#kept out of trouble and scored points in his home race

[crowsflag]

gonna rewatch qualis and races oscar did well in to make myself feel better lol

[haveagarbageday]

Defeated \\ Charles Leclerc, Oscar Piastri, Jenson Button

summary: Charles and Oscar both fall in love with you, and they do their best to impress you. But you're not interested, and eventually they find out why.

additional info: Mercedes!driver!reader. Jenson won the vote, so here we are. No happy ending for Charles and Oscar. Anyway, I'm like a dog with a bone, I'm not letting that Webber idea go. So expect a story where Oscar loves reader, but he finds out she's with Mark.

warnings: age gap

After the whole adoption joke, the friendship of Charles and Oscar reached a new stage. Sure, they had been friends before, but this shifted the dynamic in the direction of something better, something based on mutual respect. They helped each other, they kept in touch outside race weekends too–to the point Oscar was often invited to family dinners since everyone took that joke far too seriously–and everything was great in general.

That’s until the beginning of the 2025 season. Mercedes announced your arrival the year before, but you were just another rookie, someone they didn’t know that well. But then you scored some precious points on your first race, and you kept up this exceptional performance, eventually challenging your teammate for higher positions. This caught their interest, although they weren’t alone. Many drivers looked at your twenty-two years old self as a little sister, someone they wanted to protect from the sport’s toxic environment.

But these two didn’t see you as a sister, far from that. They had a soft spot for you after getting to know you better, and without ever discussing it, they both started to flirt with you in their own ways. Oscar decided to befriend you first, giving himself the chance to talk to you even when you weren’t in the paddock together, he invited you to hang out with him, and he always made sure to sneak a few sentences that hinted at his intention into your conversations. Charles was more straightforward with his compliments, whether it was related to your driving or the way you looked that day, and he even brought you small gifts, always saying he just happened to think of you when he saw them.

They both noticed what the other was doing, which led to a cold war between the two of them, slowly poisoning their relationship, although they didn’t let it show. They kept talking on the race weekends, they didn’t unfollow each other on social media, but the tone of their conversations became a lot colder. But one day they decided to talk about this, and even though neither of them said it out loud that this was the reason for their meeting, deep down they both knew they had to discuss what they should do.

As they were sitting in the secluded corner of a café back home in Monaco, just a day before they were supposed to head to their next race weekend, Oscar let out a long sigh and took a sip of his coffee and looked over at the door when someone walked in. He wanted to figure out how to bring you up, how to shift the conversation about the upcoming race to you, about the situation they found themselves in.

But Charles seemed to be a step ahead of him, because he cleared his throat to get his attention, then went, “You like her, don’t you?”

The Aussie nodded, a small smile unintentionally creeping on his face at the thought of you. “I believe you feel the same,” he said after a short break.

“What’s not to like?” the fellow driver asked, and the younger man across from him nodded once again in agreement, muttering true under his breath. Charles unexpectedly let out a troubled sigh and leaned back in his chair, a hand now resting on the back of his neck. “I don’t know about you, but she keeps me at arm’s length. It’s like I’ve been friend zoned.”

Oscar’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “You too? I thought she was acting like this because she chose you,” he admitted.

His friend watched him with narrowed eyes, his brain in overdrive as he thought about the possible reasons. Did you have someone? Were you focusing on your job instead of looking for a relationship? It must be the latter, after all you had once told him you wanted to survive your first year without any kind of drama. You also said you were using Oscar as a reference point, because he managed to exist in this world with his private life mostly kept private.

“I wouldn’t be here if she chose me. I would spend every free moment with her, but she’s just not interested. What do we do now? I don’t want to forget her, I don’t know if I could,” he said.

The McLaren driver licked his lips and looked down at the cup in front of him. “Me neither. But what if we have no choice? We can’t force her to choose between us,” he began, stopping for a moment while he thought. “What if our attempts are futile and she wouldn’t pick either of us in the end? Maybe it’s time to admit we have no chance.”

Charles let out a laugh as he shook his head. “You can give up if you want, but I’ll keep trying.”

Despite their little competition being perfectly fine until now, Oscar felt the need to set some rules, just so their chances were even. He suggested the other man to tone it down a bit, to stop trying to buy your love with gifts, because those meant a lot to you, you had told him that yourself before. It’s not that he wasn’t ready to shower you with things your heart desired, he just didn’t think it was fair to manipulate you like this. But the Monegasque only laughed at this and said maybe it wasn't him who had to tone it down, maybe it was Oscar who had to step up his game.

Either way, you still didn’t show any interest in them, not romantically at least.

On one race weekend Jenson Button showed up, being there for Williams, but spending some time with Sky Sports too, doing interviews with a few of the drivers. Oscar was waiting for his turn not far from them, watching as you answered the questions with that big smile on your face, and he couldn’t help but smile himself, because it made him fall in love with you again.

Then he heard Jenson go, “I heard you felt a little sick this morning. Do you think it could affect your weekend?”

Your eyes widened, clearly surprised by the question, but it only lasted for a second, because you were quick to respond as calmly as you could. “I’m fine, maybe it’s just some dehydration, I’ll drink more, and I’ll be good as new,” you said with a small smile forced on your face.

After a few more questions it was a wrap for you, and you began to walk away, but Jenson excused himself and went after you, probably to apologize for bringing up your health problem when you hadn’t talked about it yet. As you said, it wasn’t serious, maybe there was no reason to mention it. Now, Oscar didn’t want to eavesdrop, he usually respected other people’s privacy, but neither of you noticed he was nearby, and you began to talk in a normal voice that made it impossible for him not to hear it without walking away.

“What the fuck was that? We agreed, everything that happens behind closed doors stays there,” you hissed angrily.

The Aussie had his suspicions, but maybe he was wrong, maybe it was just his imagination running wild. But when Jenson let out a sigh and raised his hands in defense, he knew his first instinct was right. “I thought we agreed that you would go to the medical center to figure out what this is. You said you didn’t, what was I supposed to do?” he asked.

You let out an incredulous laugh. “So what, pressuring me on air was the best you could come up with? I’m fine, I already told you, let’s just drop this.”

Jenson took a step closer to you, his hand slowly reaching out to touch you, but he changed his mind last minute. “All right, you’re right, it wasn’t fair. I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you tonight. How does that sound?” You watched him for a few seconds, then nodded. “Good, we’ll discuss the details later. Be a good girl until then.”

After you waved him goodbye and left, he returned to his place in front of the camera, and Oscar was finally told it was his turn. But after seeing this? There was no way he could keep his cool while talking to him, or at least it would take a lot more effort than usual. Now he knew why you weren’t interested in either him nor Charles, and this broke his heart. From all the people around them, you seriously had to pick someone so much older than you? Someone you couldn’t openly date?

In the afternoon, he sent a text to Charles, asking for an emergency meeting in the evening, and so now the two of them were sitting in his hotel room with a bottle of booze and two glasses in front of them. Oscar told his friend everything he had heard and seen that day, and they both became absolutely depressed, hitting the rock bottom by the end of the story. They tried to figure out what to do now, but they agreed that exposing your relationship would have been a terrible move, and they didn’t even feel like intervening.

“Do you think she loves him?” Charles asked with a sigh as he looked up at the ceiling.

Oscar shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, she was smiling so brightly, especially when she was talking to him. And Jenson brought up her sickness because he was worried about her, so maybe it’s a mutual feeling.”

Silence fell between them as it became obvious that they had no chance, not before either you or Jenson got bored of the other and broke up. Once they emptied the bottle, Charles stood up and said goodnight, deciding to go back to his own hotel room to get some proper sleep so he could focus the next day. “My heart is already broken, I don’t want my car to be broken too,” he told Oscar before leaving. It was painful, yes, but maybe they would have a chance to fight for you. Maybe one day you would realize that being in a relationship you could openly talk about was much better.

[lostinmirkwood]

Rinkside

Find it on AO3 here.

It’s not often that Arya gets to go to a hockey game anymore. Between classes for her Master’s degree, work, and the ticket prices it never seems to work out in her favor. But when Ned wins a pair of tickets to tonight’s Storm’s End Lightning game and offers to take her with him she jumps at the chance. Ned knew how much she loved hockey and she was ecstatic when he thought of her first to take with him.

“Want a beer?” he asks as they find their seats. She takes a moment to survey her surroundings, they weren’t the best seats in the house, but they were free.

“Sure, but just the one, and some popcorn too if it’s not too much trouble!” He smiles at her and takes off to get drinks and snacks for them before the game starts.

While waiting for the lights to dim and the music to start she looks around at the people that are slowly filling in around them. The sight of children bundled up like small marshmallows against the chill of the arena, their parents arms loaded with popcorn and sodas makes her smile at the memories of going to games with her father and brothers at the Winterfell Ice Arena growing up. A couple of guys in jerseys fill in behind them, loudly talking about the upcoming wedding of one of them, a father is explaining the basics of the game to a little girl with blonde pigtails in the row ahead, and two seats down from her sits a man in a nice business suit. Her eyes linger on him for just a moment and she wonders if they’ve met before, and why he’s wearing a suit to a hockey game. There’s something that is vaguely familiar about his messy black hair and icy blue eyes. He’s quite attractive and when she catches his eye they exchange a small smile before she quickly looks away with a slight blush.

Ned returns just as the lights dim, handing her a beer and a small bag of popcorn, a tray of nachos in his other hand. They stand and clap as the music begins and the players make their way onto the ice.

“Thanks for bringing me,” she says as they sit back down.

“Well, I know how much you love it. The pictures at your desk speak for themselves! It must be your Northern blood, I don’t know how you aren’t freezing,” Ned is bundled in a scarf, and hat with gloves poking out of the front pocket of his heavy sweatshirt.

Arya internally rolls her eyes but smiles at him, Dornishmen . The arena isn’t that cold. “I do love a good game.”

Ned grins back before saying, “I’m not very familiar with all of this like you. We don’t play ice sports in the south. You’re going to have to help me out here.”

“Ned, we are in the south. And Sunspear has an ice hockey team.”

“Everything’s south to you, Stark. Plus we only got a hockey team five years ago. Point still stands, the game?”

“What do you want to know? Ask and I’ll answer.” A small huff of laughter to her right causes her to look over quickly. The man in the suit is looking at her directly, a grin on twitching at the corners of his full lips. She furrows her brows for a moment at him before turning her focus back to Ned and the ice, a brief grumble in her mind that he was laughing at her. “Girls know sports too, stupid,” she thinks before putting him out of her mind.

The first period is uneventful, not even a fight on the ice to liven things up. The score stands at zero-zero. Of course, the one game she can attend would be boring. During the intermission they make their way to the concession stand, Ned grabbing another beer and Arya getting water and some Twizzlers, her favorite hockey game snack from when she was a child. One their way back to their seat she notices the dark haired man in the suit is no longer alone, another man in an equally nice suit has joined him. He’s tall and thin with curly red hair and also looks familiar, but she can’t quite place either one of them.

Not even three minutes have passed in the second period when one of the Lannisport Lions slams a Lightning player into the boards. The crowd boos as the player lays on the ice for a moment to catch his breath before shakily getting back to his skates, the boos get even louder when the referees don’t call a penalty.

“Oh come on!” Arya shouts as she stands, throwing her arms in the air, “that’s boarding!”

“What’s boarding?” Ned asks.

“It’s when a player pushes another into the glass unnecessarily rough. It’s a five minute penalty for the Lions but these refs just screwed us out of that opportunity for a power play.”

A deep voice from her right comments, “It would’ve only been a minor.”

She turns to see both men looking at her, a pair of blue eyes twinkling from under the fall of dark hair.

“A minor?” she challenges, “he was almost unconscious!”

“Yeah, but he’s not bleeding,” Blue Eyes grins at her. She stares him for a moment before glancing back at his red haired friend to see him grinning as well. She gives them a curt nod before turning her focus back to the game.

“What’s his problem?” Ned murmurs. Arya just shakes her head.

By the end of the second period the Lightning are down by two.

“Sorry,” Ned says as they watch the Zamboni chug around the rink. The little pigtailed girl in front of them is asleep against her father’s arm.

“What for?” Arya asks.

“For the game being a crappy one,” he smiles at her, and she smiles back.

“You can’t tell the future Ned, so don’t apologize. I’m very happy to be here. I haven’t been able to go to a hockey game in a few years.” Arya hasn’t been able to make it home to Winterfell since she started her Master’s program and the Winterfell Wolves haven’t played the Storm’s End Lightning in Storm’s End at a time when she wasn’t drowning in exams, papers, and work. Not even the chance to see Robb on the ice could manage to pull her away from the pressing demands and deadlines of her job and school work as much as she would have loved to go.

The third period starts and five minutes in the Lions score another goal. That’s when the Lightning forget about playing to win and start playing for revenge. The first instance comes in a small skirmish that results in minor, two minute, penalties for both teams. As soon as those are over another skirmish breaks out, this time turning into an all out brawl.

“Kick his ass!” Arya yells, standing and cheering as helmets and gloves go flying and sticks are dropped to the ice. Ned looks taken aback by the sudden outburst of violence from her.

“You like the fights?” he asks.

“Like? Are you kidding, they’re the best part!” She shouts again as the Lightning player finally gets the upper-hand and sends the Lion skidding across the ice.

“It’s a shame Waters isn’t playing tonight.” Arya turns to her right to see the redheaded man grinning up at her. The dark haired man beside him is giving him an inscrutable look.

She sighs internally and takes the bait, “And why is that?”

“He would have had Marbrand knocked out in half the time. Lemoncloak isn’t nearly as good at fighting as Waters is.”

Arya scoffs, “Lemoncloak might not be as good at fighting, but at least he’s not an absolute asshole like Waters is. Have you ever seen how he fights? I mean, I’m all for getting down and dirty on the ice but there’s a line and he crosses it every time. It’s like he gets off on it,” she says, making an obscene jerking motion with her hand. “There’s a reason the fans chant “Ice Cold” when he takes the ice.”

The two men share a look and a smile. “What? You disagree?” Arya asks.

“Well, I disagree,” the dark haired man replies, “but it’s nice to know what other people think.”

Arya raises an eyebrow at him before turning her attention back to Lemoncloak and Marbrand being ejected from the game. When it’s all over Storm’s End has lost 4-1. Arya sighs as she and Ned pick up their trash to toss on their way out. She notices an odd look on Ned’s face and turns to see the dark haired man standing right behind her, towering over her.

“Is it a habit of yours to hover behind people?” she asks, looking up and up his firm chest to meet his icy blue eyes. She hadn’t quite realized how tall he was folded into the stadium chair near her.

“Just the ones I find interesting,” Arya narrows her eyes at him as he sticks out his hand, “I thought we should meet properly. Gendry Waters, left defenseman, ‘the guy who gets off on fighting’.”

Arya blushes furiously, swallowing hard and fumbling for a second as she puts her small hand into his massive one, “Arya,” she grits out, “and I’m sorry about that. If I had known…”

“You would have kept it to yourself? Where’s the fun in that?” He grins at her, perfect white teeth glinting in the arena lights. He must be fucking with her, she thinks.

“Okaaaay… This is sufficiently awkward. I’m going to go,” she pulls her hand free to gesture over her shoulder to where Ned is probably standing staring at the two of them. She had temporarily forgotten there were people around. Her hand feels cold for a moment without his warm palm around hers.

“Wait,” Gendry says, “this asshole is Anguy Archer, right wing.”

“Hi,” she says, waving awkwardly. The redhead flashes her a bright smile and a wave.

“We’re gonna go out with the guys and get a beer. Would you like to join us?” Gendry asks.

Her heart races for a moment. She’s intrigued by this man in front of her, but she came here with Ned, it would be insanely rude to ditch him.

“Your boyfriend can come too,” Anguy pipes up from behind Gendry’s massive shoulders.

“Oh, he’s, he’s not my boyfriend, we’re coworkers,” she says entirely too fast. The smile that breaks out across Gendry’s face makes her blush again.

He leans down so only she can hear him, the smoky leather smell of his cologne washing over her and making her dizzy, “That’s good to hear.” As his breath whispers across her ear a wave of goosebumps erupts across her arms. She looks up at him through her eyelashes, feeling very shy all of a sudden. He smiles at her one more time before turning to walk away. She fights down the urge to call out to him and turns back to Ned.

Over her shoulder she hears Gendry one more time, “If you change your mind we’ll be at Seaworth’s on the waterfront.” She glances back to see him give her a half smile that makes her insides squirm before he turns and walks away. She keeps her eyes on him as he goes, taking in the stretch of his suit jacket over his shoulders, his firm athlete’s ass, and the long stretch of his well muscled legs that his suit pants only highlight.

Ned awkwardly clears his throat.

“Sorry,” she says, “That was weird, right? I just… uh…”

“Yeah,” Ned drags the word out, “he seemed a little… friendly.”

“Uh, sure. Very friendly.”

“Did you want to go? We can if you want to?”

Arya thinks about it for the moment, Gendry’s dizzying blue eyes and enticing smell drift across her mind. The thought of sitting in a dark pub booth with him, his large, warm hand on her knee under the table. She reigns it in before the thought gets too far.

“No, no. Let’s just go. I have some edits to make on a paper when I get home anyway.”

She saves for a single ticket. It takes her over a month to set enough aside. She’s not sitting in the cheap seats this time, she wants to be rinkside where he could see her, to see if there was something there. If he recognized her she would take it as a sign She spent almost half an hour staring at the seat map when she went to buy her ticket before deciding that directly across from the player’s bench was where she needed to be. She prays that he’ll be playing against Oldtown tonight, since he’s fresh off a three game suspension. She puts on some light makeup, throws on her Lightning sweatshirt, and makes her way to the stadium.

The lights dim, the music starts, and she holds her breath as the players make their way onto the ice. She smiles when she sees him suited up in the dark blue Lightning jersey, his eyes piercing even from across the ice. This is going to be a good night. When the announcers call out the opening line-up she chants, “Ice cold! Ice cold!” with the rest of the crowd when his name is called for Left Defenseman.

She doesn’t pay much attention to the game, just to the dark haired man with the blue eyes. She finds herself watching his every move, calculating hits like he does, cheering when he does his job clearing the puck from near the Lightning goal and using his massive frame to keep the Oldtown center at bay.

Two periods pass with the Lightning up 2-1. He’s not even so much as looked up into the stands in that time. Maybe this was a bad idea, she thinks, and she should have gotten a ticket closer to the bench. She could have tried to yell over the glass at him then. But it would have taken her weeks longer to save enough to sit there, and to finagle time in her busy schedule to come.

He makes his way onto the ice again, and she watches as he does what he does best, blocking the other team’s offense from scoring a goal. What no one expected was for the play to shift quickly to the other end of the ice. The puck finds its way in front of his stick and with a practiced flick of his wrist it bounces off an Oldtown defensemen’s skate and into the goal, earning a point for Storm’s End.

She jumps from her seat, screaming with the rest of the crowd as he looks on in shock. It’s not his job to score and she can see the surprise written across his face. His teammates skate to him to congratulate him, and for the first time all night he looks up into the crowd, right into her grey eyes. Their eyes lock and her breath catches in her throat as the noise of the arena fades away. He smiles that half smile around his mouthguard as gloves smack his helmet and back but he doesn’t seem to notice. He makes his way back to the bench, not taking his eyes off her for the rest of the game. She can barely look away to the rest of the game either.

At the end of the game he skates onto the ice, over to the edge where she is waiting to make her own way to the boards. A few kids pound on the glass at him and he responds by slapping into the boards at them. They holler and laugh and she can tell it’s made their night. When the crowds finally thin she makes her way to him and gives him a big smile, he grins back, his mouthguard hanging free and giving her the full effect.

“Seaworth’s?” he yells through the glass to her, and she nods. “Thirty minutes,” he shouts again, taking off his glove and holding up three fingers. She nods again, smiling, and watches him skate off the ice.

Her heart pounds nervously as she stands outside the pub. She’d never been here before but had looked it up after he’d mentioned it at the last game. The owner of the pub had a long history with the Storm’s End hockey team and it wasn’t unusual to find several large, sweaty hockey players there after their games according to the internet. She only wanted to find one large, sweaty hockey player and it looked like she was in luck.

She notices Anguy first, and he gives her a knowing smile as he walks to the door, “Couldn’t resist some Ice Cold Waters?” he says, winking as he pulls the door to the pub open. She resists the urge to check him into the doorframe as he passes her.

“Hey.” She turns to see Gendry, standing behind her, a wide grin on his face as his dark, damp hair curls around his ears, his blue eyes shining in the dim street light.

“Hi,” she says quietly. He stares at her for a long moment before gesturing towards the door. They find the rest of the team crammed into several booths near the back celebrating their win, pitchers of beer and plates of food scattered between the tables. They squeeze in along an empty bench, thighs brushing beneath the table.

He leans in close to her, breath tickling her ear as he quietly says, “I have to ask. How come you didn’t recognize me?”

She turns to look at him, her nose nearly brushing his cheek with how close his face is to hers, “What do you mean?”

“At the first game. You clearly know your shit when it comes to hockey, so I was curious.”

She looks up into his eyes and he smiles at her. The smell of his cologne tickles her nose and she has to stop herself from climbing into his lap right there in front of his team.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like a neanderthal out there on the ice. Sweaty, testosterone fueled, black mouthguard, black eyes, broken noses, eye grease. I barely recognize my brother when he’s geared up and in the moment. You were… definitely not that that night. I was expecting at least some missing teeth or something. Also you looked distractingly nice in a suit, which totally threw me off.”

“I looked nice?”

Arya blushes and nods, leaning in close to him, “Very nice. I couldn’t help but stare at your arse as you walked away.”

Gendry raises a dark brow at her and gives her a very slow once over of what he can see of her on the pub bench next to him, his eyes darkening as he looks her over, mentally supplemented by what he saw as he approached her outside the pub. She’d ditched her Lightning sweatshirt in her car and was wearing a dark top and skinny jeans, a hint of pale skin peeking out from below the hem of her cropped shirt.

“You look nice too,” is all he manages to say, his voice barely a step above a growl.

Arya raises a challenging eyebrow back at him, “Thank you.”

Their attention is called away from each other but the electricity continues to spark between them as their hand brush grabbing for beer and bar snacks. They talk hockey with the team, Arya revealing that she roots for Storm’s End because she lives here but will always be a Winterfell Wolves girl at heart. She can’t help it, the north is in her blood and her brother Robb plays center for the team.

Gendry leans down to murmur in her ear at that, “So what happens when they play here?”

She glances at him from the corner of her eye and drops her hand high on his leg below the table, “I cheer for the Wolves, but I might cheer a bit for you too now.”

“Just me?”

A sly smile creeps across Arya’s face, “Just for you,” she squeezes his leg before removing her hand and deliberately reaches across him to spoon a bite of dip onto a cracker, her shoulder and back brushing his chest as he rumbles quietly and splays a warm hand across her back, a few of his fingers brushing her bare skin as her top shifts with her movement. She settles back and feels a flash of triumph as Gendry doesn’t move his hand.

Anguy catches her eye at one point and winks at her, nodding his head towards Gendry who has barely taken his eyes off her all night. She’d caught a few of his other teammates glancing between the two of them and giving each other knowing smiles and subtle elbows as they leave the two of them in their bubble.

Eventually Arya sees the time as someone’s phone lights up on the table. It was past 11pm and she has work in the morning and a class in the evening. “It’s getting late,” she says with a sigh, “I have to get going. I’ve had a long day and I have an even longer one tomorrow.”

Gendry’s hand briefly strokes her spine before he slides out from the edge of the bench. He reaches a hand down to her, the sparks they’d been feeling all night lighting up as they touch. Gently, he pulls her off the bench and into his space before taking half a step back and staring down at her, not dropping her hand. She squeezes his hand before lacing their fingers together. Turning back to the table she says her good-bye to the team members she’s spent the last few hours with and leads Gendry from the pub.

The street is cool and quiet after the closeness of Seaworth’s. Slowly they walk hand in hand to her car, Arya trying to stretch their remaining time together by digging in her bag for her keys. She’s enjoyed her evening and Gendry’s company and despite her long day tomorrow she isn’t ready for the night to end.

Gendry breaks the quiet, “I’m really glad you were able to come and we got to do this,” he says softly.

Arya sighs, “Me too.”

“Could we… Would you want to see each other again? Without those louts around thinking they’re being subtle?” There’s a hint of doubt in his voice, like he maybe thinks she only came out to the pub to meet the team. It’s adorable that he could possibly think she’d come out for the rest of those idiots and not for the idiot standing in front of her shuffling his feet nervously.

“I’d like that a lot,” she says, with a smile.

“Even if I’m that guy who ‘gets off on it’?” his sharp smile flashes in the light of the street.

Arya groans and covers her face with her free hand, “I’m never going to live that one down, am I?”

“Not a chance,” he says, warmly. He steps closer to her, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off him, chasing away the cool, damp air of the Stormland’s night.

She looks up at him, his face is serious as he stares down at her, his blue eyes almost black in the street light. She’s caught in his gaze before her eyes drift down to his lips for just a moment before darting back up. He licks his lips and she wants nothing more than to feel them against her own. Feeling bolder than she ever has she stands on her tip-toes and presses her mouth to his. His arms wrap around her instantly and she runs a hand up his jaw to bury it in the hair at the back of his neck, her other braced on his chest over his racing heart as they kiss like their lives depend on it. Like the other is air and water and all those other life-giving requirements.

She lets out a soft sigh as she pulls away slowly, his mouth chasing hers as she drops back to her feet. Gendry’s arms stay wrapped around her, holding her tight against him as they stare at each other, chests heaving.

“Shit,” he says through panting breaths, and she giggles, “I mean, yeah. That was, yeah.” He nods vaguely, looking shell-shocked. He smiles down at her, a faint blush across his cheeks visible even in the low light.

Arya nods, “I agree. Wow.”

“You sure you have to go?” He keeps smiling at her as she groans and drops her head to his chest.

“Yes. I have work and class tomorrow and I do need to get some sleep tonight. But,” she lets go of him with one hand to dig in her bag again. With a small, triumphant, “Ha!” she pulls her phone out and unlocks it, pulling up the dial screen and hands it to him. He loosens one arm from around her to enter his number in, pressing send and hanging up when he feels his own phone buzz in his pocket. Arya returns her phone to her bag and pulls out the keys that were clipped to the strap on top the whole time. She unlocks her car and moves to step out of his arms. Gendry pulls her in for one final, fiery kiss before letting go of her and opening her car door for her.

