorry this took so long to finish

Summary: A (somewhat) quiet night as you and Joel adjust to sharing life again [1.2k]

Warnings: the tiniest reference to spice, regret, longing, oh they’re so in love and sweet

Since your temporary break from accepting new projects, you and Joel have been together as much as humanely possible. You have a whole year to catch up on, and he's taken every opportunity to spend time with you. Movie nights with Ellie and Sarah (even though she has her own dorm), beautiful, candle-lit dinners at some of LA's best restaurants, walks with Daisy, sleepovers, all of it. But tonight, Sarah is studying for a midterm, and Ellie is seeing a movie with her friends Dina and Jesse, leaving you and Joel alone in the house. Well, Daisy's there too, but she's much quieter than the girls. 

He promised to make you a homemade meal but refused your help, delegating you to sit on the island and drink wine while he cooked. The gold necklace he's taken to wearing since you've been gone peeks out from his collar, and a flush of heat rushes through you as you remember the way it swung in your face earlier in the day. He catches you staring and smirks as he tosses a towel over his shoulder. "See somethin' you like?" He asks, and you shake your head, hiding your blush as you sip wine.

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" He parrots. You roll your eyes and rest your hands on the counter. He raises his eyebrows like he's waiting for an answer, and you smile.

"Yes, Joel, you're very nice to look at." You say, and he hums. He leans across the island to kiss you sweetly before turning back to the food. He seems very in his element in the kitchen and getting to add his own spin on the dishes. Watching him cook feels like you're getting to know another part of him. A very welcome part. Many of the people you've dated in the past haven't even owned a kitchen big enough to cook in, so you're perfectly fine being spoiled. 

"Now, I'm not a fancy chef or anythin' like that, but I think you'll like this." He says as he puts the salmon in the oven, and you smile.

"I'm sure it'll be great." You reassure him, and he smiles before turning on the stove and filling a pan with vegetables you watched him cut earlier. You're about two glasses of wine in (on an empty stomach), and the room is spinning pleasantly. 

These nights are your favorite— devoid of watchful eyes and high-speed cameras. He smells like aftershave, and your body wash when you come up behind him while he cooks, wrapping your arms around his middle and kissing the curve of his spine. His hand covers yours as he sautés the vegetables and hums a familiar tune. You put your wine glass on the counter and let yourself fully rest against Joel. The vibration of his humming thrums through your chest, and you rest your chin on his shoulder. 

"You still owe me a song, Miller." You mumble, and he laughs. 

"I wrote you a whole album of songs." He says, and you roll your eyes. 

"Yeah, but I haven't gotten a real-life Joel Miller serenade yet."

"I was just on tour."

"I was in Ireland, remember?" You ask, and he takes a deep breath like he doesn't want to be reminded of that time. The tour was only in North America, and you weren't in a space, in your work or emotions, to come back to see him. You wish you would've. He wishes he would've come to Europe. You wish you would've gotten to this place of reconciliation and forgiveness sooner. There's no lingering frustration on either side of how things ended, but there's a lot of grief. The air shifts between you, and he swallows thickly. He squeezes your hand a little harder, and you kiss his jaw. "'M here. I'm here now."

"I know." He says as he turns off the knob and moves the sautéed vegetables to a cooler part of the stove. You open your mouth to say something about the ridiculously high heat he had the burner on, but he cups your face and kisses you before you can. "You're here." He whispers, pulling back just enough to kiss you again and again and again. He hums against you, and your hands rest on his waist as he slowly sways with you in the kitchen.

Then, slowly and quietly, he starts singing to you. You were never one for Chris Stapleton or most modern country music, but Tennessee Whiskey sounds so good when he sings it to you like this. He gives each note his full attention and spreads his breath perfectly across each lyric. You don't think many people were born to do many things, but you believe, deep in your soul, that Joel was born to be a singer. You bury your head in his neck to hide the tears pricking in your eyes. You're not sure why you're crying. It could be the wine, or how he's holding you, or the year you spent apart finally catching up to you. 

He kisses your temple and rubs your back as he sings. A tear falls down your cheek, and a wet nose nudges your knee as if she could hear the water trickling down your face. You laugh and see Daisy sitting at your feet, whining as she stares at you. You make a sympathetic noise and reach out to scratch her head to tell her you're okay. She doesn't seem satisfied with that, though. Without breaking focus, Joel bends down, scoops all forty pounds of Daisy into his arms, and lets her join in the slow circle you're dancing around the kitchen. She licks your tears away, and you giggle when she rests her head against Joel's chest, too, perfectly content to be babied. You and Daisy each get a kiss, and you take a deep breath to calm yourself down. He carefully places all four of Daisy's paws on the ground again before wrapping you in the biggest, most Joel Miller hug possible. 

"'M here. 'M not goin' anywhere." He says, and you nod into his shirt. "I love you." 

You've avoided saying the L word since you rekindled your relationship. Not because it wasn't still there but because you were afraid of rushing into anything too fast. The unspoken rule seems stupid now that the words are reverberating across your skull with a scarily easy acceptance. He loves you, and you love him. Enjoy it, dammit. 

"I love you, too," you whisper. "Thank you for singing to me."

"I'll sing to you whenever you want, honey."

"Whenever I want?" You ask, pulling back to look at him with a mischievous look. You expect him to try to rescind his statement and launch into a lighter conversation, but he doesn't. He cradles your face in his hands and nods.

"Whenever you want." He says with a kind of finality that makes your heart sing. You won't admit it for two more years, but in that moment, you both know he means forever, and for once, that doesn't scare the ever-loving shit out of you. You stare at him, searching his eyes for any signs of uncertainty or doubt but find none. All you see is love and total adoration. 

So, you nod in agreement, the closest you would get to promising yourself to him until your engagement, and say, "I could get used to whenever."