“Arya?” he says, just before she closes it.

“Yeah?” she looks back at him, he’s tucked his hands into his pockets, his hair is in disarray from her fingers, and his lips look a little swollen. He’s never going to hear the end of it when he gets back to his teammates.

“I’m really glad you came out tonight.” He smiles one final, brilliant time as she closes the door and starts her car. He stays there on the sidewalk as she pulls out into the street and begins to make her way home. When she gets there she pulls out her phone and opens the most recent call to an unknown number. Pulling up the text box she types, “I’m really glad I came out tonight too”.

[birbleafs]

[fic] A Tragicomedy In Five Acts

Series: Saiki Kusuo no Ψ-nan || The Disastrous Life of Saiki K. Rating: T Genre: Friendship, Humour, Breaking the Fourth Wall Character(s): Akechi Touma, Saiki Kusuo, Saiki Kurumi, Saiki Kuniharu, Saiki Kuusuke Warnings: None, save for the canon-typical shenanigans Summary: Akechi has made a habit of showing up unannounced, uninvited at the Saiki residence. The inevitable "bonding" occurs and Kusuo despairs; the world continues to turn. A/N: A piece I wrote for the Disastrous Life Zine, a charity zine. I wanted to share the uncut version here since I like how it reads more (it's not too different from zine version, though). Leftover sales are currently still live, so here's your last chance to grab some limited items if you had missed the pre-orders earlier! Thanks to the mods & other contributors over at @disastrouslifezine, for all their hard work on this project. Many thanks also to my bro Digi for the awesome beta work and for always being an all-round great pal ❤ Fic can also be read AO3. _______ i. It’s a problem Saiki Kusuo should have—could have—nipped earlier in the bud, when he’d been forced to spend a whole Sunday with Akechi Touma betting on horse-racing. But between Akechi being (begrudgingly) accepted as one of the PK Psychickers to Kusuo having to stop a meteor from slamming into the planet—well, a lot had happened. Akechi had since taken to visiting the Saiki residence at random, with little notice in advance. On his second visit, Mom had invited him in before Kusuo could intervene. If it weren’t for the cupcakes Akechi had brought along—not to mention the terrifying heat of Mom’s demonic glare at the first sign of a protest—Kusuo would have teleported him miles away without hesitation. That’s how Kusuo finds himself now—glowering at Akechi who’s sitting politely in his room and firing a running commentary about nothing and too many things all at once. Resigned, he leans back into his study chair and asks, point-blank: What do you want, Akechi?

“Your mother is lovely as always,” Akechi replies instead, dancing around the question. “I’m grateful she’s gone from remembering me as ‘Pee Boy’ to ‘Kusuo’s Friend Who Only Ever Wets His Pants Occasionally’. Surely that’s a sign we have gotten closer.” It sounds just as terrible as the first—only a simpleton would be okay with that as a defining trait, Kusuo retorts. In any case, we’re hardly more than classmates. So, why are you here again? “I thought you would have realized it by now with your telepathy. But I suppose I can explain it for the sake of the readers!” Akechi beams, holding up a small case in his hand. Don’t just casually break the fourth wall, Kusuo frowns, even as he leans forward for a closer look. Akechi pops the case open and turns towards the game console. “I was recently gifted this game by my cousin, who assured me that, while underrated, it’s still a cult hit among fans. I thought it would be fun to play it together.” Kusuo stares flatly at the title OVERWORKED displayed on the disc as it slides into the console drive, already unimpressed. That is such a blatant rip-off. “Oh, no, it's a completely different game from the one you’re thinking of!” Akechi says. “Here you play as the overworked waiter of a cafe who serves multiple orders at once and takes over the cooking whenever the head chef throws a tantrum and storms right off.” How is that different from OVERC***ED? It is totally OVERC***ED! “Regardless, shall we have a play-off?” Akechi offers the controller to him. “Winner gets this box of cupcakes. I got them from the best pâtisserie in town, which is no easy feat. Why just this morning I left home at the crack of dawn to secure a spot in the queue, and even then, there were already about 30-odd people ahead of me! Who knew it was so popular—A-ah!” Kusuo yanks the controller easily from Akechi’s hand towards him with telekinesis, a glint of determination in his eyes now. Best two out of three levels. Loser also has to leave immediately. Akechi grins knowingly and cracks his knuckles, reaching for the second controller. “You’re quick to assume victory, Kusuo-kun. Very well, then!” Thirty-seven minutes later and Kusuo’s left staring at the final scores, appalled. He would have won if his character hadn’t kept freezing in place and glitching at crucial moments, messing up in the kitchens and sending out wrong orders. How is he always losing to Akechi like this? Clearly the universe is still conspiring against him. “You were so close to beefing my lask score dhoo,” Akechi says shamelessly through a mouthful of strawberry frosting. “And my, deez fupfakes are s’per dhasty!” Are you taunting me now? Kusuo scowls enviously at the cupcake in Akechi’s hand before he huffs, slinking back into his chair. Well, I’ll be staring dejectedly out my window for a bit, so feel free to eat your cupcakes and then leave. But Akechi only laughs then and, to Kusuo’s surprise, moves to place a chocolate cupcake before him. “You’re so melodramatic, Kusuo-kun. I never said the winner can’t share.” ... I guess you didn’t. They spend the rest of the afternoon eating cupcakes. _______ ii. This again? It’s been a month, but Kusuo already feels a sense of gloom settling over him when Akechi steps into the genkan. He would have been fine with leaving Akechi outside blathering away through closed doors for the entire day while he pretended not to be home, but obviously Mom is having none of that. “I’m so glad you’ve been coming over to play with Ku-chan!” she greets cheerfully. “I couldn’t believe it when I first heard, but you and Kusuo are getting along well, huh, Akechi-kun!” Dad says with a sagely nod, looking every bit the part of the morally upright, reliable father. Bold of you to believe such delusional notions of camaraderie, or that you even look the part of an admirable adult, Kusuo comments drily, before turning to leave. “We don’t just get along,” Akechi chimes in reply. “You could even say our friendship is super-califragilisticexpialidocious!” GET OUT. If looks could kill, Kusuo’s current expression is pure genocide. But his parents are already fawning and AH-HYUU-!!-ing at Akechi’s words, tears of joy gushing down their cheeks like an endless waterfall. Kusuo watches in quiet despair as Akechi is readily accepted into their fold with welcomed embraces, a key development in this romantic soap opera. Oi, what’s with the misleading narrative?! We’re not in that kind of fanfic right now! Dad and Akechi hit it off well enough, one thing leads to another, and Kusuo suddenly finds himself roped into playing MECH-O ARENA VR on the WAB station in Dad’s study. Seriously, stop it with the terrible rip-offs of actual games already, Kusuo frowns as he watches Dad’s and Akechi’s characters flitting about on the screen to fight off an incoming attack. “I suppose it’s not very original, is it?” Akechi says, punching the controller buttons in a flurry of movements. “But it’s different enough that we can probably avoid any unwanted copyright lawsuits.” That’s completely beside the point. Dad’s wholly immersed with the game now, so it’s impossible for Kusuo to get rid of Akechi without Dad throwing a childish fuss about losing his new gaming buddy. Not to mention Mom’s uncanny ability to appear with coffee and snacks each time Kusuo had tried to inconspicuously retreat back into his room, all while exuding an ominous aura that effectively dissuaded his need to leave immediately. Good grief—everyone’s being such a pain today, Kusuo sighs, before he finally relents to Mom’s cajoling to team up with her against Dad and Akechi in the final round. He figures it can’t get worse than this anyway. That is, until Kuusuke gets involved. _______ iii. When Kusuo returns home from a quick grocery trip for Mom, he walks into a surprisingly empty living room. He can hear Dad and Kuusuke’s voices from upstairs but for some reason he’s not quite able to perceive the atmosphere within—it’s as if his senses are partially blocked by a cognitive fog with the study engulfed in a dead zone. Must be that prototype “router” Kuusuke had installed in Dad’s study yesterday. Kusuo has zero interest in his brother’s tiresome antics, but is compelled nonetheless to check on them, if only to ensure Kuusuke isn’t playing Mad Scientist and coaxing Dad into yet another deranged human project. He opens the door, nearly lashes out in shock with telekinesis when he sees Akechi staring through the doorway with a creepy, owlish expression. “Oh, were you actually surprised, Kusuo-kun?” Akechi says. “My apologies for frightening you like that.” Kusuo studies the room cautiously, only to realize he’s unable to hear anyone’s thoughts with telepathy. He glares at his brother in suspicion. “Welcome back, little brother!” Kuusuke greets him with a Cheshire grin. “I see you’ve got yourself a new playmate. Hmm? Ah, you must think it strange that I've taken to Akechi-kun so readily.” Strange and highly dubious, Kusuo counters. What are you scheming? “Well, Akechi-kun shows the most potential and capacity for mental growth amongst the lesser primates close to you—” What a disparaging worldview. And stop deflecting! I know you can still understand me. “—So, he may yet make a good test subj—Ah, I mean, a good friend! Interesting specimens tend to gravitate towards you, after all. Though his propensity for peeing sure is troubling, isn’t it? Haha!” You can excuse questionable human experimentations, but you draw the line at incontinence? Kuusuke attempts a nonchalant shrug. “Priorities, amirite?” “But this is amazing, Kuusuke-san,” Akechi says, glancing up in awe at the blinking device on the ceiling. “The telepathy canceller really does block our thoughts efficiently!” “It’s child's play compared to Kusuo’s abilities,” Kuusuke says, seemingly modest, but Kusuo doesn’t miss the devious glint in his eyes when he reaches into his coat pocket to pull out what looks suspiciously like a detonator with a giant red button. “Still, with this, Operation SM☆SH can now finally commence—” Wait, Operation what?? Kuusuke, don’t you dare...! But Kuusuke is already pressing the button, and the study is plunged into darkness as the lights flicker off and the blinds draw shut. Alarmed, Kusuo wrenches the detonator away from Kuusuke’s grip with his telekinesis. What did you just do?! There’s an electronic whirr, a blinding flash, and Kusuo finds himself suddenly staring at a large LCD screen as it emerges from the ceiling. Music blares from overhead speakers as a cinematic opening sequence begins to play. “There you are, Kusuo!” Dad looks up from behind the coffee table where he’d been fiddling with the game console. He adjusts the VR headset over his eyes. “It’s time to finally beat you at SUPER SM☆SH BUDS as payback for last time! HII-YAAAH!!” ... Oh. So it’s just another game. “That’s right!” Kuusuke claps his hands together, blissfully ignoring the heat of Kusuo’s baleful glare. “I heard about your horse-racing bet from Akechi-kun and found this as the best way to even the odds for other types of games.” “The idea came to me while peeing in the shower; to find ways you could play and not get bored easily, Kusuo-kun,” Akechi adds in unnecessary detail. “But I didn’t think Kuusuke-san could actually pull it off.” “Here, Kusuo,” Dad says, waving his controller. “Come choose your character—” But Kusuo’s already teleporting away, fleeing the wretched upheaval within his own home to hide at Cafe Mami for the rest of the day. _______ iv. Akechi corners him after school three weeks later. Kusuo is surprised and unsurprised all at once; he had worn the germanium ring to class, after all, in a bid to avoid spoilers for the direct-to-streaming release movie adaptation of a book he’d been fond of. It’s easy to ignore everyone’s spoilery chatter when it isn’t droning directly into his mind—he’d kept his fingers stuck into  his ears each time class ended, oblivious to the strange looks thrown his way, and had even hidden away in the restroom cubicle during breaks, successfully avoiding any interaction with the usual human nuisances. Until now, that is. “Let’s walk home together, Kusuo-kun!” Akechi calls, jogging after him. I’m suddenly deaf and sound has eluded me, Kusuo deadpans as he breaks into a sprint, determined to leave before Akechi starts blabbing spoilers. “I noticed you weren’t quite yourself today,” Akechi continues, catching up with him.  “And I thought it might have something to do with the ring on your left index finger that you’ve fondled precisely seventeen times throughout the day.” What an awful way to describe it. I didn’t fondle anything. “Perhaps the material of that ring works in the same manner as the telepathy canceller—which would explain why you seemed uncharacteristically skittish today since you’re pretty bad at discerning people’s intentions without your telepathy.” What are you? A psychic? But Akechi only persists. “I realized later that you’d always leave whenever anyone started talking about that new movie on Netfl*x—” Can’t hear now, Kusuo slaps his hands over his ears. Gone horribly deaf. “And I figured it must be that you haven’t watched it yet for some reason, like maybe your home internet is down because your father forgot to pay the bills for three whole months and so it got cut—” How did you even..? Kusuo grimaces. N-nope, not listening! 100% deaf! “I know you don’t have a mobile phone to watch it on either,” Akechi continues. “So, that’s why I wanted to invite you to my house today, to watch it together. Oh, don’t worry, I know absolutely nothing about the movie. In fact, I’d only heard Kaidou-kun screaming out the title just ten minutes ago.” Kusuo pauses then, glancing back at Akechi in hesitance. Akechi only meets his wary gaze with a knowing smirk, and says, “We also have strawberry shortcake in the fridge.” _______ v. I don’t suppose there’s a good reason this time either, Kusuo sighs wearily, closing his book. Still, there’s a glimmer in his eyes; he knows Akechi had come bearing gifts—a selection of coffee jellies topped with cherries and chocolate drizzle. “I’ve made a habit of crashing your place unannounced, haven’t I?” Akechi offers a contrite grin, watching as Kusuo helps himself to a spoonful of jelly. “I do apologize, but whenever I get restless, I find myself wandering here by instinct. Admittedly, I was worried about being a bother, but your mother is always so welcoming at the door despite that dreary, constipated look in your eyes—” You are being a bother. Like a persistent mosquito that thinks it's summer all year round, Kusuo grouses with his Most Annoyed Expression, knowing how ineffectual his Feigning Ignorance Face had become over time. Also, have you graduated from pee references to shitty jokes now? Disgusting. But Akechi takes it all in stride, undeterred by Kusuo’s ugly grimace and acerbic jibes. “—Plus, it’d be considered extremely rude if I didn’t come in after that, and I certainly do not want you to think of me as rude. You’re a friend I hold in high regard, after all. I always have, ever since I found out it was you who saved me from the bullies back then.” The earnestness in Akechi’s words stumps him, if only a little. And though Kusuo is careful to keep his surprise from showing, there’s a part deep down in his not-so-granite heart that feels a touch of warmth at the sentiment. Akechi’s already placing the Scrabble board on the floor, so he misses the ghost of a smile that crosses Kusuo’s lips. Did Akechi honestly think he could beat a psychic at Scrabble too? How naive. “You’re probably thinking how naive I must be, believing I could beat you at a board game with your powers and all,” Akechi notes cheerfully, almost as if he’s a mind-reader himself. Kusuo frowns, slightly disgruntled by the fourth-wall breaking once more and wishes they would give it a rest for once. Overusing a trope gets really tiring, you know? Still, he smiles again as he takes a seat across from Akechi—who is now shuffling the Scrabble chips while nattering away about the history of board games and how the loser would have to give up his share of coffee jelly (as if Kusuo would allow it to come to that again). Two Sunday visits per month only, Kusuo says, lifting several chips into the air with a wave of his hand. If you beat me... I’ll allow it. Akechi’s eyes widen, before he breaks into a playful grin. “Very well, then. May the best man win.” Kusuo only lets out a soft laugh. Perhaps it’s not too late to pick up where they had left off in grade school. —End—

[titularkilljoy]

nameless, faceless.

Summary: These days, he starts to think he might not be Tobias, but he’s not much of a Spencer either. Gen-fic following a newly exonerated Spencer Reid. 

Content Warnings: Drug use, angst, slight references to gun violence and physical abuse.

Thanks to @imagining-in-the-margins who listened to me rant about this messy fic for weeks on end, and for being the first to read it. 

Spencer Reid is an excellent shot. A perfect shot. He can take apart and put together his service weapon with his eyes closed. He’s tried, and succeeded. Thrice, because once might be a fluke, twice might be a freak coincidence, but the third success counts as scientific proof.

Years ago, Aaron Hotchner tried, unsuccessfully, to help him pass his firearms qualification. Adrenaline was his friend that day. He could have succumbed to the agony of the cobweb-covered boxes in his head creaking open, bit by bit, every time Hotch’s foot knocked the air out of his lungs; or, he could have used his brain and his training and finally done something that would prove people wrong about him. He chose the latter.

One shot, right through Philip Dowd’s skull. In the solemn aftermath of his first kill, Hotch was proud of him. He was proud of himself. That night he went home and allowed the pain in his ribs take control. It felt good. It felt like a victory.

Of course, he knew he didn’t really deserve to wield the weapon. Once was a fluke. Which is why he kept going back to the shooting range every chance he got, until he finally felt a little less like a child, however prodigious, playing dress-up in an FBI vest.

Hotch would be proud of him if he saw the perfect score. But he hasn’t spoken to Hotch in years. The number in his phone has long since gone inactive, and no matter how bad he is at reading social cues, he can hear Hotch’s unspoken request for a clean break loud and clear. He deletes the number.

~

JJ is careful around him, these days. She’s always been protective of him, but these days she knows he can take care of himself. It’s more like she’s circling him slowly, trying to put her finger on what exactly has made him so different, so maybe she can zoom in on that and fix it and then everything will be back to normal again. He’ll be her nerdy best friend Spencer who once had a desperate crush on her and is still half in love with her but never a real prospect. Spencer. Predictable, quirky Spencer.

He doesn’t quite know how to tell her she’s not going to get her wish, though, so he just ignores her heavy stares pricking his neck when he isn’t looking her way. He ignores the urge to tell her to stop looking so tormented when he’s the one who’s been to hell and back. He knows it isn’t fair, and no matter how off-kilter he feels, he knows he doesn’t want to hurt her.

At the moment he is ignoring her hushed conversation with Will in the kitchen while he sits cross-legged on the floor and helps Henry with his science project. It’s very clear she’s talking about him because he can hear her whisper his name every now and then, and her husband seems to be trying to comfort her. Will has been pleasant to be around since he got out; he will usually just engage him in mundane conversation that surprises him with how calming it is. At the very most, he will offer him a word of support that never feels condescending, and he’s immensely grateful in a way he suspects will always remain unspoken between them.

“Uncle Spencer, look!”

The little primitive robot is moving around successfully, and Henry looks jubilant. He also looks at Spencer with unbridled adoration, and absolutely no one but his godson has ever looked at him like that. It makes something swell inside him and he has to clear his throat.

“Whoa! You did it, Henry. You’re a genius!” he praises with a grin that stretches from ear to ear, picking him and resting him on his shoulders. JJ and Will are watching fondly, and as he meets their eyes, he is relieved that JJ, for once, doesn’t seem to be worried. Why would she be? Right now, he doesn’t feel broken. He just feels happy and loved, and he wishes he can make this moment last forever.

~

He’s in a cement box and the walls are slate grey and his mind is trapped. There is silence all around him and he feels like he can choke on it.  He’s on his back and trying to sleep but his eyes won’t close. His hairs stand permanently on end and there’s a rapid thumping that he decides must be his racing heart. The thumping grows louder and louder; there’s a clang and suddenly he isn’t alone in the grey box anymore. Suddenly there is a flash of too-bright light and several nondescript faces in there with him and the only thing he knows for sure is that they want to hurt him.

There are hands around his chest and hands around his legs and hands twisting his arms behind him and they’re all tightening like a vice and the air is running out but then his eyes adjust to the light and it’s Calvin Shaw in front of him and he looks powerful, and he knows he has to get away, or he’s going to die in here, he’s going to die a murderer, and he fights with all his might and his lungs are spilling out hoarse helpless screams, but then there’s cool metal in his hands and something splashes onto his face.

He cannot afford to stop for a second or he will be done for, so he keeps going, he swings wildly without knowing what he’s doing, over and over and over until the only noises in the box are his own. Shaw is on the ground and so is everyone else and he’s sweating but when he wipes it away and licks it lips it tastes like copper. He jolts, there’s another clang, and he looks down to see a bloody knife has seemingly fallen from his hand. No, no, no, he thinks, he was only fighting to be able to breathe, he didn’t mean to-

But you did, the walls seem to chant and then the walls aren’t walls at all, they’re glimpses of Emily’s deep brown eyes and JJ’s sunshine smile and Rossi’s paternal gaze and Morgan’s brotherly smack on his back, except now they’re all betrayed and afraid and their guns are trained on him, on him, on Spencer, and he keeps telling them he didn’t do it, he swears he didn’t but Nadie Ramos is on the ground and she’s so dead and cold and bloody and the guns are taking aim and-

And then he’s sitting ramrod straight in his bed, sweating profusely, panting and throwing the blankets to the floor. The clock on his nightstand innocuously tells him it is two forty-three a.m. He’s in his apartment. The walls are moss green, there are books everywhere; he tries to calm the pounding in his chest.

He waits for the relief to fill him and lull him back to a restless sleep. It never comes. Instead, all that fills him is shame.

Shame makes him feel small—young, younger than he is, and strips him of the precious shreds of confidence he’s managed to drape over a scared little boy tied to a flag post. There’s bile crawling up his throat and he needs to escape.

What happens next is an out-of-body experience. One moment, he’s sitting on the bed and feeling fourteen. The next, he’s watching himself walk over to the nightstand with purpose and open the locked drawer. Then, there’s a needle sticking out of his arm and he’s on the floor and there’s sunlight filtering in through the curtains.

The reality of what he’s just done hits him all at once. The shame follows immediately after. Then comes the one he can never quite seem to shake.

Self-loathing has been his dogged pursuer all these years, always carefully kept at the peripheries by Gideon’s watchful eye or Hotch’s uncharacteristic words of affection or Morgan’s warm arm slung over his shoulders; this time, he’s all alone. And right now, it is consuming him.

~

Garcia is more astute than people give her credit for. This much, he’s always known. But he isn’t particularly fond of having her turn that perceptive gaze onto him with laser focus.

Emily and Rossi have decided to give him space, and his further retreat into himself after the night where he slipped doesn’t seem to clue them in to anything he’d rather they never knew. Matt, as a rule, doesn’t pry and doesn’t meddle, and if Spencer is being honest, he really wishes the rest of his team would follow his example. Tara is quiet and observant and besides all that, she has seen him drug-addled and half-confessing to murder before—she might sense that he’s hiding something but he doubts she will go as far as confronting him, since they don’t really talk about things. Luke, on the other hand, is definitely the type to meddle, but he also seems to look up to Spencer a bit, seeming impressed not just with his intellect but also with his track record at the FBI; it’s a nice change.

What he doesn’t expect is for Garcia to keep her keen eye trained on him behind all the emotional speeches and hugs. He definitely doesn’t expect her to show up at his door the day after they’ve returned from a case in Colorado, looking like she means business. He can feel a headache coming on just at the sight of the defiant tilt of her chin.

“Garcia, what are you doing here?” He lets a bit of his annoyance seep into his tone. It’s eleven at night and they’ve been swamped with cases and he could really use this time alone. There’s a small voice in his head taunting for what, but he ruthlessly squashes it down.

“Oh, don’t start that with me, boy wonder,” she warns, ignoring his protests as she pushes past him into the apartment. Sighing internally, he shuts the door and rests his forehead against it for a second. Please let this be over quickly.

Garcia whirls on her heel to face him again, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“You have been hiding something, mister,” she begins dramatically, and his heart stops.

“You’re not sleeping, Reid! And you’ve avoided coming out with us every single time we’ve asked. You know how many times we’ve asked since you’ve been back, Reid? Twenty-three!”

She’s pacing now, seeming troubled, and yet he’s the one who feels like a cornered animal.

“You won’t talk to JJ, you won’t talk to Emily, and you won’t talk to me!” Now her eyes are wide and pleading and he startles himself with how little he cares about what she’s feeling right now. He just wants her to leave so he can be alone again.

“You’re not even seeing your therapist!”

“I saw my therapist and I got cleared for duty,” he retorts, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, duh. I know that. I meant the therapist JJ suggested for you after that? The one outside the bureau so you wouldn’t get all concerned about the FBI stealing your emotional secrets?” Her accompanying eyeroll says aren’t you supposed to be a genius? His hackles raise.

“How do you know I’m not seeing that therapist?” His tone is clipped, and of course he knows how she knows. He just wants to see if she’ll admit it.

She falters, but only for a second. “How do I know everything? Do you want me to explain the internet to you?”

“I’m asking why you know.”

“Because we’re all worried about you!”

“So you decided to pry into my personal life?”

“Well what else are we supposed to do if you won’t tell us anything?!”

He wants to lash out at her. He wants to yell about boundaries and that this is his business, not hers or JJ’s or Emily’s, and they should just mind their own. He wants to demand to know why he has to constantly keep proving himself, after all these years. But he sees how that will play out.

Garcia will try to protest for a while, but as his words pierce through her defences, her eyes will shine with hurt and betrayal, and he’ll be too proud to try to fix it. He won’t hear from her for a few days, and then he will hear from them all at once. They’ll confront him and they’ll be so painfully earnest about it, and Emily will likely “suggest” that he take some time off, and he’ll be forced to remember that she’s not just his friend, but also his boss, and her hands will be tied. He foresees spinning off the rails in the absence of something to occupy him. He imagines falling even further from grace; from the FBI’s golden boy to a barely exonerated murder accused, to an unreliable drug addict who’s more of a liability than an asset.

So he tames the impulse and forces himself to look contrite. His head is throbbing now, and he needs to get her out of here as soon as possible.

“You’re right. I’m just going through a lot. I’m not used to feeling so…adrift,” he whispers, running a hand through his hair and gazing at the floor to the left of where Garcia’s bright green shoes are planted. It works; he can feel her resolve crumble. The tension between them eases, and she approaches him like he’s a wounded animal.

“Oh, honey,” she whispers, pulling him into a tight hug, “we’re all here for you. We know how hard you must be struggling, and we want to help you, but you have to let us, okay?” She pulls back, looking him straight in the eyes. “No more trying to handle all of this crap on your own, mister.”

He nods like he knows he’s supposed to.

“Oh, and, and! You have to go to the therapist. No arguments,” she tells him, “You know I’ll know if you don’t end up going.”

He does know. Garcia stays a little while longer, fussing over the mess that is his apartment and his nearly empty refrigerator. She makes him promise to replenish his supplies, before finally leaving with one last hug.

He shuts the door behind her and leans against it. He supposes he should feel bad about so coldly manipulating one of his closest friends, but these days he’s so full of shame anyway that he thinks he’s maxed himself out. Fulfilled his self-hatred quota for a lifetime. Or maybe he just can’t really tell what it is he feels bad for anymore.

He used to wonder if he wasn’t really himself anymore. If Tobias had killed him and brought him back except now there was more Tobias in him than there was Spencer. Then the marks on his arms weren’t visible and he could walk without much of a limp again and the white-hot brand in his mind screaming ‘sinner’ dulled to an orange glow, and he realised he couldn’t possibly be Tobias. Tobias only cared about dilaudid and a twisted sense of morality and judgement and avenging. Spencer wasn’t like that.

These days, though, he starts to think maybe that’s changed. Sure, maybe he isn’t Tobias. But he doubts he’s much of a Spencer either.

~

He thinks he’s doing pretty well. Handling the drug addiction, he means. He isn’t just getting high every chance he can get and walking into work with telltale sunglasses and trembling hands. He plans it out. He rations out his supply. He also fully intends for it to be a temporary thing.

In retrospect, that was remarkably stupid of him.

It all comes to a head during a case in Denver. It involves, as it usually does, dead women, a frustratingly broad profile, and largely unhelpful local law enforcement.

Spencer is standing in front of a corkboard, peering at a map of the town and meticulously tying a strand of red yarn between the crime scenes and the locations frequented by each of the victims, indicated by slightly rusty dull-green thumbtacks. JJ and Rossi are off in one of the interrogation rooms, speaking to the latest victim’s boyfriend. Luke and Tara are in the field, interviewing a bereaved mother. Across the table, Emily is on the phone with Garcia, poring over a case file.

The door slams open and an officer walks in, carrying two Starbucks cups and wearing a wide, hopeful grin. Emily smiles kindly at him even though there’s a furrow between her eyebrows; this man hardly deserves to have their irritation directed at him.

He quickly realises Officer Cole is either flirting with Emily or flirting with the BAU, and Emily is patiently indulging him. Spencer ignores him for the most part, his mind drawn to a solitary green pin on the periphery that remains hitherto untethered to any other. He glares at it balefully, willing it to fit perfectly into the intricate pattern he’s identified. He pinches the bridge of his nose, mentally scanning the details of the crime scenes and case files. Still staring directly at the pin, he reaches blindly towards the table to grab the red yarn, and then promptly yelps in shock. His eyes jerk over to his dripping left forearm and then up at Officer Cole’s mouth hanging open in horror, trying to stutter out an apology but nothing comes out; he looks like he’s about to cry.

Spencer mumbles something along the lines of “it’s alright” while inspecting his arm. He unbuttons the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt, and after a cursory inspection, concludes that it’s nothing a little running water won’t fix. He gingerly pries the fabric away from his skin, confirming his theory that the skin is unblemished, if a little pink, and makes his way to the restroom. He’s distracted with reassuring Cole to think anything of the way Emily takes one look at his arm and then inspects his face with a strange intensity.

It isn’t until he’s in the room again, ten minutes later, with both his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, that it hits him. The air is distinctly chillier now, or maybe it’s Emily’s stare that sends a shiver down his spine. She looks disappointed and furious all at once, and this time he doesn’t have to fake the urge to avoid her eyes. Of course she’d be the one to find out, he thinks. But he supposes, if he’s sloppy enough to slip up so badly, he deserves whatever is coming.

When she makes him book the first flight home and decides he needs to take another two weeks off, he scarcely puts up a fight. When she tells him about her conditions, he nods in resignation. If she listens to what she has to say, she will see how pathetic he really is, and maybe that will be worse. As of now, she only knows the bare bones of what happened to him over a decade ago: she knows of a kidnapping and a resurrection and PTSD, but she doesn’t know of the vials and the meetings and Gideon’s guilt; hopefully, she never will. As he walks out of her makeshift office, he feels the rift between them grow impossibly wider.

~

The woman smiling cheerfully up at him and offering her assistance from behind the reception desk is unfamiliar. He’s been called a robot so many times he’s stopped counting, but right now he feels exactly like a machine that has come screeching to a halt when confronted with data beyond its knowledge. He stares at her, unable to move, as his mind torments him with all the things that could possibly have gone wrong. He’s faced one too many formidable adversaries to be able to shut off his profiler’s eye, and he scans her head to toe, looking for the slightest hint of deception. She doesn’t seem to be hiding anything but he could be wrong, he’s been wrong, and it nearly cost him everything; what if she can’t be trusted and this time his luck has well and truly run out, what if-

“Doctor Reid?”

The greeting jolts him away from his spiralling thoughts. It still takes him a second to come back to himself, and when he does, he notices his hands are clenched into fists. He’s standing stock still in the lobby of Bennington Sanitarium. The receptionist is staring back at him with a look somewhere between fear and concern, her hand twitching towards the landline on the desk. He realises he must look somewhat threatening; he isn’t used to having that effect on people. But, he supposes, that is the least of the changes the last fifteen years have wrought on him.

“Doctor Reid, are you alright?”

He forces his body to relax, joint by joint, giving the woman as genuine of a smile as he can muster, hoping it will set her at ease. It doesn’t seem to; he can’t quite bring himself to care. The concerned voice is a familiar one, and he turns around to greet his mother’s new caretaker.

“Hi, Ruth. Sorry, I, uh—I had a rough flight,” he manages to say, running a hand through his hair, “how is she?”

Ruth always has a maternal air about her, and right now, she looks like she can see right through his flimsy excuse. She’s about to pry, he knows, and he suddenly feels claustrophobic. He needs to get away.

“Actually, I’m going to get some coffee, I’m a little tired. I’ll come back in a little while.”

Ruth frowns. “Doctor Reid, have you been sleeping?”

“Just fine, thanks. We just had a big case.” The longer this conversation stretches on, the less air there is in his lungs. His own voice sounds far away, like he’s shouting to be heard over the sounds of waves crashing against unmoving rocks.

“I see.”

“I’ll see you later,” he says, sidestepping her to get to the exit.

“Diana is having a bad day.”

The words make him stop short, if only for a moment.

“Ah.” A bad day means his mother doesn’t even know who he is. Trying to job her memory would only confuse and agitate her. He would know. He’s tried.

Ruth isn’t a woman who likes silence. “I’m sure she would still be happy to-“

He forces the muscles of his face to conjure up something resembling a smile in her direction. “No, that’s alright. I’ll just come back another time.”

With that, he pushes past her, taking long strides forward and not stopping until he’s hunched over and sucking in desperate lungsful of the warm night air. He can taste the saturation somewhere in the back of his throat and it almost feels like a home he’s long since left behind. It was stupid to have thought that seeing his mom would give him answers to questions he doesn’t even know how to voice. It’s stupid to think there’s any comfort to be had anywhere, in this new life.

Eventually, he catches his breath and straightens up, beginning to walk aimlessly. There are no stars to be seen above him, but this city could never be quite pitch dark. Vegas is all flashing lights and seductive mystery, and perhaps that’s why so many lost souls end up here. For him, it’s simply familiar; and so little of his life is recognisable these days that he clings to it like a drowning man. That’s probably why this is where he’s chosen to come the day before his mandatory leave is over.

He doesn’t put much thought into where his feet are taking him, until he hears the familiar sounds of whirring machinery and celebratory shouts and sultry jazz music being crooned into a microphone. The air reeks of artifice, but he couldn’t care less. In a few minutes he’ll be raking in victory after victory until someone grows suspicious and he ends up getting kicked out of the casino. He’ll never admit it, but even the inevitable outcome gives him a thrill. This, at least, is a sure gamble. Here, he may be nameless and faceless, but here, he’s also a winner.

~

Spencer hesitates at the door. He knows he has no choice but to enter, but the thought of being back there is overwhelming. It fills him with a shame he knows he ought not to feel. He reaches into his jacket pocket and his fingers grip the bronze token he almost never leaves at home. The cool metal grounds him somewhat.

Three times this fortnight, he has gotten as far as ten minutes into a meeting before being called away for work. Like the coward he is, he took the easy out and rushed to play Superman, when he’s really not even a half-decent Clark Kent. He is fraying at the edges. He knows himself well enough to be sure that wherever his current path is leading him, it isn’t anywhere good. So he takes a deep breath, and crosses the threshold.

As he takes a seat among the quietly welcoming group of fractured souls, he turns off his phone. Whatever horrors the world outside might need his help to rectify, he knows that leaving this safe haven for them is not an option; not when it would mean allowing the tendril of ice in his chest to spread and consume him and render him permanently useless.

A shadow falls over his hunched form, and he looks up to catch the eye of an old friend.

“John,” he remembers to say.

“Spencer,” the man greets back warmly. He takes the seat next to him. “It’s been a while.”

He hears the real questions: Why did you stop coming to meetings? What happened that led you back here now?

“I- I just figured I needed a reminder.”

The wan smile he directs at the older agent supplies the real answers: I was too proud to believe I needed to be here anymore. Now I’m here because I have no pride left.

That seems to be enough, and John offers a nod and an encouraging smile before he settles back into his seat, turning his attention to the front of the room. There’s a man talking about a messy relapse after a divorce. A woman follows with a pleased announcement that she is two years sober, to which the room responds with enthusiastic applause.  As more and more people offer up their stories, Spencer feels his nerves grow increasingly calmer, until he finally musters up the confidence to stand up and walk the short distance himself.

“Hi,” he begins with a small wave, “My name is Spencer, and I’m an addict.”

When he says the word, his entire being sighs in realisation. His mind stretches to accommodate this new piece of previously unacknowledged information, hugging the jagged edges of sharp defensiveness and tired denial that adorn it. There’s an odd sense of calm that comes along with it. He knows now, really knows, and if Spencer Reid knows something, half the battle has been won.

~

Last time, he never even really slipped. He just held on to the vials like some kind of a sick lifeline. When the nightmares became too intense, he would grip them so hard he actually feared they would break. That was back when he still had a lot of things left to live for, though; a mother, a team, a life that he loved. Now, his mother doesn’t remember him. His team is fractured and each of them is scarred in myriad ways. And his life is more a tragic comedy than the heroic sagas his mother adores. Still, he tries.  

Time passes and things are more or less normal.

Emily no longer looks at him with suspicion. He wouldn’t go as far as to say she trusts him again, but she doesn’t distrust him. That’s more than he expected to get, at least.

Garcia is still much nicer to him than he deserves; when she greets him in the morning with a batch of homemade cookies, he wonders, not for the first time, whether she truly doesn’t know what he’s been up to in his spare time. Garcia isn’t the best at keeping secrets, and he’s sure she would have let something slip by now. Rossi still invites him to extravagant dinner parties and he still goes to a few of them and the whole team is there, and it’s still fun and lighthearted and easy. It shouldn’t be this easy.  

The more he thinks about it, the more likely it seems that Emily has done him the enormous favour of keeping his secret. No one treats him differently—except JJ, the lengths of whose understanding and patience are tested a little more every time he says no to babysitting Henry; he can’t tell her he needs to be as far away from Henry as possible for the time being, so he makes up flimsy excuses that make the smile on her face look forced and painful. But otherwise, no one asks any pointed questions, and none of the higher-ups are watching him any more closely than usual.

The thought chokes him up. The worst part is that there isn’t much he can do to show his gratitude besides say the words. Which he does, in the quiet of her office after everyone has gone home for the weekend, and tentatively reaches for a hug. She lets him embrace her, and the familiar scent of her shampoo makes some chunk of a wall inside him crumble.

Apart from that, though, all he can do is just—live. There’s no way to make amends as soon as he wants to. The only way to thank Emily is to try not to be such a colossal disaster in the future. Some days, it seems like that’s a feat that is beyond him. Those days, he stays hunched over his desk in the bullpen into the wee hours of the morning, trying to hit that sweet-spot of mindless exhaustion that will have him dead asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

It’s on one such night, a little past midnight, that he’s startled by the sounds of approaching footsteps behind him. He swivels around in his chair and comes face to face with an impassive JJ. He didn’t know she was here. She’s carrying a pile of paperwork and her hair is just slightly disheveled, so he assumes she has been in the records section.

In the dim yellow light, she still looks angelic, and it feels like she holds the weight of his existence in her hands. He just stays perfectly still while she studies him. Neither of them says anything, until she finally seems to make a decision, pulling up a chair, sitting next to him, and silently getting to work.

He stares at her for a few more seconds before returning to the file, and soon the only sounds are the scratching of pens on paper. It’s peaceful, this silence, and he takes it to mean he’s been given a little more time to figure things out.

She still ends up leaving before he does. As she packs up her things, she shoots a few concerned glances his way. She spins on her heel and takes a step before pausing. Then there’s a small pressure on his shoulder as she whispers, “You’re allowed to be happy, Spencer. You know that, right?”

He keeps his eyes trained on the paperwork, but he raises his hand to squeeze hers.

“I’m getting there, I think.”

~

The cement box is closing in on him. There’s cement in his mouth and Calvin Show is smirking at him and his hand is bleeding, dripping red rivulets of blood onto Nadie’s prone body. Someone is laughing in the distance, and Shaw and his goons join in until the sounds are drowned out by a scream, a desperate, long, agonising scream.

He sits erect with the scream still in his mouth. The immediate sight of his lamplit room makes it fizzle out into shallow, shaky breaths.

Despite himself, his gaze is drawn to his nightstand. He knows he threw the vials away. He knows there’s no temporary solace to be found. But he stares at it anyway.

In a concerted effort to distract himself, he grabs his phone. There’s an overwhelming urge to talk to someone, and he tries to squash it down. The leaky faucet in his bathroom is especially loud.

Plop. Plop. The familiar tension in his temples starts building, and he releases a frustrated groan. The phone in his hand is taunting him.

Plop. Plop. Plop. He gives in and dials a number on reflex, pressing the phone up to his ear as he stands and paces wildly.

“Reid?” The voice is rough with sleep but it’s also alert and so achingly familiar that all he can give in response is a slightly incredulous laugh.

“You picked up,” he says.

“Of course I picked up.” Silence. “Are you alright?”

Another laugh, though this one borders on hysterical. “Yeah. Yeah, Morgan. I’m alright.”

He knows it won’t work, even as he’s saying the words. The man on the other end is still sharp, and still knows him too well.

“I might be wrong, kid, but I don’t call up my best friend at two a.m. when I’m alright,” Morgan tells him gently, with a teasing smile in his voice. It sets him at ease.

He chuckles. “I guess you’re right.”

The silence that follows is expectant, but patient. It makes him want to talk about everything and he knows this is why he has been avoiding Morgan so much; he knows how to get his guard down. Spencer hasn’t really talked to Morgan since he showed up at his front door his first night home after getting out of prison, with an overnight bag slung over his shoulder and a face that said no nonsense would be tolerated. Spencer isn’t ashamed to admit he broke down that night, but he is a bit reluctant to repeat the exercise. He knows it’s about to happen.

“I don’t think I’ve really been alright since—since prison,” he finally offers, with an audible swallow.

“That’s to be expected, Reid.”

“I know.” He picks up the three-month token from his nightstand, and squeezes as tightly as he can. “I know, but lately…lately I’ve just been letting everyone down. I’m not…useful anymore.”

“Now that’s just not true, kid,” Morgan chides, uncharacteristically serious, “Listen to me. You went to prison, kid. Let that sink in. That’s not something that just goes away. It takes time, and patience, and no one is going to fault you for that.”

“Morgan, it’s-”

“I’m not done yet, genius,” he retorts, “and you need to understand that your worth isn’t determined by how useful you are in any given situation.”

Spencer snorts. “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what ‘worth’ means, Morgan.”

“No, it isn’t.” There isn’t an ounce of levity in the response, and it makes Spencer hold his breath in anticipation. “In this job, it’s easy to think that way. I get it. I’ve felt it too. More times than I can count. But you need to know and believe that you’re not just the job. You’re more than the job. You’re a person. And I think you forget that way too much, kid.”

The breath leaves him in one loud whoosh. He fumbles for words, but he doesn’t have any.

“You mean something, Reid. And a lot of people love you for more than what you have to offer in a case. Get it?”

“Okay,” he whispers, because he knows Morgan will not let him get away with a non-answer or an evasion. The words have thrown him slightly off-balance, in a good way, so he files them away in his mind to retrieve and study and turn over later. He fiddles with the token as he clears his throat.

“I’m sorry I called so late.”

“You know you can call at any time. I’ve been getting too much sleep these days now that Hank isn’t a baby anymore.” His voice is always warm when he talks about his son, and he feels a sudden pang. He misses his best friend.

“It’s hard not having you around.”

“You know you can come over any time. Hank and Savannah miss you too. And I need someone to annoy Savannah more than I do so she’ll cut me some slack.”

The banter is familiar and fond, and after so many years, he knows there’s never any malice in it. He’s always loved the straightforwardness and simplicity that Morgan wears like a badge of honour.

“Yeah. I’d like that,” he replies, smiling.

“Okay, good. Now go to sleep, Einstein.”

“Alright,” he laughs. “And hey, Morgan?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Thanks.”

“Any time.”

The call ends with a beep, and this final silence is tranquil. Armed with the knowledge that he truly is not alone, that he might actually survive this and be okay, it’s easier to sleep now. He may never be the same again. He most probably won’t. He may be more Tobias than Spencer some days and some days he may be neither, but it’s still not the terrible fate it once seemed. Maybe, he thinks just before he loses his train of thought, maybe he doesn’t have to be the most useful person in the room. Just for a while, that should be okay.

[tvshowfanfics12]

Ginna Mackey and Blake Gallo

Takes Place After Episode 9.4

Ginna’s POV:

I saw Gallo walking through the halls, and I stood up from the table and followed him to the locker rooms. He was opening his locker when I came in. I went over to my locker, the words catching in my throat. I opened my locker and looked around, but I didn’t really need anything.

Suddenly I got the courage and I spun around.

“Gallo…” I asked.

He looked up. “Oh, hey Mackey.” He smiled, which made me smile.

“So, the other day you thought I had a kid,” I said, smiling at the mistake he made, thinking that I had a son.

He chuckled. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

I smirked. “Well, you told me about a park that you read about.” I turned back to my locker so Gallo couldn’t see me blush. “I was just wondering if that was you asking me out on a date?”

I looked over my shoulder when Blake didn’t say anything back. He had a smile on his face and when our eyes caught his face brightened.

“You caught that.” He shook his head.

I laughed. “Yeah.”

He leaned against his locker and laughed. “Yeah, I mean I was trying to see if you wanted to go to a park with me and watch your kid play on the playground.” He shook his head. “I still feel so dumb about.” He smiled down at his feet.

“It was sweet.” I shrugged.

“It was stupid.” He looked up at me.

“Well…” I fiddled with my fingers. “Would you like to go on that date? I mean not at a park or anything, but maybe dinner?”

Blake smiled. “Uh… yeah.” He nodded. “I would like that.”

“Good.” I smiled with a nod. “Um… Friday night?” I suggested, knowing that we would be off shift by then.

“Yeah.” He nodded.

“Okay, see you then.” I smiled and walked out of the locker room and back to the lunchroom where I sat down next to Brett.

“You look happier than normal.” Brett nudged me in the shoulder.

“I asked Gallo out,” I whispered to her, unable to hide my excitement.

“Ohhh.” She smirked at me.

“ENGINE 61 TO FIREHOUSE 51 WOMEN SHOT IN HOME.” The alarm went off. I turned to Brett and she nodded. We got up and ran to the ambulance and loaded in.

“Don’t think this doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear everything about you asking Gallo out.” Brett smiled at me as we drove out of the firehouse.

“Of course.” I smiled.

We got on the call and Brett rushed out while I grabbed the medical kit. I ran into the house after Brett who was already assessing the women’s injuries.

“Where is the shooter?” Brett asked.

“He… He ran off.” The women explained in pain. I knelt down beside Brett and took over holding the injury while Brett got out the gauze.

“Did the bullet go through you?” I asked the women.

“I am not sure.” She shook her head. “I hate seeing blood, so I haven’t actually looked.”

“It’s okay.” I nod. “My mother can’t stand the look of blood too,” I say, trying to make her feel better. “Brett, I am going to take a look,” I informed my partner.

“Of course.” Brett agreed.

I took my hand off for a second, and when I didn’t see anything I nodded and reapplied the pressure. I then turned the women slightly to look for an exit wound.

“The bullet is still inside,” I told Brett in a calming tone, trying not to frighten the women.

“Is… Is that bad?” The women asked.

“It just means that the doctors at the hospital will remove it, ma’am,” I told her.

“Oh, no need for the ma’am thing.” The women smiled through the pain. “My name is Doris.”

“Well, hello Doris.” Brett smiled. “My name is Silvia Brett, and this here is Ginna Gallo.”

I nodded to the woman.

“Oh, nice to meet you, ladies.” The woman nods. “I wish it was under different circumstances.” She tried to joke.

“I know.” Brett smiled. “How about we load you into the ambulance.”

“Oh, I am more than ready.” The women laughed.

I assisted Brett in getting the women on the stretcher. Brett sat in the back with the women as I drove to Chicago Med. The lady kept apologizing over and over for the inconvenience she had caused. Brett assured her that it was no trouble while I smiled at how nice this woman was.

When we arrived the hospital staff came out and took Doris in for surgery to remove the bullet. I was helping Brett to clean the back of the ambulance when the police came to ask us questions.

“Did you see the shooter?” Burges asked.

“No, they had left the scene before we had arrived,” Brett answered for us.

“Did Doris say who did this to her?” Burges asked. “Did she know the person?”

“We didn’t ask. We only wanted to know if the shooter was still in the area and then we got her here.” I said, refilling my med bag as I talked.

“Alright.” Burges nodded. “I will contact you if there is anything else I need. Nice save girls.” She said before she left.

Brett and I finished the cleanout of the ambulance and then we headed back to the station. We had just pulled out of the station when Brett started talking.

“So, how did you ask him?” She smiled.

“Ask who?” I said, taking one last check in the back before settling into my seat.

“Gallo. How did you ask Gallo out?” Brett laughed.

“Oh, so a few days ago he offered to take me and my kid to a playground in town that he heard about.” I started to explain.

“Woah! A kid!” She turned to me in shock. “I didn’t know you had a kid.”

“I don’t.” I laughed and grabbed her shoulder to calm her down. “I had said something about one of the kids that my mom watches at her daycare but I referred to him as my kid and Gallo thought that I had a kid,” I explained.

“Oh.” Brett nodded. “At least he was listening.”

“Yeah.” I laughed. “So anyways he asked if I wanted to go to a park but when I explained he just laughed it off. So did I.” I shrugged. “Then that night I realized that he was asking me out, but then got scared off.”

“Oh.” Brett nodded.

“So this morning when I got on shift I asked him out,” I said as a matter of fact.

“The fire station? You asked him out at the fire station?” Brett laughed. “I wouldn’t say that is the most romantic place to ask someone out.”

“Oh please. I have heard many stories about the fire station’s great love affairs.” I laugh. “And it was actually the locker room in the fire station where I asked him.”

“Oh, that's so much better.” She said in sarcasm.

I laughed. “So we are going out on Friday night after shift,” I said as we parked in the fire station.

“Oh, where are you going?” She asked.

“I was thinking Molly’s.” I shrugged and got out of the truck. “I don’t know of many good places for a first date.”

“Well if you’re going to Molly’s maybe I can talk Stella into closing the outside patio so you guys can have your date under the stars.” Brett nudged me.

“I don’t know.” I smiled. “I mean we never actually made the plans. We just set a date. What if he wants to go somewhere fancy?”

“Molly’s can be fancy.” Brett shrugged.

“I get that be we always go to Molly’s,” I say, closing the back of the ambulance after I inspected it.

“How about I do some digging around and see where Gallo plans to go and then tell you.” Brett put her arm around my shoulder. “It’s the least I can do, partner.”

“I would like that.” I smiled.

Brett and I walked into the lunchroom which seemed to be emptier than normal. In fact, at this time everyone was usually watching something on tv or playing games at the table and there was no one in the room now.

“HE SHOOTS… HE SCORES!!!” Loud screaming came from outside.

I looked at Brett and she seemed to think the same thing. We walked out the doors and to the backside of the firehouse where everyone was. There was a crowd cheering while another group raced around a homemade obstacle course.

“RUN!!” They shouted at them.

“What is going on?” Brett said asking Mouch who had a score sheet in his hands.

“Stella needed some practice so she challenged the firehouse to a race,” Mouch explained. “It sort of got out of hand and now we are all betting on who is going to finish the course with the best time.”

“Who is winning?” I asked, leaning over to see the score sheet.

“No the race hasn’t started yet. This is practice.” Mouch said.

“When is it starting?” Brett asked, looking at everyone running.

“In an hour.” He explained. “This is for them to warm up and you to see who you are going to bet on.”

“Oh.” Brett nodded.

“All bets must be placed in 20 minutes,” Mouch said.

I turned back to see all the commotion. Stella was running in first but Casey was in close second and then Gallo and Sevoride were in a close tie. Stella was trash talking and the crowd was cheering them on.

I turned to Brett and laughed.

“So, wanna place a bet?” Brett asked me.

“Oh yeah.” I agreed.

After I grabbed my wallet from my locker I put $30 down on Gallo. Of course, Stella was amazing and could run the course no problem, but I was hoping Blake would win.

Brett also placed a bet and if I was to guess I think she put it in Casey.

It was explained that half of the money would go to the winner and the other half would go to buying drinks for everyone at Molly’s. I thought that was a good cause.

“Placed your bet?” Brett asked me.

“Yes. You?” I asked, sitting down beside her on the outdoor chairs that had been brought out to watch the race.

“I have never seen Stella so determined.” Brett laughed. “I think she even cursed Casey.

“What?” I turned to Brett for an explanation.

“She muttered something under her breath and then told me that Casey was “taken care of”. She laughed.

I laughed. “Competition can bring out the worst in people.”

We sat and watched as Stella, Casey, Gallo, and Sevoride ran the course a few more times. Brett pointed out things that, if they avoided, would save them time in the end. I nodded in agreement.

“I am going to get some drinks. Want any?” I asked Brett and the practice ended.

“Water please,” Brett said.

“On it.” I go inside and grab a few bottles of water for the runners and Brett and me. My hands were full when I walked back outside.

“WATER!” Is said loud enough to get the competitor’s attention. I handed Brett her water and walked over to the panting group as they were recovering.

“You are a lifesaver, Mackey:” Stella said as I handed her water.

“What I am here for,” I said, handing out the water to Sevoride.

I turned around and gave water to Casey who was now laying on the ground. “You good?” I asked.

“Yeah. Never better.” He said waving his hand in the air.

“I’ll take water?” Blake’s voice said from behind me.

I turned around and handed him a bottle. “So how did you get roped into this?”

He laughed and took a big gulp of his water. “Stella wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Oh.” I smiled. “Are you sure you will have enough energy to run this race?” I leaned on part of the obstacle course.

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “I do this for a living you know?”

“I know,” I smirk. “Stella was smoking all of you.” I nudged him.

“Hey, I was saving my energy.” He nudged me back. “And I don’t see you running this course.” He said in a challenging tone.

“Oh, that’s not going to work on me.” I shook my head. “I am perfectly happy watching you.”

“Oh is that so?” He said making me blush.

I looked down at my shoes, noticing my mistake. I glanced back up at him which only made him laugh.

“What’s happening over here?” Cruz said, walking over to us.

“We are just talking,” I said to Cruz, knowing that he is just seconds away from going into big brother mode.

“Talking about what?” Cruz came over and took the water out of my hands.

“We are talking about who is more likely to win the race,” Gallo said and then he took a sip of his water.

“Oh, well my bet is on Casey. He has always been able to smoke anyone who challenges him.” Cruz says as he looks right at Gallo.

They just look at each other like they are waiting for someone to make the first move.

“Stella is pretty good though.” I interrupt their little staring contest.

“I think I can beat them.” Gallo relaxes on a post.

“Sure.” Cruz laughs.

“I can,” Gallo says confidently.

“We’ll see,” Cruz says before walking off. He kept glancing over his shoulder back to us. When he was inside I turned to Gallo and laughed.

“So, who did you bet on?” Gallo asked with a dorky smirk.

“Why should I tell?” I teased him.

“Because I am curious.” He smiled.

“You,” I said quietly. “I bet on you.”

“Well, then I have motivation not to lose.” He grinned from ear to ear. “I can’t have you lose your bet.”

“You better not.” I joked.

“What is going on!” Boden shouted, making everyone turn to him.

“Chief,” Severide said first.

“Someone please explain why there is an obstacle course back here!” He turned to look at every one of us. Probably taking a mental photo of everyone involved.

“We are helping Stella.” Severide stepped up to explain. “We started out as helping her train but it became a competition.”

“And you are placing bets!?” He turned to Mouch who was going through the money.

“Yes, Chief.” Severide nodded.

“And no one thought to involve me?” Boden turned to Mouch. “I want to place a bet.”

Everyone sighed.

After Boden placed his bet I went back over to Brett and sat in our seats. The competitors got into their gear and Ritter held a flag.

“Ready?” He asked them.

“Yeah,” Casey said.

“Yes.” Severide nodded.

“Yep.” Gallo winked at me, making me blush.

“Let’s go!” Stella said, pumped up.

Ritter waves the flag and the race begins. Of course, Stella shoves over Casey who falls into Severide and that makes Brett and I crack up. Stella stays in the lead but Gallo follows close on her tail.

“GO! GO! GO!” Boden cheers on. From the looks of it he placed his bet on Stella.

“This is fun.” I turn to Brett who is laughing.

“Much better than sitting in front of the tv and watching Mouch and Herrman fight over the remote another night.” Brett laughs.

She was right. I haven’t been working here long but I did notice that when we had overnight shifts, everyone would gather and watch tv until super. This was much better. And Mouch and Herrman always make a big deal about the shows they watch, and I never get to watch the ones that I want.

“So true,” I said while taking a sip of my water.

“How long do you think this will last?” Brett turned to me.

“What do you mean? The race?” I turned to her.

“Yeah. I could see them calling for a rematch until midnight.” Brett laughed. “Casey would say that he didn’t have a proper start and wants a re-do.”

I laugh.

I look back at the race and they seem to be at the end of the course. Casey and Severide are laughing and shoving each other out of the way like boys and Stella is by far in the lead. Gallo is running in second but he looks like he is having fun.

“Come on, you are so close!” Boden yells at Stella. “Cross the line!”

When Stella breaks the ribbon that Mouch and Herrman hold, everyone stands up and cheers. Brett hugs Stella just as Gallo crosses the line.

“WINNER!” Boden holds up Stella’s hand.

“I… I want… a rematch.” Casey says, out of breath, as he crosses the line.

“Same.” Serveride leans on Casey for support.

Everyone laughs and I look right at Brett. “I was right.” She says to me.

“Yes, you were,” I say as I come over to Stella. “Nice one Stella. I think this means you are ready for your fitness part of the Lieutenants exam.”

“I hope so.” She laughs.

I then walk over to Gallo who is taking a drink of water. “Nice race,” I say to him, leaning on a post so that I am facing him.

“Well, I thought that Stella should get the win.” He smiled.

“Oh, sure.” I rolled my eyes.

“Sorry, you didn’t win the bet.” He leaned closer.

“Oh, it’s fine. Half of my bet goes to drinks at Molly’s.” I shrug.

“That’s true.” He smirked. Then he just stared at me.

I stared back at him. The blood rushed to my cheeks, but I held his gaze.

“What?” I asked after a minute.

“What?” He had a dorky smile on his face.

“You're staring at me.” I blush even more. How red can a person get?

“I am not.” He didn’t leave my eyes as he said it.

“Oh really.” I lean closer.

“Pizza!” Cruz jumped in the middle of us, scaring me half to death. “We are getting pizza tonight and I am taking orders. What do we want.” Cruz said, giving Blake a deadly glare.

“Um… Cheese.” Blake answered, a little afraid.

“Cheese is fine with me,” I say, pulling on Cruz’s arm. “You have our order now.”

“I am going to need someone to help with getting the pizza.” Cruz’s eyes didn’t leave Blake’s. “Gallo, want to help?” He said more of a threat.

“No, I will go.” I offered, trying to save Blake the humiliation of being in the car with Cruz.

“I… I should start cleaning this up before it gets dark out.” Blake said, talking about the mess of an obstacle course that was laying on the ground.

“Yeah. You should.” Cruz spats.

“Cruz, how about you get everyone's order and I will meet you at your truck.” I step in front of him so he is forced to look at me. I glare at Cruz.

“Fine.” He says reluctantly.

I turn back to Blake and sigh.

“I think he was going to kill me.” Blake laughs.

“He might still.” I joke.

“That’s not funny. He totally could kill me.” Blake laughs.

“I should get going before he comes back here and drags you into a dark alley.” I laugh.

“Yeah, I have a mess to clean up anyway.” He smirks.

I nod and then walk back inside. Before I go through the doors I look back at Blake and he now has a broom in his hand, but he turns and looks at me. His dorky smile sends butterflies to my stomach and I blush and duck inside.

When I get to Cruz’s car he is already in the car with a notepad of everyone's order. I take the paper and look it over to make sure that everyone’s name is on it.

“So two large Candian Bacon. two large Pepperonis, and three large cheese?” I confirm.

“Yep,” Cruz says in a better mood than before.

“Are you ever going to stop glaring at Gallo when I talk to him?” I ask, leaning back in my seat and enjoying the ride.

“Nope. Never.” He says firmly.

“I am not a little kid anymore. You don’t have to protect me.” I argue.

“You will always be like a little sister to me. That means that no one is good enough for you.” Cruz says like it’s a matter of fact or something.

“But you like Gallo. You think he is a nice guy.” I say, remembering all the times Cruz was telling me about his friends at 51 while I was still training.

“But it’s different if you date him,” Cruz says.

“Look, I like him,” I confess. “I know you're just trying to look out for me, but I can do that for myself. So please, will you lay off?!”

It was silence.

As we drove into the pizza place, Cruz stopped the car and grabbed the notebook. Before he opened the door to his car he turned to me. “I will try.”

“Thank you.” I sighed. Then we got out of the car and went inside to place an order for pizza.

When we got back to the station everyone was already inside shouting about a rematch or how they want their money back. When we walked through the doors with pizza everyone started to crowd us now.

“Oh, that smells good.” Gallo came over and took the pizzas I was holding out of my hands and set them on the counter.

He handed me a plate as he opened up the boxes to find the cheese. I took a few slices and grabbed a pop from the fridge. I sat next to Blake who was talking to Ritter about a story or something.

“Yeah, and then right as I was about to jump down, I heard a ripping noise and knew that I had ripped my pants.” Gallo laughed as he was telling Ritter his story.

“You ripped your pants?” I chuckled.

“Oh yeah.” Ritter laughed. “This smooth talker thought that if he could climb a tree and get a volleyball out of it that he would get a girl's number.” Ritter filled me in.

“It didn’t work and I lost a pair of pants that day.” Blake pretends to be sad about it.

“Oh my.” I shook my head and laughed.

“So, you have any embarrassing stories?’ Ritter asked me. “We are sharing after all.”

“Nope,” I said as I took a bite of my pizza.

“You have never done anything embarrassing?” Blake asked, questioning me.

“No. I don’t get embarrassed.” I said while sitting up a little straighter.

“I don’t believe that.” Ritter laughed. “Hey, Cruz!” He said to Cruz who was sitting in front of the tv. Cruz looked up. “Got any embarrassing stories of Ginna over here?”

I glared at Cruz, not wanting him to spill anything. If anyone knew embarrassing things about me it would be him. Cruz seemed to know this so a smile spread on his face.

“I might have a few good ones.” He stood up and walked to our table. “How much time do you have?”

“Oh, I don’t have that many stories,” I said sarcastically.

“Oh, I think you do.” Cruz sat down next to Ritter and across from me and Blake. “Where should I start? How about the time you thought that the guy at the pool was actually selling popsicles but actually you bought drugs?”

I put my face in my hands. I forgot about that one.

“Okay, I think I need to hear this,” Blake said, shifting in his chair to pay more attention.

“Well one day at our neighborhood pool, Ginna really wanted an orange popsicle.” Cruz started. “So when she saw that there was a sign for popsicles outside the pool gates, she grabbed money from her mom’s purse and went over to buy it. How much money did you take again?” Cruz asked me.

“Okay, so I didn’t know how much money they would cost so I grabbed a hundred dollars.” I looked up at Cruz. “But you are forgetting that before that I had asked you to buy me one and you refused.”

“Yeah, well I knew they weren’t actually selling popsicles.” Cruz throws it back at me. “Anyways with the hundred bucks she walks right up and orders three popsicles.”

Blake looked over to me, smiling from ear to ear. I might not have been such an open book as I had thought.

“When I asked him for them he told me to bug off,” I said, taking over the story. “When I started to get mad he confessed to not having any orange popsicles left. I showed him the money and said that I wanted some now.”

“You showed him the money?” Ritter said, laughing off his chair.

“Yeah. I was dumb and showed the tiny drug dealer a hundred bucks and asked him to give me what he had if he didn’t have any orange ones left.” I shook my head. “So when he handed me a popsicle box I didn’t care to look inside before I handed him the money.”

“You didn’t even check!?” Blake held his side and he was laughing so hard.

“I was five. I didn’t think that drug dealers were eleven-year-old kids.” I said to my defense.

“And then tell everyone what happened.” Cruz wiped a tear from his face because he was laughing so hard.

“I jumped into the hot tub at the pool with the box in my hands to hand it out to everyone.” I covered my face with my hands. “The hot water and the drugs didn’t mix well and in like three minutes we had a hot tub that looked like weed tea.”

“The pool had to be closed for two weeks because this girl got drugs into the filtration system.” Cruz laughed.

“I am not proud of that.” I shook my head. “It was an accident.”

“And what did you do the next time you saw that drug dealer?” Cruz edged me on.

“I gave him a wedge and shoved him into the pool in the deep end,” I said in a quiet voice.

“What was that?” Blake leaned in closer. “Did you just say you gave him a wedge and shoved him into the pool?”

“You heard me correctly.” I looked up to meet his gaze. He was laughing so hard and I hadn’t noticed before but everyone in the room seemed to have heard my story and was laughing with me.

“So, what you are telling me is to watch out for any popsicle stands?” Brett said, resting a hand on my shoulder.

“Ha Ha.” I looked up at her. “I was young.”

“Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to talk to strangers?” Casey asked in a joking tone.

“They did, but I wanted an orange popsicle,” I argued. “He was just eleven. I had no idea that his cardboard sign was just a ruse to hide his real business.”

“What did your parents say when they found out you bought drugs with their money?” Ritter asked.

“They weren’t happy but they got mad when I told them that I spent the whole hundred on the drugs.” I laughed.

“Okay, can we just take a second? So, if you thought it was actually popsicles in that box, did you really spend a hundred buck on it?” Blake said thinking about it for a second.

“Yes,” I grumbled as I put my head on the table.

Then there was another burst of laughter.

“So I might have ripped my pants for a girl, but you bought drugs from an eleven-year-old.” Gallo laughed. “I think you win with the most embarrassing story.”

“Yeah, I so wanted to win,” I said sarcastically.

We sat around the table sharing jokes and playing card games together for about an hour more. We laughed and after telling a few more stories around the table I didn’t feel so embarrassed. Everyone shared and it soon became a competition to see who had the worst story.

I looked over to Blake a lot and watched as he bluffed in poker and failed in Janga. He would catch my eyes every once and a while and give that dorky smile that sent butterflies to my stomach.

It was late and people were starting to get tired. I myself was having a hard time keeping my eyes open, but didn’t want to miss a thing.

I felt a warm hand squeeze mine under the table and I looked over to Gallo who was looking at me.

“You should get some rest.” He said softly so the others didn’t hear.

“I am not tired.” I lied but my body betrayed me as I yawned afterward.

“I beg to differ.” He smiles at me. “Go to bed.”

I smile in defeat and nod my head. I slowly slip my hand out of his and stand up. I tell everyone I am going to bed and then leave for the sleeping quarters.

[marvella15]

Astaire & Rogers Rewatch Part 7: Shall We Dance

• Something I didn’t consciously realize about this film until reading Hannah Hyam’s book is that Astaire and Rogers don’t dance together until nearly an hour in. That hasn’t happened since Gay Divorcee. What was anyone thinking??

• Shall We Dance suffers from a lot of extra crap that it didn’t need, such as extraneous characters, far too many interruptions in the Astaire and Rogers relationship, and a bunch of weirdness like life-sized dolls, life-like masks, and backbending ballerinas. The film also has a lot of wasted potential, including a great score and songs by George and Ira Gershwin. 

The Gershwins were already well acquainted with Astaire and Rogers. The duo had first met when she was starring in the brothers’ show, Girl Crazy, and Astaire was brought in to help with choreography. Rogers was close friends with George and even dated him. Astaire had known the brothers prior, having starred in a few of their shows with his sister, Adele. 

• Our characters/actors: Peter “Petrov” Peters (Fred Astaire), Linda Keene (Ginger Rogers), Jeffrey Baird (Edward Everett Horton), Arthur Miller (Jerome Cowan)

• Around the time I was first really into classic Hollywood films, including these ones, my family and I adopted a new dog. I annoyed my parents to no end by suggesting we name him Peter P. Peters. Don’t know why I latched onto that name but I did. 

• Even in the massive portrait of Petrov, you can see Astaire has his fingers curled in rather than fully extended.

• Astaire’s ballet attire lets us once again see just how skinny he is. 

• Always loved how Peter does a little tap at the rhythmic sound of his name and birthplace: Pete Peters, Philadelphia PA.

• Rogers’ cardigan with all of its baubles is truly awful looking. It will only be out done by a terrible floral dress she wears later. 

• I do however like that she shoves her handsy stage partner into a fountain. Why are men constantly the worst?

• “And why must there always be a kiss at the second-act curtain?” is YET ANOTHER example of these films trolling us. Not once up until this point has any act of an Astaire/Rogers outing included a kiss between them. 

• Linda’s disinterest in even meeting Petrov is based on the assumption that he’s a “simpering toe dancer.” While that’s incorrect, she’s not wrong that he is indeed another man who has seen a picture of her and wants to tell her he can’t live without her. So she gets partial credit. 

• If Peter wasn’t totally smitten before, Linda’s jab, “It’s just a game little American boys play” gets him. 

• As a mixed race number, “Slap That Bass” is incredibly unusual for the era. Astaire was a great admirer of African-American dancers and was strongly influenced by Bill Robinson and John W. Bubbles. I love the blend of all of the voices in this song. 

• The dance portion of “Slap That Bass” gives Astaire a chance to show off more of his innovative mind and choreography. He dances in time with the sounds of the ship’s engine and compels the camera to follow him across and up the vast set. The dance is also special in that we have behind the scenes footage of Astaire rehearsing, thanks to a home video shot by George Gershwin. 

• Peter making Jeffrey believe the boat is rocking may seem a bit unbelievable but having been on a large ship myself, sometimes you don’t realize it’s rocking until you see other passengers weaving or a giant chandelier swaying. 

• I usually skip most if not all of Jeffrey and Arthur’s scenes together. They slow down this film soooo much.

• Like in all of their films, songs are sometimes heard in the background before the actual musical number they appear in. But because this film is scored by the Gershwins, there’s an array of shorter pieces of music that are all their own, such as the whimsical score heard while Rogers and then Rogers with Astaire are walking her dog.

• The dog Peter borrows to give himself an excuse to talk to Linda hits his bark cue perfectly and looks extremely happy about it. 

• I would love to know what exactly Astaire and Rogers are talking about while walking her dog. Maybe they were given lines that were then not recorded or maybe it’s improv. But it seems very natural. 

Rogers did say that Astaire was a wonderful conversationalist and was adept at talking while dancing, something she noted most men couldn’t manage. 

• Wow do I love it when Rogers gets to be extra sassy

Peter: “Isn’t it wonderful being here tonight like this? Still on the same boat together.”

Linda: “Oh, I seldom change boats in mid-ocean.”

• “Beginner’s Luck” is such a charming, fast song that Astaire delivers wonderfully. He hardly seems to take a breath. 

A jazzed up version of “Beginner’s Luck” is the song Peter tried to dance to in Paris but the record kept getting stuck. 

• Something this movie fails at is letting Linda and Peter’s relationship continue to progress before throwing more obstacles in their way. We know from the gossip of the ship’s staff that they have been spending a lot of time together. When we see them, they are having a relaxing evening that’s incredibly domestic: sitting side by side on the deck while she knits and he smokes. Wouldn’t it have been nice to see more of this part of their relationship? 

• Why on earth did Peter think sending Jeffrey to fix the false baby rumors was the right decision? Jeffrey can’t handle a single thing. 

• Infuriated at the rumors that she’s married to Peter and pregnant with their baby, Linda tries to call him. “Operator! Get me Mr. Petrov. What? Don’t you dare congratulate me!”

• The theme of this movie is supposed to be the blend of dancing and music styles. Peter’s ballet and Linda’s jazz styles are one example, George Gershwin’s varied score, which switches from jazz to waltz to foxtrot to classical, etc, is another. But it’s a fairly weak concept that doesn’t quite land and reportedly, neither Astaire or Ira Gershwin was wild about it. 

• I love the new version of “Slap That Bass” that plays as Peter and Jeffrey enter the rooftop club. 

• When Rogers sings “They All Laughed,” she is singing to an off-screen Cary Grant, her friend and sometimes date who was visiting the set at the time. 

She is also wearing a dress with a horrible pattern. It’s supposed to be floral but it always makes me think of amoebas. Maybe it looked better in color?

• Astaire clearly has fun during the part where Peter hams it up a bit with his ballet next to Linda’s tapping. 

• In some ways, “They All Laughed” is reminiscent of “Isn’t it a Lovely Day.” They’re testing each other, trading glancing as they see whether the other can keep up with the increasingly complex steps. Until now, Linda didn’t know Peter could dance this way so her surprise and amusement unfolds slowly as the routine progresses. But he has been grinning since the start because he’s hoping to win her back through this dance.

• This is another duet where it takes a long time before they touch. The first physical contact is just her executing a series of spins with the help of his fingers. And it’s during this part that Rogers finally breaks into a wide smile.  

• When he spins her up onto the piano the first time, she happily waits for him to retrieve her. And when he spins her into a seated position and upright again a few times don’t miss how he looks at her with a wry, slightly mischievous smile. 

• The Linda doll is so creepy and not lifelike. Who was fooled by this?

Also, Arthur is terrible. Jeffrey is terrible too but he’s an idiot so I’m more willing to let it slide. 

• Peter walking out of Linda’s bedroom in the morning in his robe right in front of her fiancé while she is in her negligee is pretty funny. 

• Peter and Linda’s nice day out is just further proof that this movie should’ve spent more time on the two of them together rather than breaking them up every few minutes. 

• “Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off” is a fun song, though Astaire gets most of the good words imo. However, Rogers does do an extra affectation to some of her lyrics and that makes them funnier. 

At one point when she’s singing, he turns to her and for just a moment his face goes soft in that way it does sometimes when he looks at her. 

• Some film historians have labeled this dance as not that great when compared to other Astaire and Rogers numbers. But I’ve always found it very enjoyable and innovative. While Gene Kelly probably takes the gold medal for dancing on skates in It’s Always Fair Weather, Astaire and Rogers did it first, did it well, and deserve some extra credit for a duet on skates rather than a solo. 

Rogers also deserves some extra credit since the idea to dance on skates was supposedly hers. And probably deserves even more credit for doing this dance on skates while also in heels. 

• For some reason I really enjoy that they perform this number in their hats and street clothes. It’s so informal and feels like something you do on a fun date. 

• Throughout this dance, Peter continues to be the playful one, as he’s been in their interactions in the film, and Linda is the more serious one who needs to be coaxed into having fun. Maybe this is why Astaire frequently glances at her and even spends long seconds watching her at different parts as they move into the next series of steps. Rogers is more reserved in her expressions but whenever they are face to face, she appears happiest. 

A few times she looks triumphant, leading me to wonder if they or she had finally nailed a section that was giving them or her trouble. 

• Can’t say for certain but I swear she almost falls when they do the backwards steps. She just baaaarely snags his hand in time. 

They had to film this dance something like 150 times so I imagine there was more than one time where at least one of them did indeed fall. 

• The circular dance they do leading up to the end is based on a dance Astaire and his sister made famous in their time on the stage. 

• Apparently the grassy bank they tumble onto wasn’t padded so those fake grimaces of pain aren’t that fake. Their exchange after the tumble feels very much like married banter to me:

Peter: “Yes, it was my idea.”

Linda: “Have you any more of them?”

Peter, exaggerating: “No.”

• They’re such a good match:

Linda: “Peter, you’ve got to marry me.”

Peter: “Why, Linda, this is so sudden.”

• Oh 1930s Hays Code humor. The cop who overhears their conversation thinks she’s pregnant and pressuring the father of the baby into marrying her. Hurr hurr hurr.

• Heh:

Linda: “I beg your pardon but what are grounds for divorce in this state?”

Clerk: “Marriage.”

• It will never make sense to me that a dance was not planned in this film for “They Can’t Take That Away From Me.” It’s a truly lovely song. I know Astaire and Rogers will dance to it more than ten years later in The Barkleys of Broadway but it’s just not the same. 

It’s also a good reminder in the film that Peter has legitimate feelings for Linda and she does for him but they’re far more conflicted. Though he must sense he’s hooked her in a bit since he becomes very aloof once they return to the hotel in the stupid hope of making her want him more? Idk, men are dumb. 

• “They Can’t Take That Away From Me” carries special poignancy because it became a form of consolation to Ira Gershwin after his brother suddenly died two months after this film was released. 

• Oh Linda’s face when she walks in to see Peter with the loathsome Lady Tarrington is so sad and crestfallen. Ever thought you and your crush were finally on the same page only to find them canoodling with someone else? 

Although, she could’ve knocked first instead of just walking straight into his room…

• The ballet portion of the finale is weird and unappealing in every way. Harriet Hoctor was known for the backbend dance she does in this film. Maybe it was something spectacular in 1937?? but it doesn’t hold up. 

One thing I’ll say about Astaire’s duet with Hoctor, it’s a great chance to see him in a romantic duet with someone other than Rogers and notice how different he acts. No secret smile, no lingering looks, no whispered words, no soft expressions. 

• “Shall We Dance” is another upbeat song that deserves more than being featured in the remaining few minutes of the film. Their dance is far too short but wonderful all the same. Her delight when he finds her always makes me smile. She also executes some impressive full length lunges that I couldn’t do at this moment much less in a dress and heels in the middle of a dance number. 

For a few seconds, his fingers press into the exposed dip of her spine in yet another example of Victorian hotness. 

• And so we finish film number 7. Shall We Dance underperformed at the box office and wasn’t a critical darling. Everyone, the actors included, started to feel the magic was coming to an end. Coming up next is a film I pretty much never rewatch: Carefree. 

[ellewritesathing]

So Close - S.S. XLVI

Summary: The universe has a funny way of putting the things you want right in front of you, but just out of reach. Stiles and Y/N have been best friends ever since Scott brought him home, but when Stiles realizes that he might want to be something other than best friends, she leaves to go to some fancy private school up North. Now that she’s back though … maybe he’s got a shot? A Teen Wolf AU in which the reader has always been so close to Stiles and yet so far.

Masterlist   Prev. | Part 46

Word-count: 6k+

A/N: today on ‘oh shit it’s wednesday’ i bring to you an only-a-little-late update (also the gif doesn’t exactly fit but i can’t find a more appropriate one sorry!!)

You’d heard stories about newly turned werewolves. 

Erica had trouble controlling her impulses; she’d do anything that gave her an adrenaline rush. Boyd had trouble controlling his shifts; he’d be out for a run and find himself chasing a deer through the woods. Isaac had trouble controlling his emotions; he would go into fight or flight mode at the slightest noise. It took them months to learn control - Erica died before she could - but eventually, the ones left alive did. 

You turned almost a year ago, but your control came in waves. Emotional control was mastered fairly early on, physical control took a while longer, but you thought you’d gotten a hold on them by now. 

For the last month or so, your control had slipped almost completely. 

At first, it was slow. Your nightmares were worse and you’d started sleepwalking again. Once in a while, you’d wake up in an abandoned room or in the woods. Sometimes, you’d snap at Liam or accidentally hit a little harder than was necessary when you trained. 

But now you were waking up almost daily in a dusty abandoned room that was blocked off from the rest of the house. You could only go to sleep if you were tracing the scoring on a Feliscore Arcade token that you’d found in the pocket of a pair of jeans without knowing how it got there. Those accidental hits were becoming more and more intentional.

You’d heard stories about newly turned werewolves and about wolves evolving, but never stories of wolves devolving. 

Another fun little bonus of your devolution was that you had trouble concentrating on things anymore. You’d zoned out for most of Scott and Liam’s late-night lacrosse practice - that you’d only gone to because you didn’t want to be alone - and only looked up from your latest Feliscore Arcade google search when they froze on the field. 

“What? Are you guys tired of playing catch now or something?” you asked, cringing slightly at the harshness in your voice. 

“No. Something’s happening to Mason,” Liam said. His eyes were set on the school, then he dropped his lacrosse stick and bolted. It only took you a second to uncross your legs, get to your feet, and race after him.

The two of you made it to the school milliseconds before Scott, but every millisecond counted towards your little victory over your brother. You tried to squash the ugly, victorious feelings as the three of you broke into the library, and then you tried to smash Mason’s head in when he tried to attack you as you walked in.

Liam pulled you back as Corey and Mason lowered their chair and fire extinguisher. The two of them were out of breath as they recovered from the shock. 

“They were here. The Ghost Riders,” Mason said between pants of breath. 

You got a funny feeling in your chest at the mention of the Ghost Riders. There was something about them that you should have known; like how you should have known about the Dread Doctors before it was too late.

“Here? Just now?” Scott asked.

You squirmed out of Liam’s grip as he said, “I thought they left when the storm left.” 

“I guess not, because two of them were right up there,” Mason said. He pointed up to the railings on the second floor.

You tore your eyes away from the railing after a second. “What were they doing?” 

“We didn’t see when they came in.” Mason looked over to Corey for confirmation. “We only saw them when we turned invisible.”

Now it was your turn to hold Liam back as he turned to Corey. “You brought him into this?”

“He was trying to protect me,” Mason said as he stepped between Liam and Corey. He looked over his shoulder at Corey to get him to say something that would make Liam not want to kill him. 

“Uh, they didn’t seem to care about us,” Corey said. His heart was beating like crazy. “They- they walked right by us.” 

“So, what happened?” you asked, ignoring the agitation caused by Corey's ever beating heart.

Mason and Corey looked at each other for a long time, like they were trying to piece together what happened. “Uh…” Mason blinked a few times and turned back to you. “Then they just jumped down and left.”

“That’s it?” Liam asked. All his muscles were still tense.

“Yeah,” Corey said. 

Scott looked away from the railing and let out a breath. “They didn’t take someone? There was nobody else in here?”

Again, Mason and Corey looked at one another. “No. It was just us,” Corey said.

As annoyed as you were at the lack of information, you couldn’t stomach being in the library any longer. It felt like something horrible had happened there, but you couldn’t remember what or to whom. You stormed out of there ahead of the others, but then you paused in one of the hallways. 

There was that feeling of deja vu again. 

Slowly, you turned to look at the row of lockers. You took some very hesitant steps, letting your muscle memory override the screaming in your brain, and stopped in front of number 1075. Just as you reached out to touch the blue combination lock, a voice snapped you out of it. 

“Hey, thinking of getting a new locker?” Mason asked with a smile. 

“Uh, yeah. This one’s closer to the parking lot,” you lied. Your fingers reached out for the combination lock but you forced yourself to pull away and turn to Mason. “Did Liam and Scott already leave? I need a ride home.” 

“Oh, no, they’re still here. I’ll walk you to the front,” Mason said. He offered an arm to you and you took it with a smile.

A shiver ran up your spine as you cast one last look over your shoulder at locker 1075.

---

After a very confusing conversation with Deaton about phantom limbs, Scott asked you to watch him sleep. You didn’t mind - you barely slept anyway, at least this gave you an excuse to stay up and research the Wild Hunt - even if he did snore.

Things got interesting after the first hour and a half. At first, he just lay there and complained about not being able to sleep when you watched him. You assured him that you couldn’t care less about how much he drooled, and eventually, he fell asleep. Some occasional twitching and mumbling gave way to sleepwalking. Then, sleep-running through the woods. 

Scott collapsed into a heap on a pile of decaying leaves. When you were sure he wasn’t going to sleep-attack you, you bent down and woke him up. A brief explanation and change of clothes later, and the two of you had texted Malia and Lydia and started searching the woods for something that mattered. 

You stopped when Lydia pulled into the preserve and caught them up on what happened. “Hey, so, I went to bed at home and woke up out in the woods about a mile out,” Scott explained. “I think there’s a reason why this has happened.” He paused, waiting for someone to say something but no one interrupted him. When no one did, he started leading you guys through the woods. “I’ve been out here before. It was the beginning of sophomore year, the night before tryouts for First Line. I remember because it was all that I could think about.” 

“What were you doing?” Malia asked. She looked over at you as she stepped over a rock. “And where were you?” 

“I was at Willow Creek,” you said quietly, trying to remember why you left Beacon Hills to begin with or why you were so nervous to come back.

“And I was looking for a dead body,” Scott said simply.

“Well, that’s morbid,” Lydia mumbled. 

“Yeah, but what was I doing out here all alone?” Scott asked.

“I wish I could help you, but I didn’t know you back then,” Lydia said.

“I was still a coyote so I might’ve tried to eat the body,” Malia offered. 

You shuddered at the thought. Aside from the weird cannibalism-adjacent argument, Derek told you that the body in the woods had been Laura Hale. Malia would have tried to eat her cousin.

“Deaton said that my subconscious is trying to tell me something,” Scott said, clearly not as bothered by the semi-cannibalism as you were. He shook his head. “But I need you guys to help me figure out what it’s saying.”

Lydia let out a breath. “Maybe you were just a curious teenager. You heard there was a body-” 

“But how? I never watched the news. And I didn’t have a police scanner,” Scott said.

“Your mom works at the hospital,” Malia said. “Maybe she got called in and you overheard her?”

“My mom wasn’t home that night,” Scott said. “And I live five miles away from here. How did I get here?” 

“You drove?” Malia suggested. 

“No, we didn’t get another car until I came back,” you said.

“Then he ran,” Malia said. 

“I couldn’t have. I had asthma,” Scott said. He sighed and shook his head. “I was hiding, but they knew that I was here.”

“Maybe you just made a ton of noise with your asthmatic breathing,” Malia said, getting more annoyed that all her suggestions were being rebuffed. 

“How would they know that it was me?” Scott asked. “Why would the Sheriff even think that I would be out here?”

“Because, like most of the deaths in this town, it was related to the supernatural,” Lydia suggested.

“I wasn’t supernatural. I mean, this was the night I was bitten,” Scott said. He looked away, trying to remember something. “I wasn’t a werewolf yet, and I wasn’t out here alone.”

Now was your time to come clean about all the weird things you were doing and feeling. “Scott, I- I agree with you.” 

“You do?" Scott asked. He looked surprised but kept talking when you nodded. “I think I had a best friend. And I think he was out here with me that night, even if you weren't. I know it sounds crazy-”

“It doesn’t sound crazy,” Malia said. “I know that someone chained me up and I think they wanted me to stay human.” 

“I came to school this morning and I was sure I was supposed to meet someone … but I couldn’t remember who it was supposed to be,” Lydia said. 

It got quiet. They all turned to you. 

You took a shaky breath and shrugged. “I feel like I’m missing a part of me,” you said softly, not willing to meet any of their eyes. “Not just a best friend but someone … someone I loved. Someone who loved me.” 

Lydia reached out and interlaced her hand with yours. Even without words, she still tried to comfort you. 

“What if we’re all missing the same person?” Scott asked after a few uncomfortable seconds. He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it to show you guys the photo Sydney had taken of you all on the first day of the semester. “I think that he was in this picture.”

Lydia pointed at the spot between her and Scott, just in front of you. You must have been holding him. “He was sitting right there,” she said.

“He was so close,” you whispered, reaching out for the photo despite knowing that it wouldn’t change a thing. 

Scott let you hold onto the photo as the four of you piled into Lydia’s car. It was so frustrating to know that he had been right there and you couldn’t remember a thing - but he was always there, lurking in the back of your mind but always just out of reach. He was the only thing you could think about the whole way to the animal clinic. 

Even as Deaton explained what happened, you couldn’t concentrate. It wasn’t like you’d be doing it anyway - the automatic writing - so there wasn’t any harm in you trying to remember instead.

“I have to warn you,” Deaton said quietly as you, Scott, and Malia huddled around him in the corner. “We may not be able to access these memories.”

“We have to,” you said.

Deaton gave you a heavy-looking smile and took a breath. “The legend has always been that the Wild Hunt takes people, but if what you’re telling me is right, the truth is much worse,” he said. “They erase people from reality.” 

Scott looked over at Lydia before asking, “How did we all remember someone who has been completely erased from our minds?” 

Before Deaton had the chance to answer, Lydia stole his attention. She was writing so furiously at her desk, alternating between not breathing and then panting. The desk shook with all her force, sending the blue shard of glass flying around in the dark. The light caught on the edges and something familiar ached in your chest.

“Oh … is she- should we stop her?” Scott asked. 

Deaton held out an arm to stop him. “Lydia? Lydia, slow down,” he said. When he was close enough, he switched off the lamp and Lydia stopped writing instantly. Instead of furious movement, she looked almost catatonic. 

“Is she okay?” you whispered. 

“Lydia?” Deaton asked.

Nothing. 

Malia reached forward and pulled the piece of paper off the desk. You held onto one corner and looked at it over her shoulder. 

The word ‘mischief’ was written all over, but the shapes made out the word ‘Stiles.’ No, it wasn’t a word - it was a name. It was his name.

Stiles. 

---

Geography was remarkable mind-numbing the next day. You barely paid any attention to it at the best of times, and it was decidedly not the best of times considering your lack of sleep and constant agitation. 

The Wikipedia article for stiles was open for the billionth time, as well the etymology of ‘mischief’ and the link for that stupid arcade. Instead of acting like the useless google searches were less important than geography, you put your hand up and asked to be excused. 

You’d just gotten to the parking lot when you heard a coyote howl inside the school. Groaning, you kicked the bike rack and headed back inside. 

Malia was in the basement with Scott, Lydia, Natalie, and Noah when you got there. She was snarling and ready to bite whoever came near her, so Lydia suggested giving her some space. You thought the idea was ridiculous, but you didn’t feel like adding ‘being maimed’ to your list of reasons to find new friends. 

You'd missed most of Lydia, Scott, Noah, and Natalie's conversation, but you were just in time to hear Malia let out another growl. She stepped out from underneath one of the cupboards before you had the chance to intervene and started shifting, making the process look surprisingly elegant considering how painful it must have been.

“It’s alright. I’m okay,” she said. 

Natalie quickly walked over to give Malia some clothes while Noah counted how many tiles were on the floor and Scott counted the tiles on the ceiling.

“Do we have any idea what made her shift?” Noah asked.

“She’s under a lot of pressure,” Scott answered. He took his eyes off the ceiling to look at Lydia for confirmation. “School, her life after graduation-” 

“Her mom trying to kill her,” you mumbled.

“But that shouldn’t make her shift,” Scott said. “Do you guys think it could be connected to Stiles?” 

“Hard to tell since we don’t know what a ‘Stiles’ is,” Lydia said.

“It’s a he,” Noah said. You couldn't tell if he was frowning or if the annoyance was just a permanent feature of his face.

“Who?” 

“Stiles,” Noah said with a nod, trying to cover his frown. “It’s a family nickname. I never used it, but, uh, my father did.”

“Could you tell us some more about him?” you asked, stepping closer and giving him your best smile. You didn’t know why you thought that would sway him. “About Stiles?” 

Noah cast a cautionary look at Lydia’s mom. “If Natalie’s okay with it …” 

“Could it wait until after school?” she asked. 

“No,” you and Lydia said, at the same time Scott and Malia said, “Yes.” 

You glared at them. It was their fault that Natalie personally walked each of you back to your classes to make sure none of you ditched, and it was your fault for not slipping away when she wasn’t paying attention. 

So, you sat through Geography and two other classes before racing to Lydia’s car as soon as the bell went off. Lydia was already there, explaining how Malia couldn’t come because she had to retake her retake but Scott would be there any minute. She didn’t listen to your suggestion of him meeting you there instead. 

But after all your annoyance and agitation, you froze when you saw Noah’s house. It was the house that you were always waking up in, just in the warm glow of the afternoon instead of the dusty haze of midnight. You didn’t mention it to Scott or Lydia - how could you? It wasn’t like you had any reason to know where Noah lived until now - you just took a deep breath and went inside. 

It was strangely lived in. Hard to believe they had a boarded-up room somewhere when you were looking at all the throw pillows and decorative balls of yarn. Claudia broke you out of your haze by pushing a glass of lemonade into your hand. She gave you a warm smile and ushered the three of you into the living room. 

“He was an army engineer,” Noah explained once you were all settled. He handed Scott a photo from a memory box. “Ended the war one bridge at a time.” 

Like a stile, you realized. He helped people move over whatever was blocking their path.

Scott smiled at the photo in his hand. “And he went by ‘Stiles.’” 

You looked over his shoulder at the old photo of Elias in his army gear. It felt like you’d seen the photo before; like someone had already shown it to you, except you knew that back then it was a secret. A shiver went down your spine. You weren’t supposed to see this photo.

“So, what’s this got to do with the Wild Hunt?” Noah asked.

“We think that somebody was taken from us,” Scott explained.

“Any idea who?” 

Scott shook his head. “Uh, the Ghost Riders would have erased our memories.” 

“Well, now, that’s convenient,” Noah said.

“But we found a clue,” Lydia said. “The word ‘stiles.’”

“And that’s why you wanna talk to Elias?” Claudia asked. She didn’t sound very convinced. 

“Yeah, maybe he can help us figure it out,” Scott said. “Maybe he knows who we’re looking for.” 

“Now this is someone your age?” Noah asked. 

“Yes,” you said, sounding more sure than Scott or Lydia had since you’d arrived. “He was our … friend.” There went your certainty. Whatever Stiles had been to the others, he was something else to you. 

“Well-” Noah shut the memory box on his lap and stood up. “I can guarantee you, my father can’t help you.” He took the photo back from Scott. 

“Couldn’t we try?” Scott asked. 

“Scott, he lives in a nursing home three towns over,” Noah said. “Hasn’t had a visitor in years. He couldn’t help even if he w-” 

“Could I use your bathroom?” Lydia asked. She had that look like a supernatural Geiger counter was going off in her head.

“Sure,” Claudia said.

Lydia hurried off and you frowned. You set your lemonade down to go follow her, but Claudia started talking to you. 

“I love your ring,” she said. She smiled as she looked at it. “I had one just like it when I was younger.”

You looked down at your hand to find an old signet ring on your finger. It was out of place with the rest of your jewelry, but there was something about it that made it more important than the rest even though the design had worn over the years. 

“Oh, thanks,” you said, twisting it around your finger so that design was facing inwards. You weren’t sure if you wanted anyone else to look at it. “I got it for my birthday.” 

Claudia gave you another smile before excusing herself to the kitchen. At least with her gone, you could focus on the rapidly escalating conversation between Noah and Scott. What had started as a polite rejection had turned into Scott repeatedly asking why you guys couldn’t just talk to Elias and Noah saying that he didn’t need a reason for not wanting to expose his elderly father to three teenagers he’d never met before.

“You’re not hearing me,” Noah argued. They were both standing now and you stood to not feel so out of place. “Trust me, you don’t want to talk to him.”

“We just need a few minutes,” Scott begged.

“Scott, my father can’t help you,” Noah said. 

“Just a few questions. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking-” 

Something in Noah snapped. His voice was loud and frustrated when he spoke again. “You know what? You don’t just ‘talk’ to this guy, okay?” He took a breath and lowered his voice. “Just find another way.” 

Scott started talking again when you touched his arm lightly. “Okay,” you said with a very fake smile. “We’ll find another way. Come on, Lyd, let’s get out of their hair.” 

“But-” 

“Thank you for your time.” You dragged Scott out before he could start yelling. Once the three of you were in the safety of the car and Scott was whining about you ruining their chances, you sighed and said, “Call Malia. We’re breaking into a nursing home.” 

“But you said-” 

“Scotty, you’ve known me my whole life. Can you seriously not tell when I’m lying?”

“I can tell when you’re lying,” Scott said defensively. 

“I guess you’re right,” you said and scooted forward in your seat. “I love that shirt, by the way. You should wear it more often.” 

“Really? Thanks. I-” Scott frowned at the look Lydia gave him. “Oh.”

--- 

“I can’t believe we’re about to break into a nursing home,” Scott mumbled as you, Lydia, and Malia walked up to the doors of Good Water Assisted Living.

“Scott, you realize we’ve literally broken into the school, a bank vault, a mental facility, and Davenport Prep, right?” you asked.

Malia brought your group to a stop. “Plus, after the orderlies at Eichen House, I’m pretty sure we can handle some nurses.” 

“Right, but-” 

Scott didn’t manage to get out his argument before Malia blew past you, got to the front desk, and slammed the nurse’s head into the desk. You winced as she went behind the desk and looped her arms under his to drag him somewhere. “Are you guys coming?” she asked.

“Right behind you!” You patted Scott’s arm and gave him a mischievous smile before rushing inside. 

The computer was still unlocked so you punched in for Elias’ name and his room number popped up. The four of you found it fairly quickly but he wasn’t there. After a few minutes, you found him alone in one of the common rooms listening to old jazz music.

He looked up from his desk full of papers when you came in. “Yes? Is it time for my medicine?”

“We don’t have your medicine,” Malia said, folding her arms over her chest. 

“Oh,” Elias said softly. He turned back to his desk. 

“Are you Elias Stilinski?” Lydia asked. 

Elias blinked a few times as he looked at Lydia. “I am.”

Lydia’s face broke into a smile and she made her way over to him. “I’m Lydia Martin. Do you know who I am?” 

“Should I?” Elias asked.

“Uh, hey, Mr. Stilinski,” Scott said awkwardly as he walked closer to him. “We’re looking for somebody who might be named Stiles. You went by that name in the army, right?”

“Yes,” Elias said with a small nod. He looked away from Scott as he added, “Best years of my life.”

“Do you know any of us?” Malia asked.

“Of course I do,” Elias said. He looked back up at Scott. “How could I forget my own son?”

“Your son?” Scott repeated. He looked over at Lydia for help. 

“Mr. Stilinski, what year is it?” she asked gently. 

“1976,” Elias answered instantly. “It’s my son’s birthday next week.” 

“He has dementia,” Lydia said to the rest of you. 

As if to prove her point, Elias looked back up and asked if it was time for his medicine yet. You took a collective deep breath and started explaining things to him as gently as you could. It made you agitated to be in here with him, especially as the sun went down outside, but you needed to find Stiles. 

But after repeated attempts to get Elias to stop confusing Scott with Noah, you’d become almost as grouchy as Malia. All she did was pace and steal peas from Elias’ food.

“Scott McCall?” Elias asked. Scott nodded hopefully. “No, no, no, no, no. You’re my son.”

“Keep it down, old guy,” Malia whispered harshly. She stole another few peas. “You’ll wake the other old people.”

“I don’t like her,” Elias said to Lydia. 

Lydia slipped into the chair in front of him. “Your son,” she said in an impressively patient voice. “He’s the Sheriff of Beacon Hills.”

“Sheriff?” Elias asked. “No, no, no, no, no, no. No, I- I was in the army.” 

“Just use your claws, Scott,” Malia said.

“It could kill him,” Scott said.

“I get that, but we’re running out of time,” Malia said.

“I can’t.” 

Malia growled and elongated her claws. She’d just started walking over to Elias when you stepped in front of him and Scott grabbed her wrist. You could let her abuse nurses but you refused to let her do anything to one of the Stilinskis.

“No,” Scott told her. “We’re not hurting him.”

“Young lady, you need to clip those nails,” Elias said behind you. It made you laugh. You cleared your throat and mumbled an apology but he didn’t seem to like that. “You shouldn’t be here. If you don’t leave, I’ll have to report you.”

“Uh…” Scott looked over to Lydia. “What’s wrong with him?”

“The sun went down,” she said. 

“So?”

“So, he’s sundowning,” Lydia said. “It’s when dementia patients lose their faculties after the sun goes down.” 

“Well, that would’ve been helpful information to have before the sun went down,” you snapped. 

Elias took a shaky breath. He started waving his hand around as he spoke, “I don’t want to talk to you anymore!” 

“So what do we do?” Malia asked. 

“We wait until the sun comes back up,” Lydia said. 

“We don’t have that kind of time,” you said. “The night shift will be here soon which means someone will be coming for him.” 

“No, no, no!” Elias cried. He started shuffling through his papers.

“There’s gotta be something we could do to keep him quiet,” Scott said.

Elias got more frantic and then Lydia stepped in again. She told him to look at the equations on his papers and asked him to identify different ones to help him concentrate. Miraculously, it worked. He stood and started looking at his handwritten notes. 

“Elias,” Lydia said gently to get him to sit. 

“That’s Mr. Stilinski,” Elias corrected. He frowned at each of you, almost looking like an older Noah in the low light. “Just who the hell do you think you are?”

“So you know Scott isn’t your son?” Lydia asked. 

“Of course, I know that,” Elias snapped. “Are brains getting smaller with the skirts?” 

“Excuse me-”

“Hey.” Scott put a hand on your wrist. “It’s okay.”

“You’re that McCall kid,” Elias said as he looked at Scott.

“You know me?” Scott asked. 

“I know your dad,” Elias said. He started walking around the table. “Couldn’t hold his liquor and he certainly couldn’t keep that wedding ring on his finger. Pretty young thing would walk by and poof! That ring just disappeared like magic.” 

Though you were under no impressions of your dad being a saint, you frowned at Elias' words. Malia growled, but Lydia kept her cool. “Do you know all of us?” she asked. 

Elias narrowed his eyes and then pointed a finger at Lydia. “You’re Natalie Martin’s girl, am I right? You look like her. She was pretty once, too.”

“Hey, you can’t talk to her like that-” you started chastising him but he stopped you with a look. He looked at you like he knew you. 

“I know you from the pictures,” Elias said. 

“What pictures?” you asked. 

“He only came once, but that was enough. He wouldn’t stop talking and he kept showing me these damn pictures-” 

“That’s enough.” 

You jumped at the sound of Noa’s voice. He’d walked in with the nurse that Malia assaulted, and, boy, did he look mad.

Scott tried to explain. “Sheriff, we-” 

“I explicitly told you not to come here,” Noah said. “And who attacked a staff member?”

The nurse pointed at Malia. “That’s her.”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Noah asked.

“Noah, we were just having a nice conversation,” Elias said, back to sounding frail and broken as he made his way around the table to his son.

“The four of you, out,” Noah said. “Now.”

Elias complained but Scott grabbed your hand and started leading you out. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t still eavesdrop. 

As guilty as you felt about lying to Noah and invading his privacy, you couldn’t help but feel vindicated when Elias told him to crawl back to his dead wife and loser son. You were right. Stiles was a real person. He was Noah’s son, even if he was a loser. He was your loser.

“Son,” you whispered as Malia slammed the door behind her. 

“What?” Scott whispered back. 

You flicked your eyes over to where Noah was arguing with the nurse. Leaning in, you whispered, “Stiles is Noah’s son. I’ll explain at home, okay?” 

Scott nodded quickly and tightened his grip on your hand before Noah came out and ordered the lot of you into his squad car. He was simmering with rage but he didn’t say a word the entire way to the station. 

All he said when he closed you guys in the cell was, “I’ll call your parents to pick you up.” 

The four of you were quiet as you waited for someone to show up. Melissa was at work and you’d barely seen Malia’s dad since the beginning of their senior year so your hopes weren’t very high for getting out of there. 

When Natalie showed up, she first wanted to yell at you before letting you go. 

“It doesn’t look bad, Scott. It is bad,” she said. “You broke into a nursing home, you harassed a dementia patient, and you beat up a nurse! This could affect the rest of your lives. Especially you, Malia. They’re talking felony assault.” 

“I didn’t beat him up! I could have, but I chose not to,” Malia said.

“That’s an improvement,” Lydia hummed next to you.

The door opened and Noah sighed. “By some miracle, the nurse decided to drop the charges,” he said. “They’re free to go.”

“Just because you’re not going to jail, doesn’t mean you’re not grounded for eternity,” Natalie said. 

“Triple-negative,” you said quietly. “Impressive.”

“Excuse me?” Natalie asked. 

“Nothing,” you said with a smile. “We’ll see you at school tomorrow. Thank you for looking out for us.” 

Natalie frowned at the sudden change in attitude but said she’d always look out for you guys anyway. She offered to drive you all home but you said you and Scott could walk. After some more confused looks and awkward goodbyes, you and Scott were finally alone and walking through the dark. 

“So,” he said with a deep breath. “You gonna tell me what’s been going on with you?” 

“I feel like I’m missing the part of me that makes rational decisions,” you said. “Seriously, I’m turning into Malia. I can’t concentrate on anything, I’m always angry, and I keep doing things for someone who’s not here.” 

Scott frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“I think Stiles was my anchor,” you said. You hadn’t let yourself think about the possibility before, but it made sense. All of your bad habits had started when it felt like you’d lost something. 

Scott frowned as he thought about it, but he must have come to the same conclusion you had. “Okay,” he said. “And who do you think Stiles is?” 

“I think Noah’s son,” you said. “When we were leaving, Elias yelled at Noah for leaving him in the home and choosing his loser son over him, but Noah … doesn’t have a son. At least, not one any of us remember.” 

“Wow,” Scott exhaled. “That’s pretty intense.” 

You laughed. “Yeah, but it makes sense,” you said. Scott waited for you to say something so you told him about how you kept waking up in an abandoned room. “But when we went to talk to Noah earlier, I recognized the house. It’s the same one I’ve been sneaking out of every morning.” 

“Huh, and I thought waking up in the woods was weird,” Scott said. You hit his arm and he laughed. 

The two of you bickered over each other’s bad habits the whole way home, but the lighthearted conversation didn’t erase the feelings of longing buried in your chest. Wherever Stiles was, you missed him, and no amount of teasing Scott could take your mind off it. 

But the mess you walked into as soon as you unlocked the front door almost did. 

“I’m not dealing with this,” you said instantly. You untangled yourself from Scott. “You told Liam to take care of it. He’s your beta. The two of you can clean.” 

“But I-” 

“I’m going to shower.” 

Instead of using his energy to fight a losing battle, Scott waved you off and you left him downstairs with Liam and the mess which, thankfully, hadn’t reached your locked room. You grabbed some clean pajamas and disappeared to wash off the stress of the day. 

When you came back, you reached for the Feliscore Arcade coin on your nightstand. You traced the logo with your thumb as you tried, for the millionth time, to remember. A knock at your door snapped you out of it. 

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” Scott said. 

“It’s fine,” you said, closing your hand around the coin. This was one part of the mystery that you wanted to keep for yourself. “What’s up? Did someone throw up on your bed or something?” 

“What? No.” Scott frowned. “At least I don’t think so.” Then he shook his head and looked back up at you. “I wanted to tell you that Noah came by while you were showering … talking about his son.” 

You scrambled to sit up. “He remembered him? He remembered Stiles?” 

“Kind of. He said he could remember a conversation with Claudia when they were young about having kids. He wanted to name their son after father, and she said that it didn’t matter because they’d call him Stiles anyway,” Scott explained. He gave you a smile. “You were right.” 

“I was right,” you said quietly. “Thanks for telling me, Scotty.” 

Scott knocked on your door twice and smiled at the ground. “No problem. Try not to break into anyone’s house tonight.”

“No promises,” you said with a smile. 

For the first time in weeks, it was a real smile. Sure, you still didn’t have much, but you’d done more with less. You’d find Noah’s son. You’d find Stiles.

Part 47

Tagged: @ietss​  @used-avocado​

[brighterthanghosts]

By Your Side

Word count: 3,474

Pairing: Taishiro

Read below the cut or here on ao3.

Summary: “Taichi-san, you spent years telling me to believe in myself. Either you would beat a dead horse or I’d finally conquer my insecurities. Personally, I’m glad it was the latter.”

Five times Koushiro and Taichi were being good to each other from childhood to adulthood. Rated T for zombie gorillas and Taichi's foul mouth.

5&6

“Taichi, be careful!” his mom called out. But Taichi had already taken off toward the monkey bars, leaving a trail through the pebbles that separated the swings from the jungle gym. The jungle gym was attached to a large fort-style playground set that was often the backdrop for Taichi’s adventures — today, he needed to escape a rampage of zombie gorillas, and the only way was to make it through the forest Tarzan-style.

He wasn’t tall enough to reach the monkey bars on his own, but he had learned that the big dome on the opening of the slide was the perfect height. He stuck his shoe between the slide and plastic log fort, balancing on the large bolt that held the slide in place. Hoisting himself up and over the edge of the dome. The monkey bars were about two feet away to the right, and all he’d need to do was jump. He better get going, too, because the zombie gorillas were headed this way.

Taking one look behind him, Taichi stood, like a hero in his own movie, and prepared himself. He only had one chance to do this. If he didn’t make it, the zombies would eat his brain and spread the zombie virus to the human race. Taichi couldn’t let that happen. With one breath and a battle cry, Taichi lept from the top of the slide, arm fully extended out to grasp at the monkey bars. He was going to make it. He knew it. Almost there.

His fingertips brushed the underside of one bar, and he recognized his mistake. The zombies won.

Crashing to the ground snapped Taichi from his fantasy. He’d landed on his hands and knees, now bruised and scraped, and he could feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as he sat on his butt and assessed the damage.

“Are you okay?”

Taichi looked up into deep, dark eyes that were filled with concern and a tinge of something else.

“Y-yeah. I just —” Taichi said, turning his palms outward and gesturing to the little red-haired boy, who was kneeling beside him.

“That looks like it hurts,” the boy said, reaching out to hold Taichi’s left wrist, turning his hand this way and that. “But you looked so cool! Like Super Sentai!” The boy looked up at him, then, wide-eyed and a smile full of admiration.

“Oh!” he said, like he’d forgotten something. He looked back to Taichi’s palm and pressed a small kiss right in the center. “My okaa-san said it helps the healing.”

“Th-thanks,” Taichi said, feeling his face heat up.

“Koushiro! It’s time to go home!” a woman yelled somewhere off to the left of where the two boys sat.

“Ah, that’s my okaa-san!” the boy said, scrambling to his feet. He bowed, then smiled and with a wave said, “I have to go now! I hope you feel better soon!”

Taichi sat there, watching the boy’s back become smaller as he ran toward his mom.

“Taichi?” his own mother called.

He looked back over his right shoulder.

“Oh, Taichi! Are you okay? Are you hurt?” his mother asked.

Taichi shook his head, looking back at his hand. “No, mom, I’m okay. I’ll be better in no time.”

9&10

“Koushiro! Pass!” He heard someone yell, but he was too overwhelmed by the two bodies blocking him. Koushiro was running toward the soccer net as quickly as his little legs would carry him. The two children to his right and left stood a whole head taller than him. He could hardly see as it was; his hair was sticking flat to his forehead, sweat beading down in tiny rivers that pooled in his eyes.

“Pass it!”

He saw a mass of hair whirlwind behind the kid to his right, and Koushiro prayed it was his teammate. He quickly stepped to the left, pulled his right leg back, and kicked the ball. He made contact, he was sure, but his feet got tangled somewhere along the way and he planted face-first into the pitch.

“Go, go, go, go!”

Koushiro lifted himself up just in time to see Taichi straight-kick the ball right past the goalie and into the net. He looked like a pro, with the sunset as his backdrop. Koushiro would bet his life that Taichi would one day be the best soccer player in Japan — better than even Kamamoto Kunishige. With a little more than 30 seconds to go before half time, Koushiro got to his feet and started trekking back to the bench. His chin hurt, and he could use a towel and some water.

“Oi, Koushiro!” Taichi was jogging his way, dimples framing his warm smile. “Hey man, great pass!”

“Ah, n-no, it was all you,” Koushiro said, looking at the ground. Peeking up at his teammate, he added, “You were amazing out there, Taichi-san.”

“No way! We never would have scored had you not ran the ball down the pitch,” Taichi said, reaching a hand out to ruffle Koushiro’s hair. “Honestly, you were awesome!”

Koushiro looked down again, his face suddenly warm. “Th-thank you, Taichi-san. That makes me very happy.”

Taichi slung an arm over Koushiro’s shoulders, pulling him into Taichi’s side. “C’mon, let’s get a bandaid for your chin. You’re going to look so cool. Coach said girls like battle scars.”

Koushiro heard what Taichi said, but his brain stopped working sometime around the word cool. Taichi thought he would look cool. And suddenly, Koushiro wanted nothing more.

11&12

It had been one year exactly since their adventure to the digital world, and Taichi was feeling a little nostalgic. School had been well enough, and Taichi kept himself busy with soccer and video games for most of the summer. Had it been a Saturday, Taichi wouldn’t have felt bad about spending the morning in bed. But it wasn’t Saturday, it was Tuesday, and his mom was expecting him to be alive by the time she got home.

Taichi rolled himself toward the edge of his bed, slowly extending a leg and an arm so he could lower himself to the floor. He lay like that for a while. He’s not really sure how long, but he heard footsteps in the hall and gentle knocking on the door — he must have dozed off again. At least he was out of bed.

“Onii-chan? I’m heading out now.” A pause, then, “Onii-chan?”

“Have fun,” Taichi called out to his sister. Hikari had adjusted to life without their digimon much better than he had, and he didn’t want to bring her mood down like that.

“Okay. Why don’t you invite someone over? Have some fun yourself!” Hikari was trying to encourage him, and honestly, Taichi doesn’t think it’s a bad idea.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I’ll see you later, okay?” He can hear her footsteps retreating. Shortly after, he hears the door open and close. Taichi is officially alone.

Taichi stared at the ceiling, tracing patterns in the popcorn texture and thinking about the first time he met Koromon. The first time he evolved. The first time he understood the power of his courage. “Hey, that kind of looks like Ikakumon,” Taichi chuckles to himself. He’s probably imagining it. He could almost hear Koushiro telling him about how our brains are formidable and capable of filling in the gaps and playing tricks on us. He smiled and rolled onto his stomach, let out a groan, and picked himself off the ground.

***

Koushiro answered the phone after three rings. Taichi wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt nervous, like he was troubling the other boy or something. It was Koushiro. Koushiro, who showed up randomly at Taichi’s home just a couple months ago and helped his mom bake a cake. This is fine.

“Uh, Taichi-san?”

“Come over.” Taichi said, mentally smacking himself for being so blunt. “Please?” He adds before Koushiro can respond.

“Okay, Taichi-san. I’ll be there shortly.” And it sounded like Koushiro was smiling.

When he said shortly, he wasn’t kidding. It was maybe 25 minutes later when Taichi heard knocking at the door. They’d spent the last hour eating snacks and playing Mortal Kombat, and Taichi was becoming increasingly more irritated for the following two reasons: 1) Koushiro had gone through six glasses of Oolong tea and had already taken two bathroom breaks and 2) despite this, Koushiro was still kicking his ass. They were 12-3 with Koushiro in the lead, and Taichi had already decided that Koushiro was clearly cheating. To prove his point, Taichi had the boy pinned to the floor in a bout of tickle tortue.

“I’m not cheating, Taichi-san!” Koushiro said through giggles, accidentally kneeing Taichi in the stomach.

“Well, if you’re not a cheater, then you’re a magician, and that’s still cheating!” Taichi replied, poking his fingers into Koushiro’s sides.  

“Me cheating is about as possible as Agumon being a real dinosaur!” Koushiro laughed. And suddenly, he wasn’t laughing.

“Taichi-san?”

Taichi’s face felt hot and wet, but he doesn’t remember how it got that way. Koushiro was looking up at him, concerned and a little scared. He didn’t want to look weak in front of his friend. He felt so weak.

“Taichi-san,” Koushiro said, softer, and Taichi lowered his head to rest on the boy’s shoulder, hiding his hurt in this pocket of trust. He felt a hand on his back as a sob wracked up his spine and out his throat. “It’s okay, Taichi-san. I miss them, too.”

17&18

“Who does Yamato think he is? Saying that kind of thing all cool and nonchalant. He should have known that Sora wouldn’t take it well. Oi, Koushiro, are you listening to me?”

He wasn’t. His heart was in his ears as he stared at his phone.

“Yo.”

He’d never felt so many emotions at once. But this really shouldn’t have surprised him.

“Koushiro. What’s so damn interesting that you can’t put your phone down?”

His phone was pulled right from his hands, and he did nothing to stop it.

“Oh.”

He’d laugh, but he wasn’t sure it would sound much like a laugh at all.

“Oh, Koushiro. Hey, man. That —”

“N-no, it’s fine,” Koushiro mumbles out. His voice is low, breathy, almost inaudible, and it sounds foreign to his own ears.

“No, it’s not. Dude, like, she could have at least said something.”

Except, she didn’t need to. Mimi returned to America shortly after Christmas, following their final battle with Ordinemon. Koushiro had never worked up the courage to properly confess his feelings, and Mimi didn’t owe him any kind of explanation for the photo she uploaded to her social media, captioned “So thankful to be in love with this guy.” She was kissing him on the cheek. They looked happy.

“She looks happy. I’m happy for her.”

And he was. Truly.

“That doesn’t mean your feelings don’t matter!”

“Taichi-san, really. It’s fine.”

“Clearly it isn’t.”

A hand cupped his cheek, thumb swiping just under his eye. Taichi is looking at him like he’s proving a point.

“We wouldn’t have worked out anyway.”

“Why not?”

He could hear tints of frustration in Taichi’s voice. He flinched a little at the words; that tone was usually reserved for Yamato. Koushiro decided to choose his words carefully. The last thing he wanted was to lose Mimi and Taichi in one sitting.

“Ah, I, um — I don’t think I’m bold enough to stand at Mimi-san’s side.”

“That’s bullshit.”

He flinched again.

“Do you ever say nice things about yourself? Don’t you see how amazing you already are?”

Koushiro looked up, meeting Taichi’s eyes for the first time since he’d unlocked his phone.

“Amazing?”

“Duh. Koushiro, you’re like the most incredible person I know.”

But Koushiro didn’t really believe him. Taichi was being nice because Taichi was a good person. Taichi was a good friend. Taichi was the amazing one. Tall and strong. Fearless. A natural leader — our leader.

“Don’t look at me like that. Like you think I’m being ‘illogical.’ I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. You’re amazing. You are literally the reason we weren’t all killed in the digital world. You have your own office. You were the one who figured out that Meicoomon had backups of our digimon’s memories. You’re creating portals for us to travel between worlds. Portals, Kou. You’re so fucking smart, I don’t even know where you come up with all your ideas. And you turn every idea into a reality. You might think that isn’t significant, but I do. Mimi is missing out. Everyone is missing out on—”

Kou. Koushiro has never been particularly spontaneous. He was usually calculated and found reasons to justify his actions. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. Taichi and his kind words had pushed Koushiro to some kind of breaking point. The trust. The safety. The idea that someone thought so highly of him and this sudden need to protect it all. You’re amazing. He had subconsciously leaned forward toward his friend, as if their physical proximity could solidify this moment, like maybe Koushiro could really become one with all the lovely things Taichi was saying. He felt drunk on his heartbreak and sudden excitement. So fucking smart. Taichi’s words itched their way under his nails and made his fingers twitch. His blood was made of fire, his heart a bass drum, his brain alphabet soup — the letters spelling out ‘significant.’ This whole situation was illogical. Maybe Koushiro, too, was illogical.

Taichi didn’t move, didn’t push him away. Five seconds, their meeting lasted. Koushiro pulled away, the world crashing down on him as he realized what he’d done. He braved a peek at Taichi’s face — he looked different. Eyes glazed, looking past Koushiro. Mouth slightly open, jaw slacked. Koushiro took this moment to panic.

“T- ah, Taichi-san?”

“Huh?”

“Um.”

“Oh. Hey. I’m hungry. Want to grab a bite?”

“Uh?”

“I’ll treat today, so don’t worry.”

Taichi stood, grabbing his duffle bag and his wallet, looking back toward Koushiro, past him, again. His face said I need to get out of this room. Koushiro stood slowly, not making eye contact. He packed his laptop in his bag and decidedly ignored his phone, still unlocked and glowing with Mimi and her new boyfriend.

“I know I said I’ll treat, but I don’t have a lot of money. Are burgers okay?”

“Yes, that’s okay.”

“Cool.”

23&24

Taichi let out a yawn and scratched the back of head. He was thankful for this Friday evening, much welcomed after the long week. Taichi had been meeting regularly with Koushiro and his team to finalize their presentation on the digital world. They were finally making headway with the Tokyo Metropolitan Assembly to get safety regulations passed to ensure secure travel to and from the digital world, which meant a foot in the door to (hopefully) his future boss and a potential research grant for Koushiro’s team.

Koushiro had texted him earlier in the day, suggesting dinner to celebrate their hard work. Taichi suggested pizza, Koushiro suggested Odaiba beach. Taichi was a bit surprised — it would be about an hour to get there from the city — but Odaiba did hold nearly all of their memories.

He smelled him before he saw him. Well, he smelled the pizza. Taichi turned to find Koushiro approaching his makeshift picnic space in the sand.

“Taichi-san!” Koushiro said, picking up speed.

“Hey,” Taichi responded smoothly. “You seem awfully excited. You didn’t miss me, did you?”

Koushiro let out a huff, but smiled anyway. “We worked hard this week! I added some finishing touches this afternoon and sent it to Nishi-san for proofreading. It should be ready to go early next week!”

Taichi wanted to say how appreciative he was, but his stomach rudely interrupted. Koushiro let out a laugh and handed over the pizza box.

They sat in silence for a while, making their way through their food and enjoying the breeze coming off the ocean. At some point, Koushiro had removed his socks and shoes and buried his feet in the sand. It had been a long time since either of them had been to the beach.

“You know, I thought about bringing Tentomon here to say goodbye.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. I was trying to think of something special to do. But I was too busy with work to get down here in time.”

“I took Agumon to watch the ocean. What did you end up doing?”

“I locked my office door and hugged him as tightly as I could.”

“How did he take it?”

“He knew what was happening. It didn’t matter where we were as long as we could properly say goodbye. I think he was happy with that.”

“Do you think we could ever, you know, regain our bonds?”

“I’m not sure. But I hope that, if we obtain this grant, we can proceed to research the digital world for traces of their data. If I’m being honest, I’m not convinced that our digimon are gone.”

“Hearing that from you gives me a lot of hope.”

Koushiro doesn’t respond. Taichi looks at him then, and he looks serene. Relaxed. Hopeful. It’s rare for Koushiro to display his quiet confidence. But if anyone can figure it out, Taichi trusts that his friend will.

“Taichi-san?”

“Hm?”

“You’re staring.”

“Ah, sorry! It’s just. You look confident.”

“Oh,” Koushiro said, high-pitched in surprise. “Hm. I suppose I can thank you for that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Taichi-san, you spent years telling me to believe in myself. Either you would beat a dead horse or I’d finally conquer my insecurities. Personally, I’m glad it was the latter.”

Koushiro looked back to the water, the air between them filled with something strange and familiar.

“Hey, Kou?”

“Hm?”

“Remember that time in high school when you kissed me?”

Koushiro sputters, face reddened like a radish bathed in sunset. “Why on Earth—”

“Why did you do it?”

“Um,” Koushiro drawls like he’s not sure how to answer. “Well.”

Taichi waits patiently, but he’s never been a particularly patient person.

“I don’t quite know, if I’m honest. I didn’t realize it was happening until it happened.”

“Hm.”

“Uhh. I remember being upset. And you made me feel better. My thoughts were blurry at that time. Ehh. I, um. I think I, maybe, I wanted to be the words you were saying?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mmm. You said I should see myself through your eyes. You ambushed me with compliment after compliment. And it took me by surprise because you were always someone I admired. I wanted to believe I was all the words you used to describe me. I wanted to believe I was worthy.”

“You are, though. I hope you believe that now.”

Koushiro isn’t looking at him, and Taichi doesn’t think he’s going to say anything else, so he continues.

“It’s the same, you know. For me.”

This caught the other boy’s attention, but Taichi cut off whatever Koushiro was going to say.

“I wanted to believe I was as cool as you thought I was,” Taichi said, huffing out a chuckle. “I wanted to stand by your side and be someone you could count on. I also wanted to believe I was worthy.”

“Do you? Believe, I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Silence lies between them, but it’s no longer heavy. Koushiro’s twitching slightly, gazing out toward the water, but Taichi can tell his mind is somewhere distant. He hopes Koushiro is thinking the same thing.

“Hey, Kou?”

“Yeah?” Koushiro breathes back at him.

“Can I kiss you?”

***************************************************

A/N

And that’s it. That’s the end.

This was a wild ride that all started with the concept of kisses to fix booboos — a trope I need.

Some minor notes:

-This is loosely based around Adventure, 02 and tri., but I chose to ignore the movies (ie: Children’s War Game).

-Super Sentai is what the US’ “Power Rangers” is based on.

-Kamamoto Kunishige is one of the most prolific soccer players from Japan and is the all-time goal scorer in his country. He played for Japan’s national team throughout the ‘60s and ‘70s, and it’s my headcanon that Koushiro only knows his name because Taichi doesn’t shut up about him.

-I know Taichi works with the UN in the epilogue, but I wanted him to be just a couple years out of college here, so I filled in the gaps. Because Koushiro has already made a name for himself in the tech world (and with the knowledge that his work involves researching the digital world later), I thought it would be interesting for them to work together with common goals. That said, I have no idea what Taichi’s career path would look like, so bear with me.

[havatabanca]

Is Eddie Grant the true inventor of Soca?

by Jo-Ann Greene

 Eddy Grant stands among an elite group of artists as one who has not just merely moved successfully across the musical spectrum, but has actually been at the forefront of genres and even created one of his own. From pop star to reggae radical, musical entrepreneur to the inventor of ringbang, the artist has cut a swath through the world of music and made it his own.

Born in Plaisance, Guyana, on March 5, 1948, the young Edmond Grant grew up on the sound of his homeland, tan singing, an Indo-Caribbean vocal style whose roots lay in South Asia and are the backbone of modern chutney. Then in 1960, the Grant family emigrated to England, taking up residence in the working-class Stoke Newington area of London. The young teen's musical horizons swiftly expanded, embracing the R&B, blues, and rock that percolated across his new island home.

In 1965, Grant formed his first band, the Equals, and long before the days of 2-Tone, the group was unique in being the first of Britain's multi-racial bands to receive any recognition. The West Indian contingent comprised Jamaican-born singer Lincoln Gordon, with his twin brother Derv and Grant both on guitar, while the rhythm section of bassist Patrick Lloyd and drummer John Hall were native-born white Englishmen. Like most of the teenaged bands roaming the capital at the time, the Equals cut their teeth on the club and pub circuit and finally inked a label deal with President Records in early 1967. Their debut single, "I Won't Be There," didn't crack the charts but did receive major radio support. This, alongside an expanding fan base wowed by their live shows, pushed their first album, Unequaled Equals, into the U.K. Top Ten. At the request of his label, Grant had also been working with the Pyramids, the British group who had backed Prince Buster on his recent U.K. tour. Besides composing songs for the band (and one for Buster himself, the rude classic "Rough Rider"), Grant also produced several tracks, including the band's debut single and sole hit, "Train to Rainbow City." In 1968, the Equals scored their own hit with "I Get So Excited," the group's debut into the Top 50. Although their follow-up album, Equals Explosion, proved less successful than its predecessor, as did the next single, the quintet's career was indeed about to explode. "Hold Me Closer" may have disappointed in the U.K., where it stalled at a lowly number 50, but in Germany, the single was flipped over and "Baby Come Back" released as the A-side. It swiftly soared to the top of the German charts, a feat repeated across Europe. Later that spring, a reissued British single finally received its just due and reached number one. Even the U.S. took notice, sending the single into the lower reaches of the Top 40. Sadly, this turned out to be a flash in the pan. The Equals' follow-up single, "Laurel and Hardy" died at number 35; its successor did even worse, while their new album, Sensational Equals, didn't even make the charts. New hope arrived when "Viva Bobby Joe" shot into the Top Ten in the summer of 1969, but its follow-up, "Rub a Dub Dub," just scraped into the Top 35. Understandable, considering the Equals' roller coaster of ups and downs, Grant now turned his attention elsewhere.

In 1970, he started up his own specialty record label, Torpedo, concentrating on British reggae artists. He also utilized the label as a home for a brief solo career under the alias Little Grant, releasing the single "Let's Do It Together." But the artist hadn't given up on the Equals yet, and good thing too. Later that year, their new 45, "Black Skinned Blue Eyed Boys," slammed the group back into the Top Ten. And then, the unimaginable happened. On New Year's day in 1971, Grant, all of 23 years old, suffered a heart attack and a collapsed lung. If lifestyle played a part, it wasn't because he drank, took drugs, smoked, or ate meat; it was due to Grant's only vice -- a hectic schedule. He quit the group at this point and the Equals soldiered on into the shadows without him. He sold Torpedo as well and with the proceeds opened up his own recording studio, The Coach House, in 1972. Grant continued to produce other artists and release their records through his newly launched Ice label, but his own musical talents were seemingly left behind. It wasn't until 1977 when Grant finally released a record of his own, the Message Man album. It was three years in the making and a stunning about-face from his previous pop persona, even if "Black Skinned Blue Eyed Boys" had suggested a change was imminent. Tracks like "Cockney Black," "Race Hate," and "Curfew" were politicized dark masterpieces laced with aggression and anger.

But the album also included some lighter moments, including "Hello Africa," which featured a sound that the media hadn't even invented a word for yet. Grant dubbed it "kaisoul," an amalgamation of kaiso (the traditional word for calypso) and soul. Caribbean legend Lord Shorty, the acknowledged inventor of this new crossover hybrid, labeled it solka. Neither term stuck, however, once the Trinidad and Tobago press came up with their own label: soca. But regardless of what it was called, the style was just one of many hybrids that Grant was entertaining.

Message Man may have proved a commercial failure, but that didn't dim the artist's vision for one second.

Two more years passed while Grant wrestled with its follow-up in the studio, composing, producing, and performing virtually the entire album himself. The end result was 1979's Walking on Sunshine, one of the greatest albums of the decade. While the B-side featured a clutch of seminal musical hybrids, the centerpiece of the album's A-side was "Living on the Frontline," a dancefloor classic that blended tough lyrics with an electronic sheen, a sense of optimism, and a funk-fired sound. Released as a single, the song roared up the British chart, while becoming a cult hit in U.K. clubs. Inexplicably, the album itself didn't chart at all, nor did its follow-up, 1980's Love in Exile. However, in the next year, Grant finally cracked the market wide open with Can't Get Enough, which finally breached the Top 40. His singles' success had continued uninterrupted across "Do You Feel My Love," "Can't Get Enough of You," and "I Love You, Yes I Love You." A phenomenal live album, Live at Notting Hill, was recorded in August 1981 during London's Notting Hill Carnival. The following year's Killer on the Rampage slew its way into both the British and American charts, where it landed at number ten. The album spun off "I Don't Wanna Dance," which topped the chart in the U.K., while the exhilarating "Electric Avenue," from his next album, Going for Broke, landed at number two on both sides of the Atlantic.

Nothing else would equal these dizzying heights. Three more singles followed by the end of 1984, but none managed to break into the Top 40. In the U.S., only one, "Romancing the Stone," actually made the chart, charming its way into a respectable berth just outside the Top 25. That was his final showing in the U.S. On both sides of the Atlantic, 1987's Born Tuff and the following year's File Under Rock were passed over by the record-buying public. However, the British gave the artist one last Top Ten hit in 1988 with "Gimme Hope Jo'anna," a highlight of his 1990 Barefoot Soldier album. Unfortunately, its 1992 follow-up, Painting of the Soul, went the way of its last few predecessors. 

By then, the artist had long ago left the U.K., having emigrated to Barbados a decade earlier. Even as his own career had taken off back in England, Grant was spending much of his time mentoring a new generation of soca talent. He opened a new studio, Blue Wave, and lavished most of his attention on it, which explains the gap in his output between 1984 and 1987. By the time "Jo'anna" had fallen off the chart, Grant was well on the way to creating his own mini-empire. Besides giving new stars-to-be a helping hand, Grant also moved into music publishing, specializing in calypso's legends. Over the years, Ice has thrilled the world by making the back catalog of multitudes of stars available: Lord Kitchener, Roaring Lion, and Mighty Sparrow, to name a few. And almost uniquely among Caribbean artists, Grant has maintained control over his own music, and Ice, of course, has kept it available. Across Grant's solo career, the artist has continued to experiment with different styles in ever-changing combinations. Pop, funk, new wave, reggae, Caribbean, African, and even country have all been melded into his sound. 1992's Painting of the Soul was heavy with island influences, while the next year's Soca Baptism is a collection of covers, from hits to obscurities, all dosed with a modern sound.

By this time, Grant was hard at work in the evolution of yet another hybrid style: ringbang. Many of the genre's elements are easily found in the artist's earlier recordings, from African rhythms to military tattoos, alongside soca itself and dancehall rhythms, many of the latter influenced by Grant's own previous work. The new style debuted in 1994 at the Barbados Crop Over festival. Since then, the style has continued to intrigue, but has yet to create the international success that it's always threatened. Much of this can be laid at Grant's own door, through a simmering dispute with other artists and the legal ramifications of the genre's trademark. A vociferous supporter of artists' rights, Grant first ran into trouble in 1996 when he demanded his label's artists receive adequate copyright fees from Trinidad and Tobabgo's Carnival. A heroic stance that infuriated the festival's organizers, this was quickly overshadowed by the public outcry over soca itself. As far as T&T was concerned, the inventor of soca was island native Lord Shorty, who announced its birth in 1978 with the Soca Explosion album. However, Grant insists otherwise, crediting his own "Black Skinned Blue Eyed Boys" as the first-ever soca record. Needless to say, his public proclamations of this fact continue to infuriate T&T and other Shorty supporters. But politics aside, the greater factor may be in ringbang's trademark. Once Grant filed it, the word could no longer be used by other artists without express permission. A perusal of any soca, calypso, or chutney hits collection shows the importance of the use of the genre term to the actual song, and just how many titles feature the term. By preventing artists from using the word ringbang, few outside the Ice stable were willing to explore the genre.

Even so, Grant managed to organize the Ringbang Celebration 2000 as part of T&T's millennium festivities. The event, which went off without a hitch, created further ill will due to its price tag, a whopping 41 million (6.5 million dollars in U.S. currency). The artist himself performed two songs at the event.

In the new year, he recorded a new version of one of them, "East Dry River," while in Jamaica, appropriately enough in a ska style. The previous year, the artist released the Hearts & Diamonds album, with Reparation following in 2006. Grant continues to make an impact on both sides of the studio, with his music always an intriguing concoction of sound and his studio work equally innovative. Ice itself is equally instrumental in the music world, both in its preservation of past legacies and its attention to new artists.

via island mix backchat http://www.islandmix.com/backchat/threads/is-eddie-grant-the-true-creator-inventor-of-soca.247725/

[fieryrondo]

my report on skate canada 2019 and how i fell in love with figure skating all over again (part 1)

It’s taken me about a month to sit down and write this. Not necessarily due to lack of time (though that is a factor) but because the experience was so much. Even now, with grainy photos and videos taken with a trembling hand as proof of my time there, Skate Canada feels like a bit of a fever dream. The best kind that leaves you breathless, heart-pounding and longing for more.

I’m not a stranger to traveling alone but this would be my first international venture for something solely recreational, something solely just for me. A purely selfish pleasure. The planning itself was a.process that evolved over the course of months. And to be honest, there were times when I thought this trip wouldn’t happen at all. My flight, booked months in advance, got moved up several hours earlier than expected, forcing me to decide between missing part of the gala or to stay an extra night. Personal problems drained my stamina, and several bouts of poor health stoked the fear that this day would never come. It only became real when I set off for Boston, carry-on, and swan plush in tow, for the first leg of my journey.

Kelowna, a charming lake-resort town in the middle of nowhere British Columbia. There are no direct flights from the East Coast there and I ended up having an overnight stopover in Toronto. From what I saw from the vantage point of the aircraft, Toronto was a beautiful city and reminded me a little of Los Angeles. However, I had little time to appreciate the city. I checked into a hotel to shower, warm up some leftovers, and resurrect my dying phone.

(above) My companions for the journey. 

The swan was for Yuzuru, I know it is traditional to give him a Pooh bear but I picked the swan because it was the first program of his that I saw and to this day, it is still my favorite. It has a lot of meaning for me. The Sakura Pooh was my lucky charm, the Pooh ears a last-minute purchase. 

Due to my schedule, I had to miss the first day, which itself was a bit of a risk. Isn’t it crazy? Traveling thousands of kilometers just to watch half a competition? I certainly thought so. Not to mention how Yuzuru performed during the short would have a direct impact on how he would approach the free skate. Skate Canada has never been his strongest competition. Even if he was the overwhelming favorite, like most fanyus, I’ve learned to take nothing for granted. When I heard that he skated well in the short, I breathed a little more easily before settling down to draft my letter.

“Perhaps it’s a bit forward of me, a complete stranger, to wish you this, but congratulations on your chest muscles” was the opening line of my letter, as suggested by my good friend Tanya over @turistinmyowncity​. I was too embarrassed to actually take photographic evidence but rest assured I did include it. I like to think that it may have made Yuzuru smile. A gold foil origami crane was added for additional luck. Like many fans, I was keeping my fingers crossed for Yuzuru’s first Skate Canada title.

And then it was off to the airport again, this time for the second leg of the flight. Unlike the first flight, not so many passengers were flying to Kelowna and we all got to pick our own seats.

It did not occur to me that catching Yuzuru’s practice was even within the realm of possibility until I had realized that we had arrived in Kelowna 30 minutes earlier than scheduled. A fanyu i had been corresponding with had texted: “Yuzuru’s skating second to last in practice. If you hurry, you might make it.”

*insert dramatic cinematic action sequence where I race to the nearest cab driver, shakily request to be taken to Prospera Palace expediently without breaking any traffic safety laws and then quietly die to the barely heard strains of Origin while the main entrance security guard painstakingly searches my luggage.*

One of the most vivid memories I have of Skate Canada is dragging my ridiculously bulky carryon (gimpy wheel and all) up the flight of stairs in Section 114, trying to flatten myself and become one with the stairwell wall and not get in anyone’s way. A volunteer took pity on me and let me stand on the top of the steps for a closer look. The first thing I saw, of course, was Pooh-san, that bright splash of red and yellow works perfectly as a homing beacon.

I missed Origin but was able to catch the last few minutes of practice. As for first impressions go, I’m afraid I don’t have anything particularly new to offer. Yuzuru looks as exactly as he does in photos. Sharp, precise, graceful. And fast! He kept practicing what looked like his entrance into quad loop. 

With men’s practice over, I met up with fellow fanyu VentusCantabile, an extremely sweet person with an excellent singing voice :). I dropped off my luggage at our Airbnb (conveniently located two blocks away) before rushing back over to the arena for the free dance. The venue itself is not that big so even in seats from the nosebleed section you can get a pretty good view. I was in section 112, the closest I could get to the judges' side view and also got a decent(ish) view of the kiss and cry.

I must confess that I don’t really follow ice dance and am unable to provide anything insightful. To me, everyone looked absolutely stunning. I cheered extra loud for Sara Hurtado/Kirill Khaliavin, the first Spanish ice dancers to win a Grand Prix medal. It’s no secret that I miss Javi terribly since his retirement so it was so nice to see Spanish figure skating continue to make strides. Sara’s story is also particularly inspiring. Like Javi, she has worked extremely hard to put Spanish figure skating on the map.

Other teams that impressed were: Gilles/Pourier, Hubbell/Donohue and Fear/Gibson. Fear/Gibson had an especially fun program and the Russian family next to me were so cute in that they were cheering for all of the European teams.

And then it was time for the ladies.

Media will talk about Trusova’s mindbogglingly difficult quads, Rika’s sublime triple axel, Medvedeva’s fight of a free, but the free skate of the night for me personally was Marin’s La La Land. So tenderly skated! Marin is so lovely and a true pleasure to watch live. To watch her bravely skate through (bandage and all) the best free she’s had in ages, how meaningful it must have been. And thus the first sea of Japanese flags washed through the stands. 

Here is Evgenia! Her dress is actually extremely beautiful. A very charismatic skater, there were a lot of fans who had come from overseas to cheer for her. 

Cute podium :)

Then a break for lunch. The funniest thing I found about being in Kelowna is how it is no exaggeration that figure skating fans just take over the town. The restaurant we went to was packed full of figure skating fans. Talking with fanyus was surprisingly easy. A bit awkward at first but it wasn’t long before we were easily chatting about scoring GOE guidelines and work and other fandom interests.

Then back to the rink for pairs. Given that there was a dearth of filled seats in the lower rows, I half-guiltily took the opportunity to sit a bit closer.

Watching pairs. Is. Terrifying. Lifts are hella more impressive. Twists are gravity defying. Throws are put your hands together and pray the guy does his part to help his partner land those jumps.

Vladimir Morozov lifting Evgenia Tarasova. I appreciated them a lot more live. Their elements are huge and so so clean.

Boikova/Kozlovskii are also now officially my favorite Russian pairs team. I had originally planned on filming their free since seeing quality pairs skating is such a rare opportunity in the US (cough, cough, please invest in pairs more, usfsa). I could not take my eyes off of them for one second. They were so confident and radiating electric charisma from start to finish. A young team with a very bright future!

Between the break, I also spotted Elladj Blade and Kevin Reynolds, the latter was kindly signing autographs. I was too shy to approach either of them but let me tell you Kevin is very sweet with little kids.

And then on to the men! The arena was starting to fill again so I ended up moving up a few rows. I was nervous (for a variety of reasons) but this was ultimately the event I came to see. Watching men is a bit like Russian roulette, you can either expect magnificence or implosion (or sometimes both). Not too many falls but pops are quite painful to see, especially when you know they are so costly. Still, there was a lot to like. Watching Matteo made my heart ache because his style reminds me so much of Javi’s (and doing a flamenco program does not make that association any easier). Roman is also really gorgeous to watch live, but he was so nervous during the free he was unable to show us what he’s really capable of.

At some point, you can sense the audience’s point of focus shift, probably during Camden’s skate (also really liked Camden!). I was sitting pretty close to the side of the skater’s entrance and noticed that all of the fans right by the stairwell had their phones/cameras out. Stairwell shooting is always a reliable indicator of Yuzuru’s arrival ^^

That roar of approval when Yuzuru takes off his jacket is something else. Origin 2.0 is a beautiful costume and way, way more sparkly in real life. Photos don’t quite do the sparkles justice.

Those six minutes of warm-up were honestly some of the most stressful I’ve experienced. Yuzuru kept drilling the quad loop, the jump that he had been having trouble with during practice. After he had gotten a beautiful one under his belt (good, please do that again in the free), he seemed to calm down.

I found it very difficult to concentrate on the other skaters in the second group. By then the stadium was packed and every seat was filled. I had doubts about whether or not I would even get the chance to throw my gift onto the ice because I was so high up and nowhere near the aisle. Worst case scenario, I would just keep my swan.

Keiji!!! He was so fun to watch here. I really love both of his programs this season and he was totally on from the very first jump! Not gonna lie, I saw my life flash before my eyes when he almost ran straight into the boards on his second sal, and then the dainty single toe on the end made me laugh. :)

So it never occurred to me, a formerly strictly broadcast viewer, the amount of time that skaters have right before they skate. There is SO much time. While they were doing the slow-mo replay and the judges were punching buttons, Yuzuru was already whizzing on the ice. He landed a very beautiful quad toe. Feather light. Airy. Calm and commanding, he looked good to go.

At this point, I put down my phone. Although part of me cried at the thought of not having a personal recording of Yuzuru’s free, it felt important to focus entirely on him with my own two eyes.

There are no words that can quite describe what I felt when watching Origin. When I look back on this skate, I can only remember how hard I ground my teeth. How I could feel the opening drum beats like the beats of a human heart. How my knuckles whitened as they grasped the edge of my hard seat. Yuzuru went for the loop and spun out, clinging on to the ice by the edge of his blade. Not the prettiest landing but he made it.

The sal next, smooth as silk. Step sequence, violin choreo(!!), that scream for the prettiest triple lutz I’ve seen. Quad toe. How many quads left. My fingernails were digging into my plastic wrapped swan. THAT FUCKING QUAD TOE-EULER-TRIPLE FLIP. Ahhhhhhhh, roll of thunder, hear our cry.

The CLAPPING. 6000 voices in perfect synchrony. Every completed jumping pass felt like a victory charge. That bionic knee bend determination to eke out that double toe. All jumping passes cleared. At some point I must have started breathing again. A song in my heart, indiscriminate joy squeezing the heck out of my vocal cords. Lay down that ina bauer! A tiny slip on the hydroblade but he’s done it. He’s ground the silver curse to dust. When you’re screaming at the top of your lungs but you can’t hear a thing because everyone else around you is screaming louder than you. Final clapping sequence. Dramatique pose, punch the air. Sound your barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

322.59!!! Feels. So. Damn. Right.

[purpletimepiece-au-ahit]

What if Conductor wrote his own dairy the same way hat kid dose?

This is just an idea and i'm not of a great writer but i hope ppl will still enjoy

Chapter 1 Mafia Town

ACT 1 : Welcome to Mafia Town

So I guess this is where my journey starts. In ****************. However a bunch of Mafias who call them self ”Mafia of cooks” has taken over the island and has renamed it ”Mafia town”. I’ve only really heard of ************** in geography lessons when I was young. But from what I remember this island used to be very peaceful…

ACT 2 : Barrel Battle

I helped a little lass that has a mustache? she got herself caught by the mafia and I shudder to think what they might have done to her if I had not come. She was quite rebellious towards the mafia. she also said she was willing to help me get more time pieces if I help her take down their boss. I’m not certain I should be trusting her though…something about her tells me that I should beat her up but I can’t do that! She might not even be double digits jet!

ACT 3 : She He Came from Outerspace

I had to wait for that mustache girl to get herself done before we would face up against the boss of the mafia here. It was absolutely pouring there that day! And slippery. I slipped into a puddle of mud even. Not seconds after I got up from the mud I saw the mafia that was around me looked scared. That’s when I got an idea. I ran towards the goons and they ran like scaredy cats. Oh how I couldn’t help but to laugh.

ACT 4 : Down with the Mafia!

I knew I shouldn’t have trusted in that red-hooded peck neck….after defecting the boss the red lass got a bit too curios of the time pice. She was quick to find its actual power these hourglasses holds. She got obsessed and planed for the BOTH of us to be ”crime fighting time travelers”. That’s just too much for me. This is already enough this journey I’m gonna need to do. She robbed me as well! I should’ve just taken her out right then and there…

ACT 5 : Cheating the Race

HA! That peck neck riding on a rocket thought he could beat me? Well I have something myself that will make it balanced! I don’t like cheating but since it didn’t involve with movies and the bird movie award I was fine with it.

ACT 6 : Heating up Mafia Town

I leave Mafia town for 1 day and the entire island is half submerged in lava. That red lass is nothing but trouble. And might I add there are faucets all around the island that primarily controls the island’s volcano and its lava flow… I have no idea if they excited before or after the mafia took over…either way, I hope the next place ill be going to after will be bit cooler.

ACT 7 : The Golden Vault

I’ve noticed these tickets that’s been flying in the wind all over the town, As to why they were all just separated from each other is beyond me. I took the time to gather all of them, Most of the vaults contained pretty useless junk but attest the last one had a time pice in it.

Chapter 2 Battle of the Birds

ACT 1 : Dead Bird Studio

I’ve seen myself in movies before but what was odd this time is that I could interact with myself? The other me sees me just as the little hat lass, I don’t know if I should be thankful or if I really wanted to find out how I really would react if I were to met a doppelganger of myself. That would make into an interesting movie but for the first time in my directing career I just can’t figure out how that would be done without it being flawed. No one can imitate me better than myself and only myself. I also found out how the lass was able to infiltrate so deep into the studio. I’m paying these owls too much for hardly any work from them.

ACT 2 : Murder on the Owl Express

This is one of my best works I done in my career of directing movies. It easily bested Groves’s movie 10 times. Even from the kid’s perspective it was like a real detective case going on. I’m really proud of how it turned out.

ACT 3 : Picture Perfect

Ugh, I remeberd I was gonna need to be on that peck neck’s movies as well. I would just steal the time pice but that penguin just won’t stand still. However I got the chance to ruin his movie. By swearing! That’ll show him! if he really wants a chance to stand aginst me he gotta turn that age restriction up a bit.

ACT 4 : Train Rush

If it wasn’t for the fact I got the little lass’s energy I would in no way been able to reach at the end in time. I’m not as youthful anymore…I still feel as though I didn’t put enough action into this movie. This is one of the only times’s I’ve actually been uncertain in this movie. My acting was on point as usual it was really the recording process I was uncertain with. The exploding train movies are really hard and risky to make as I have a REALLY limited amount of times I can retake senses to none at all. Thankfully no one else will be reading this. Maybe I should start writing on a diary more often….

ACT 5 : The Big Parade

Okey, I’m actually happy that others see me as the little hat lass and not as myself. I had to wear a parade leader outfit and lead a goofy parade. I’m too pecking old to be doing something like this. He tried making it a bit more exciting with fireworks but really? Its a bloody pecking parade…

ACT 6 : Award Ceremony

THAT NO GOOD DIRTY PECK NECK CHEATED THE AWAERD CEREMONY! I know for sure that I had the most score! That must be how he won the award 42! If there wouldn’t be so many birds in the ceremony I would’ve beaten up DJ Groves…

ACT 1 : Dead bird studio?

How do I start with this…? I first got a phone call from myself when I used the audio changer in the murder on the express owl. CONFIRMING that Groves did rigged the ceremony. he then hinted me to get down into the basement. After searching around there for a bit I did find an elevator that I had no idea we had. Not only that while I was reaching the basement I could her that peck neck talking through the vents and walls. I couldn’t really make out what he was talking about but I was certain he was talking about the time pieces. That’s when I found him. With all this time I’ve worked in the same building with him I’ve never seen or even heard him like this. He has gone mad, he was desperate and he was out for blood. He even used my own BOMB to try to end me. Thankfully this timeline me came and saved me to beat down that pecker…for someone that made family friendly movies he was a real good fighter ill give him that. Oh! This might make a good movie aginst him…that was at lest the last time pice of that place, I should be almost done now right…?

Chapter 3 Subcon Forest

ACT 1 : Contractual Obligations

Before I never really thought much about the Subcon forest. the forest was rumored to be haunted and that who ever enters it never comes back. It has been proven to be true when some bodies where found at the very edge of the forest but it could very much be some deadly diseases there or they could’ve gotten poisoned. I never had any business to do with the forest and thought I never would till today. I never believed in ghosts or really anything ”super unnatural” it never has the same rules, there were just too many different variant for the same thing! No one I’ve met has been able to prove to me that ”magic” is real. Well I guess the time pieces’ would count but the kid uses it like it was fuel to a machine, I don’t know. One really popular rumor was there lived a soul stealing ghost there. I thought to myself it was all just some hoax. it was till I actually got into the forest that things changed. I got caught and not long after the rumor of the soul stealing ghost proved to be true. I was able to keep my life but at the cost of having to do some of this ghost’s bindings and my soul. I must say without my soul I feel so…empty…no fear, no worry, I don’t even feel a hint of anger…

ACT 2 : Subcon Well

It was quite important that I get the ”cleaning the subcon well” contract done as it will give me an item that I must have if I wish to complete the train rush movie. I found out that the hook shot is something that hat kid did not have at the beginning. If I’ve known that I would’ve allowed her to borrow my hook shot badge that I ”own” for the movies but to be honest it might not be in a good condition now as it has been years since I myself last used it

ACT 3 : Toilet of Doom

So that shadow thing that is called ”Snatcher” just let my soul escape. I know now that he didn’t eat it right after and just kept it which is weird. I don’t see any reason why he would really but anyway. It then when on to posses an outhouse and cause a lot of ruckus. It really made A LOT of ruckus, probably because its my soul…But I was able to defeat it at last and ”Snatcher” took back my soul.

ACT 4 : Queen Vanessa

Okey, this time even without my soul I felt an aura of fear. I felt overwhelmingly cold but I could feel a sense of unease…the entire village and the mansion was in a sphere of ice. Incased in an interval winter. Vanessa herself was a danger, a psychopath!….or a sociopath, what’s the difference even? She would’ve killed me either way if she found me. Not to mention there were quite a few ice sculptures. Showing these last victims their last reaction before they met their end…She already knew I was in the mansion. I however lived to write about this another day…

ACT 5 : Mail Delivery

So, after having kill off some spirits, fight my own soul, rob some demon’s home I gotta now deliver stolen mail to this ghost’s minions? Also, after I’ve been doing all this stuff the girl had to do I feel quite bad that the lass had to endure this to get these time pieces’. having her soul tacken and do all these contracts. The lass’s just a kid for crying out loud! Well she has the appearance of a young lass but she could be older then I thought…she is very smart and skilled.

ACT 6 : Your Contract has Expired

I knew that I would have to fight this pecking contract ghost noodle someday! I’m certain he wouldn’t give me my soul back or even give me the last time pice willingly…when I had defected him he gave me a chance to leave but this was without the things I wanted. When I thought I had no other choice then to just sign it I realized that fool had already stamped the contract. Which meant I could do some ”adjustments” to the deal. Again, Pretty clever there lass!

Chapter 4 :Alpine Skyline

First arrival

I landed on some mountain tops. The place looked it had once people living or to the very lest came around often but was now abandoned. However a seemingly endless line of banners append at the very top. It then took me to a much more lively place. ancient people and goats has been living on the very top of these mountains for what they say ”thousands of years”. For them the air is thin but somehow for the kid and now me its perfectly fine…there was also a lot of strange flowers growing all over the place. What’s more concerning is that the people nor the goats have no idea what they are…

The Birdhouse

this was the biggest bird house I have ever seen! It was HUGE. There were also a lot of ”odd” birds there. but those exploding eggs must be the most gruesome scenes I have ever witness In my entire life. They give me shivers when ever I get too close to them so they became ”active” . Far too extreme to even mention in my movies but maybe if I were to tone down the details then just maybe I could use it for a horror movie…

The Windmill

okey I thought the giant bird house was huge but this windmill might as well count as a mountain it self. Claiming the bloody thing wasn’t easy either, I can’t fly as easily and as great like I used to anymore.

The Lava Cake

this civilization is really impressive. Somehow they stacked lava like the cake on my wedding I had many years ago I think its called a ”pillar cake”?. I’m quite surprised I didn’t burn most of my feathers when I traversed it…now I really miss my wife…

The Twilight Bell

that giant bell transferred me somewhere. I don’t know to where, haven, hell, limbo or the void who knows! But I was certain I wasn’t in the land of the living…

The Illness has Spread

okey, these strange purple flowers has certainly proven to be a threat! And since they didn’t turn me to a mindless raging zombie I was the only one that could take down these flowers before they would spread furtherer. I’ll write this again, the things this kid has been though…

Attic cruise

ACT 1 : Bon Voyage!

I was able to see my grandchildren again after this long journey I had to do. It is still really nice to see that they’re all fine and are just the cutest things in the entire world. I get why now why the caption really doesn’t like his crew. They broke the time piece. The kid still doesn’t understand how time hasn’t completely broken down or to the very lest changed something as it should have. It is easily fixable so that’s a relief. But what if something has changed or it did rewind and we just don’t know. Oh god I start to sound and think like the lass now.

ACT 2 : Ship Shape

First time i’ll go on a vacation and not drink. They won’t even allow me since to them I look like the lass. I also found out while the other me is all drunken out that the little rascals are still able to escape. Ugh, I’m the only one that can keep them all in the same place…

ACT 3 : Rock the Boat

I had a feeling it was the kid that crashed the boat but I wanted to believe it was the crew. I had to then save the crew and the passengers. Well those that didn’t directly dived into the icy cold water first….Thankfully none of my grandchildren did. I got worried when I only found 4 myself but found out the rest was saved by the crew members…also saving myself felt a bit weird. It’s also now I realized I got sobered up quite quickly.

Nyakuza Metro

Main station

out of all places the MOST timepieces landed on. Had it be Nyakuza Metro!? The pecking place where there are nothing but cats!? I know I don’t look like a bird for others but I hope they don’t sense it…

After

great. Getting these time pieces’ might get harder now since someone with a high amount of power named ”Empress” wants these hourglasses as well like always….

Yellow overpass

good news, they don’t know or they don’t care that I’m not a cat. However I was forced to wear this hoodie and this stupid scribbled medical mask. I guess it is not great inhaling these weird smells…I don’t even know where they’re coming from or what they actually would do. either way I need to wear these to show I’m in this ”gang”

Yellow overpass manhole

there are all these stickers around the metro. Most of them depict the hat lass but some depict as Snatcher, Groves, lass’s friend which I can’t remember their name and even me. As to why and who made them is a mystery. But I still feel as though I need to collect them.

Green clean

I thought the lass’s rumba was weird but the rumbas in the metro are way scarier. They even chase you if you’re dirty. I found that out the hard way…

Green clean manhole

the lass couldn’t help herself but to play ”dress up” with me since there are so many cats that sells these customizations like other hats and dyes. Some I actually liked. They fitted quite well on me while others….I’m just never gonna touch those ever EVER again…

Bluefin

huh. A poster of my newest movie ”PECK NECK” was on the walls here in the metro after the ”shipwreck incident”. a waste of advertisement money if you ask me but maybe these cats will actually be interested in watching a bird movie. But I doubt it since they’re mostly only interested this overly obnoxious animated genre called I believe ”anime”? Well they just don’t know about the true art of real movies! Then again it is getting my interest….

Pink paw

there’s A LOT of fast food stations here. I know that it’s the biggest (and only) metro on the planet but still. All the joints doesn’t smell great either. Well it is fast food. its not supposed to be great, its supposed to be fast. The coffee is okey at lest.

Pink paw manhole

well this was new, well kinda. I had to collect over 100 of these electrical pons to get the time pieces. I didn’t want to since the empress’s gang just takes it away from me as fast as I get it and brings it back to her. The money’s nice but I’m certain that they’re counterfeit. I think I’ll need to come up with a plan to get them all back. I guess for now I’ll get the rest…

Rush hour

HA! They thought they could just steal from me? i’ll just steal it all back! But I’m actually relived I was able to get out of there alive and to never have to return to that metro again. The only train i’ll be seeing is my own.

Final boss

The red hooded lass stole all the time pieces that I have collected. Well I guess it is time that I go best up the peck neck once and for all…this journey has been…well fun actually. I’ve run into a lot of conflicts and obstacles but I’ve been able to get around those. I was able to see more of the planet I’ve been living on. For most of my life I’ve just been in that desert and the studio. Finally getting somewhere else, Somewhere different was really refreshing…I actually hate that this adventure is gonna end now so soon. I want more…but at the same time. I miss my grandchildren, my train, making movies and dare I say it? even arguing with DJ Groves…I should really stop stalling right now. I best take out that peck neck as fast as possible now. Its time that I fix this mess and get back home soon…

Community map

how the peck am I gonna write about this adventure I had today?? I think I’ll just leave it blank. Hopefully its nothing far too importent to remember for later…

[v0n-butch]

rich boy boredom

Steve Harrington x fem reader

“Could you do a billy or Steve imagine? It’s my 21st today and I feel really homesick and alone (I’m on the other side of the country at uni) and idk I feel like I can’t talk to my housemates so I’m projecting onto fictional characters” requested by anonymous.

word count: 1,922

warning(s): swearing, shoplifting, vandalism (up to no good basically)

a/n: happy late birthday lovely ! birthdays can be a bummer for me too tbh :/ and yes projecting onto characters is valid♥️

—

Steve got a free ride up to some fancy ass university across the country, room and board payed for by absent parents, got everything he could ever really want or need. And it was great. He’ll tell you that to your face, maybe even sprinkle some “I’m so grateful for this opportunity” bullshit into his speech, too. But what he won’t tell you is that being a spoiled child can get fucking dull. God forbid he ever voice these feelings out loud in fear of looking like another useless wealthy white guy that has the audacity to complain about something when he could have everything he could ever want and then some. But it got lonely and dangerously boring. And when Steve was bored whenever his folks weren’t around, he always got the itch to fuck something up just to feel anything other than the tasteless boredom.

Since the boy lost his title in high school and now embraced his new dorky guy status (wearing sweaters, even needing glasses for fuck’s sake) girls have either ignored him or friend zoned him. And yeah, having friends that are only chicks is great and all, but now everybody just thinks he’s a gay rich brat that shouldn’t complain about not picking up a date when he could afford a yacht if he simply felt like it. At least everyone who gave him the stink eye had parents at home that payed attention and cared for their well being.

The only girl (or just person in general) in any of his classes that didn’t treat him that way or roll their eyes if he tried to ask a question in class was Y/N. She was smart, he could tell that by peeking at her test scores whenever they got their exams handed back to correct. Pretty, too. Same innocence as his high school heartbreaker Nancy has. Steve isn’t sure if that’s his subconscious type he’s into or if it’s just coincidences. He’d make a move on her if she wasn’t so quiet all the time, he even contemplated if she were deaf or mute or something. The only words he ever heard her speak were ‘here’ for role call at the start of class. Her shy nature was a little intimidating, he didn’t know what she thought about him or anybody else at all. She was sorta mysterious like that, but damn if he didn’t try at least giving her a heads up that she could talk to him if she wanted.

Now was his chance, he’s had at least a hundred chances so far because they’ve shared this class for months now, but still. Steve has to really hype himself up and mentally give a pep talk about what he was gonna say, how he was gonna say it. Y/N was wearing her regular cozy sweater, baggy jeans and ruffled hair as usual. She looked cute everyday, but today he couldn’t help but think she was extra cute. Steve saw her sit down in her usual spot, taking out her notes and book from her bag and patiently waiting for the professor to start.

“Uh, your name’s Y/N right?” Steve asks. Fucking great start, jackass. Of course he knows her name already. She whips her head around in surprise that somebody actually acknowledged her presence and nodded, still unsure of what to say back to the boy. “I’m Steve. If you didn’t already like, know that or whatever. Sorry. But maybe when class is done, do you wanna hang out and do something? Go somewhere? If you’re not busy,” he finally gets out, begging the heavens that he doesn’t sound too creepy and scare her off from him for good. She still stares at him blankly then snaps out of whatever trance she had been in, and talks. He didn’t ever hear what her voice sounded like before.

“I know your name’s Steve.” she replies.

That’s it? That’s all you have to say?

“Yeah. That’s me. So about that—“

“Sure. I’ll go with you. Could use some excitement today especially,” she shrugs then turns around as the professor enters and walks to the front, announcing to the class what they’re gonna be doing today.

“What’s today?” he whispers, but gets rudely interrupted by the professor’s request for the class to quiet down and gives his lecture.

—

Class was annoying as fuck as per usual, but staring at the back of Y/N’s head was the only thing he really liked. Steve wouldn’t dare say that out loud, but it was true. Finally the professor dismissed all of the students to leave, and Steve was quick to pack up his shit and hang out with the girl. Y/N took her time as opposed to Steve, and he went up to her seat to ask what she wanted to do, where she wanted to go.

“Surprise me,” she answers with a smile. The boy returns it and offers to carry her bag for her, not taking no for an answer.

“Okay. I will, let’s do it,” he pumps his fist in the air and briefly regrets showing enthusiasm but it’s okay because she gives him a laugh, and he likes the sound of it. He likes it a lot, honestly.

Back to Steve’s boredom and stupidity, the combination often leads him into trouble. But Y/N was along for the ride, seeming happy that someone was actually spending time with her. She kept telling him about how afraid she was that today specifically would be another stale, boring day. Whenever the boy asked what today meant, but she shrugged it off and changed the subject to something else. She wanted to talk about him, but he was begging to know more about her. She talked about she feels invisible most days, how nobody really recognizes her existence but Steve sees her. He knows she exists, and he likes that she’s here spending time with him.

“Wanna do something stupid?” Steve asks, eyeing the drugstore that was across the street and how no one seemed to be working there tonight.

“How stupid are we going for, exactly?” She laughs. There’s that laughter again. Steve relishes in the feeling of his heartbeat getting quicker, and grabs her hand to cross the road.

“Like, really fucking stupid, honestly.” He answers as he tells her to keep her head down, both of them staying low as Steve conducts a plan. “What do you want right now? Anything. Could be anything, go crazy.” She looks at him and still has no idea what he’s talking about.

“Um, I don’t know. A redbull I guess?” She answers. Steve smirks at her.

“One redbull coming up. Anything else? C’mon, you could do better than that Y/N,” he playfully pushes her shoulder, encouraging her to speak up about what else.

“Okay, okay! Fine, Steve. Jesus. I really want a cake, too,” she says.

“Cake and redbull. Gotcha, stay out here and wait for my signal,” he whispers, patting her back and entering the store without another word. Y/N doesn’t even know what “signal” he’s talking about. Moments later, Steve emerges from the store in a panic, screaming “RUN” at Y/N with spray paint, her redbull, and a cake stuffed in his coat.

“What the fuck, Steve!” She races after the boy and they don’t stop until they’re in behind a secluded building with brick walls surrounding them. Steve is out of breath, and Y/N is catching hers still before she snorts a giggle and holds onto Steve and her stomach, hurting from laughing so hard. The adrenaline they’re both high on is fueling their energy, making them incapable of stopping their fun. Steve carelessly throws the plastic lid off of the cake and remembers that he never grabbed forks for them.

Y/N takes the redbull and cracks it open, chugging some then handing it over to Steve, who takes it and gulps some too.

“You should see the way your hair bounces up and down when you run,” she giggles at him then runs her fingers through it, making Steve blush but not move, not wanting her to stop. Y/N gestures to the spray cans he also stole. “What’re these for?”

“Oh, you’ve never heard of these? It’s like paint, but you spray it, and —“

“No, dumbass! Why’d you take those too? They weren’t on the list,” you interject.

“Ohhhh, right. So like, we could draw or write whatever we want here,” Steve answers simply, taking the can of green paint and spraying your name on the brick wall in front. When he’s finished, he grabs a handful of the cake and shoves it in his mouth and moans at the creamy, sugary fluffiness.

“That is some good shit right there,” he points to the vanilla frosting covered dessert with his messy hand before going to spray more designs on the wall.

“You’re crazy, man.”

“Yeah. No I’m really not, I think I’m just bored. Tired of getting everything I want handed to me. It doesn’t feel like I earned any of it,” his tone switches to something a bit more sad, dropping the can of spray and taking another bite before offering you some cake.

“Eh, sure. What the hell, right?” You shrug, taking the giant bite he fed to you and not caring that some bits of cake land on your sweater. Steve apologizes but you wave it off, it’s just a stupid sweater.

“I’ve had a lot of fun tonight,” Steve murmurs, scooting closer to you before you get up and ignore his protests of wanting you to sit back down with him. You take the red spray paint and start marking up the wall, decorating it with hearts and stars. “Y’know, you never told me what today is,” he gazes up at you before shoveling more cake into his palm and feeding it to you. You eat all of it up then laugh but it doesn’t sound like it’s out of a joke, but something else.

“Today’s my twenty-first birthday,” Y/N answered before going back to the task of vandalizing the brick.

“Shit. Happy birthday, Y/N,” Steve smiles when he stands up, watching you in a daze like he’s never seen anyone look more beautiful than you do right now, cake on your shirt and chin be damned. “Should’ve stolen a six pack of beer too while I was at it.”

“My family forgot. Nobody in class even cared either,” you stared down at the ground in embarrassment, knowing that this rich boy from Indiana couldn’t possibly understand what with his money and his popularity. Steve tilts your chin up with his clean fingers then leans in, capturing your lips in a chaste kiss before pulling back.

“I’m still twenty, my birthday’s not till next September. You’re pretty lucky I like older women,” Steve whispers and before you can laugh at that he’s going in for a better one, kissing the hell out of your soft lips and cupping your cheek. Even with the cake all over his fingers, you’ve never felt this seen before, like anybody really noticed you like Steve did in this moment, on this day.

“You should be thankful I like younger men, too. And what’s the deal with the stealing? Pretty sure you can afford an energy drink, some spray paint and a cake,” you say, petting his hair again and making him purr at the stimulating feeling.

“I just got bored.”

[admin-in-residence]

The Arcade Queen (Billy Hargrove X Reader)

Welp. I fell really hard into Stranger Things, and it resulted in this little fic. Bear with me as I normally don’t write things like this. This is meant to be a Billy Hargrove X Reader, and I might make it into a mini-series if anyone wants me to continue it, this is more like a small drabble and an attempt at writing for Stranger Things. In this fic, the reader is still in school but is the assistant manager for The Palace, the arcade.

Extra: After finishing this I am so sorry for the atrocity you're about to read.

Summary: Being the assistant Arcade Manager means you have a lot of responsibilities; repairs, cleaning, and closing for the night. However, on this night, you have a small encounter with Billy Hargrove

Working at the Palace Arcade had its perks, especially working as the assistant manager. For the most part, you could stay behind the scenes working on paperwork and expenses, ordering in new prizes.

The downside was when your co-worker couldn’t make it in for their closing shift. For 2 hours tonight you had been in charge of anything, from malfunctioning machines to trading in prizes and anything in between, all the while trying to clean up so that you could get out of work shortly after the arcade closed for the night.

Ten minutes to 11:00 you began your warnings to the few remaining players lingering around, trying their hardest to beat previous scores and earn their places. For the most part, people heeded your warnings, finishing the games they departed, hearts filled with sorrows at another failed chance of beating their rivals.

5 minutes to 11:00 and the only people left in the arcade were your regulars, Mike, Dustin, Lucas and Will along with the newcomer, Max.

“You guys have until the bathrooms are cleaned, to finish your games, and go home for the night!” You called to them, hearing them give cheers knowing full well that it would take another 15 minutes.

As you worked on the bathrooms, you could hear excited shouts from the small group you had left in the main part of the arcade, one of them was going above and beyond and by the sounds of it about to beat another high score.

When you finally finished cleaning and returned to the front of the arcade, you were greeted by fanfare and you smiled at the kids standing proudly in front of you.

“Alright, I’ll bite. Who was it this time?” You asked, referring to the happy faces in front of you.

Max shyly cleared her throat.

Despite seeing how confident the girl was in front of her friends, and in front of others...and witnessing the fights she had with her brother both at school and when she was dropped off at the arcade, the girl seemed to shut herself up into a little bundle of nerves when speaking to you.

“Well, congrats for that Max.” You praised the young girl, “We’ll have to think about finding some sort of championship arcade event for you to compete in.”

The boys instantly started echoing your statement, and as you ushered them out the door, you could hear their voices fade away into the night, all of them on their way home.

As you finished your last-minute chores before you too locked up and went home for the night, you heard scuffling from outside.

The events from the past year and the disappearances of Will and Barb had put many on edge, and despite Will being back and the police announcing that there was no reason to worry any longer, you still carried some stuff in your bag just in case of emergencies.

So here you were, all by you're lonesome, tiptoeing around to look beside the arcade, perfume in one hand and a broom in the other. Right as you went to turn the corner, you heard more scuffling and shifting.

You leapt around the corner, letting out a loud shout as you waved the broom handle and sprayed perfume.

As you opened your eyes, you saw Max, wide-eyed and standing a few feet away from where your broom handle had been whipped around.

“Max!?” You shouted, dropping the broom.

“Uh...hey Y/N.” Max greeted with a shy, nervous wave. Resting a hand over your racing heart you gave a loud sigh.

“God, you gave me a heart attack! What are you still doing here?” You exclaimed, your racing heart calming.

“Uh...no reason, just hanging around!” Max said. “What were you er...doing with the broom...and...?”

She pointed to the perfume bottle clasped tightly in your hand.

“Do you have to clean the parking lot too?” She jested.

“Very funny Maxine.” You teased, picking up the broom handle, “And no. I thought that instead of a kid ‘just hanging around’ That someone or something else might be lingering around. So the perfume was meant to be for whatever was here...thankfully it didn’t get into your eyes.”

“Eyes?” She questioned.

“Yeah? If you were actually in trouble you could spray it into your attackers' eyes, and it would blind them for a moment, so then you can-”

“Beat them with a broom.” Max finished.

“Well. In this case yes...but your just a kid, so you shouldn’t have to worry about any of that stuff.” You said softly, “But...it still doesn’t explain what you're still doing here at...11:20. Arcades closed, you all got extra time too.”

Max stood in front of you, her arms crossed and face turned away from you.

“Waiting.” She finally said, however, she said it so quickly you almost missed it.

“Waiting.” You echoed. “For who?”

“My brother,” Max said quickly again.

Seeing that she clearly didn’t want to talk about it, and also seeing that she was without a sweatshirt, and even with one you were shivering from the cold Hawkins air, you finally decided that any chance of you going home early tonight would have to wait.

“Alright, well you can wait for him inside instead of wandering around out here by your self.”

“What?” She said, face snapping to yours, “I thought the arcade was closed.”

“Well I forgot that I had some paperwork to finish and my boss would lose it if I didn’t, so you mise well wait inside with me.”

The two of you made your way back inside and you grabbed some paperwork you had originally left for your next shift from the back.

Max stood with her hands in her pockets, standing by the door, watching as every car, albeit few, passed by the arcade.

“So. Your brother this late all the time?” You spoke to Max.

“Never.” She said softly.

You picked your head up, looking to the younger girl.

“Well, that's nice...at least not tonight...but it’s awfully nice of Billy to drive you around.” You said, thinking about her older brother. He was in your grade, but the two of you hadn’t really talked, not having any periods together in school.

Max stayed quiet.

“Well, you know I could give you a ride if you want? I don’t mind if you don’t want to keep waiting.”

“I have to wait,” Max said quietly. “Billy will get in trouble if he doesn’t bring me home.”

“Well...alright.” You replied, going back to the paperwork. “Got any quarters left?”

“Huh?”

“I’m just saying if you got any quarters left, you can play a couple rounds of whatever you like. I can keep an eye on the door.”

It took Max a minute, but a little while after your final statement, she wandered away and you heard the familiar noise of a quarter slipping into a machine, and the game come alive.

You kept an eye on the clock, not willing to be here past midnight, you decided that you would just take her home, either way, a little before midnight.

A little after 11:45 you heard the purr of Billy’s Camaro roar into the parking lot. You looked up, seeing Max had once again immersed herself in a game her back turned to you, and she clearly hadn’t heard her brother pull in.

You set your pen down and walked to the door, opening it and taking a step outside, seeing Billy running his hands through his hair as he stepped out, turning every which way clearly searching for his sister.

“Hey, Hargrove.” You called out, hoping to give him a jump, however, he turned around always playing it cool.

“Y/N Right?” He said. “I’m looking for...”

“Max. I know she's in here finishing up a game...why don’t you come in?” You said, holding the door open. Billy stood by his car for a second, clearly thinking about what you said, and you half expected him to just walk in and drag his sister out, however, he threw out his cigarette and came up to you, stepping into the arcade.

“Don’t worry Hargrove, I won’t tell anyone that you're hanging around in the arcade.” You teased as you followed behind him. You heard him give a small chuckle in front of you.

“It’s Y/N. Right?” He said, turning around.

“Wow. So Billy Hargrove does know my name.” You laughed, making your way back to the counter to grab the sheets of paper and tuck them in the manager's office. However, seeing a scrap piece of paper on the desk you grabbed a pen scrawling something quickly and tucking it into your pocket.

Coming back you saw Billy leaning against the counter, his eyes on Max who somehow still hadn’t realized her brother was here.

“She's a good kid you know.” You said, leaning next to Billy, “And a great gamer. You should find her some sort of championship or something to compete in.”

“Shes a little shit,” Billy said, but the usual angry and rough tone wasn’t with the statement, it sounded lost and distant, a whisper in the woods.

“Well. If you ever need any help with her or need me to give her a ride, I won’t mind. I know she was worried about it when I asked her about it...said you’d get in trouble, but really. If you need anything...I’m typically here” You gestured.

Just as you finished your minor speech, you heard the familiar chimes of ‘Game Over’ with a combined happy shout.

“Hey Y/N! I did it again, I just beat this record!” Max exclaimed, her happy face turning upside down when she caught sight of her brother.

“Billy.” She gulped.

“Alright, little shit. Get in the car.” Billy said. Max wasted no time, giving you a small thank you and departed the arcade.

“Thanks, for watching over her while I was late,” Billy said turning around to leave, and you had a silly grin on your face, hearing the Hargrove give you a genuine thank you.

“Anytime.” You replied. Your heart raced, but you hesitantly called out to Billy once more, his face turning.

You bounded up to him and slipped the paper into his pocket.

“My number, just in case you ever need someone to get Max.” You said.

Billy tucked the paper further into his pocket, in order for it to not slip away and he gave you a cheesy smile.

“Do I have to just use it for Max?” He asked, his voice dropping lower, growing huskier, and your heart was practically visible as it beat out of your chest.

“No, if you ever need me I’ll be there too.” You whispered. Billy’s smile grew larger, and he took your hand in his own, raising it up to his lips to press a kiss to it.

“Good to know, darling.” He chuckled, and like the wind, he slipped out the door, with a soft goodnight.

You stood frozen, shell shocked, heart, beating way too fast to be considered healthy as you heard and saw the Camaro pull away and drive off into the night.

Backing up, you slipped down sitting with your back against the counter, resting your gifted hand over your heart, willing for it to both calm down, yet never stop beating for the handsome Billy Hargrove. 

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

Part 2

[mlinkwell]

When You’re Older

Request: hmm nct jaehyun or jisung angst where they are your sibling and they find out that you have been hiding something from your parents?? (Like bullying or blackmailing or a bad test score, etc.)

Pairing: Jisung (Park Jisung) x Reader (fem) [siblings]; Taeyong (Lee Taeyong) x Reader [couple]

Genre: Angst(ish maybe idk not really), lil fluff

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: slight sexual content, swearing, lil bb jisung, mostly conversation

This is honestly a little more awkward than angst, so I’m sorry if this isn’t what you thought would come from this request!

Your cheeks were still flushed with shame and embarrassment as the bell rang. You shoved your folder down into your bookbag and raced for the door. You kept your eyes straight ahead, not trying to accidentally strike up a conversation with any of your schoolmates. You made it out the front doors of the school in record time, trying to fish your headphones out of your bag as you walked across the school yard.

“Hey!”

You knew it was directed at you, but some very upset part of your brain was telling you to keep walking and act like you didn’t hear him, so that’s exactly what you did.

“Hey, baby!” This time, Taeyong was right behind you, and you felt his hand on your shoulder right after the words reached your ears. Still, you didn’t respond. Taeyong used the hand on your shoulder to move himself around and in front of your body, forcing you to stop. You could hear the confusion and hurt in his voice as he asked, “Did I do something?”

Without a word, you pulled your folder out of your bag and opened it up. You took out the stapled packet on top and shoved it into Taeyong’s chest. He caught the papers before they fell down his body and turned him so he could figure out the problem. His eyes found the red ink number on the top right corner of the front page and immediately softened.

“Baby, it’s okay,” he said, reaching out to touch your face. You slapped his hand away lightly, causing the confusion to return to his eyes. “Why are you so upset?”

“This is the second time,” you huffed.

“Second time for what?” Tayeong asked. You looked at him with your jaw clenched in rage.

“The second time you were so desperate to fuck me that I couldn’t focus on studying,” you shot back, full-on pouting at this point. Taeyong glanced around to make sure that no one passing by heard your outburst, causing you to snap, “Oh, so our sex life can ruin my academic reputation with Mrs. Jung but not your social reputation?”

“No, no, no,” he quickly tried to defend the small action. “That’s not at all what I meant.”

“I bet you don’t even remember,” you pouted, crossing your arms over your chest and looking down.

“Oh,” Taeyong began. “I definitely remember.”

You rolled your eyes and moved to walk around and away from your smirking boyfriend.

“Wait, no.” He placed his arms on your shoulders to hold you still. “Okay, that was a bad joke. I’m sorry, and I’m sorry I kept you from studying. Let me make it up to you, please, baby?”

You sighed heavily, beginning to feel terrible for being such a brat when Taeyong was trying to be so helpful. You looked up into his deep, sparkling eyes, and said, “Jisung is going home with a friend. We can go to my place.”

Knowing that was the closest to an apology acceptance he was going to get for a while, Taeyong accepted your roundabout “yes” and took your hand to walk you to your cars.

Your home was empty when you arrived. With parents at work and Jisung gone for the afternoon, you had the house to yourselves.

“Let’s see about this test, okay, baby?” He said softly, rubbing your shoulders as he slid your backpack straps off your arms.

“Okay,” you mumbled back, still more than upset about the low grade. “Be right back.”

You moved into the kitchen as Taeyong settled down with your backpack. When you came back to the couch with two bottles of water in hand, you found your boyfriend sitting up and using the coffee table as a desk. Your forsaken exam was on top of your folder, and you laptop was open to your student page. Taeyong had pulled up your grades for Mrs. Jung’s class.

“C’mere,” he said, holding a hand out to you, you took it, placing his bottle of water on the coffee table as you got comfortable in his lap. “The grade wasn’t bad enough to ruin your overall average. You still have an A, and plenty of assignments left to raise it even more. Plus, Mrs. Jung still loves you, and I know she’d give you some extra credit if you asked for it.”

“Maybe so,” you mumbled, curling up in his lap.

“Still mad at me?” He asked, tilting your chin up towards him. You shook your head and leaned in to kiss him. He hummed in satisfaction before asking, “So, how are you going to tell your parents?”

“The same way I told them about you,” you responded as you swung one your legs over Taeyong’s lap, straddling him. “I’m not.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning. Not when Taeyong was holding you so close to his bare chest as his lips were on your neck. Your hips were grinding against his lap. Your moans were getting louder. They were more than likely the reason why you didn’t hear the door open - why you didn’t pull your dishevelled body off of your boyfriend until the two of you heard a small voice coming from the direction of the front door.

“Noona?” Jisung called, his voice followed by the front door closing. “Are you home? Whose car is outside?”

“Shit,” you hissed as you pushed yourself off of Tayeong’s lap, bending down to pick up his shirt and throw it at him. He quickly began buttoning up his shirt you tried to straighten out your own uniform. 

“Noona?” Jisung’s voice was loud and clear as he walked in the house. Taeyong placed a throw pillow in his lap, trying to seem as casual as possible. You quickly got back on the couch, a respectful distance between you and Taeyong, and threw one of your textbooks between you.

“In the living room!” You called, holding eye contact with a confused looking Taeyong.

“Hey, noona,” Jisung said as he walked in the room. He had already changed out of his uniform and had his backpack swung across one shoulder. “Whose car is - oh. Hi.”

You looked over at Jisung, who had just finished a small, sheepish bow to Taeyong. Your little brother looked more confused than your boyfriend had moments ago.

“You must be Jisung,” Taeyong said, standing and bowing back to Jisung, which you admittedly found very cute. “I’m Taeyong. That’s my car outside.”

“Why aren’t you at Chenle’s, Jisungie?” You asked.

“Chenle’s mom said he had too much homework due tomorrow to have everyone over tonight,” Jisung explained as he approached the couch. 

Jisung looked down at the coffee table, his eyes landing on your test papers. You looked at him, registering where his eyes had fallen too far after he registered the number written in red. You stood up, blocking Jisung from the papers on the table. “Hey, bud, go upstairs and start on your homework, okay? I’ll come up with some snacks in a minute.”

Jisung looked up, glancing between you and Taeyong before nodding sheepishly and saying, “Okay. It was nice to meet you, Taeyong.”

“You, too,” Taeyong smiled at him. Jisung glanced at the two of you once more before turning and making his way up the stairs. You let a long sigh and ran a hand through your messy hair, muttering swears and “I can’t believe he caught us” under your breath. Taeyong rested his hands on your shoulders, massaging his fingertips into your skin.

“You’re okay,” He whispered into your ear. You nodded slowly. He knew that meant you weren’t. He placed a kiss against your neck. “You’re fine, baby. You’re fine. I’m gonna go, okay?”

“Thank you,” you said softly. Taeyong always knew what you needed. “I’ll call you after I do some damage control.”

Your heart was racing as you made it up the stairs. You had a bag of snacks in one hand, sweat gathering in your palms. You didn’t really have much of a plan, but you knew you had to do something, and most certainly had to do it before your parents got home from work.

You slipped into your room and changed into more comfortable clothing before taking your bag of snacks down the hall to Jisung. You knocked on his door lightly before coming in. Jisung looked frazzled by your entrance. He was sat on his bed, phone in hand. His backpack was on the floor, resting next to his nightstand.

“I didn’t think you’d be up so fast,” Jisung said quickly and honestly, “I haven’t started my homework yet.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckled lightly. You smiled at him and held up the bag of snacks. You pulled his desk chair up to the side of his bed and tossed him a bottle of water. You dumped the bag out on the bed between the two of you, allowing Jisung to pick what he wanted. 

“Did Taeyong leave?” He asked as he noticed you were alone. You nodded and he repeated the action in response. He grabbed a bag of chips and opened them in the silence. 

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, no sound emitted from either of you other than that of crunching chips and rice cakes. You twisted the cap off of your water, taking a big gulp in the hopes of calming your nerves. You held the bottle tight, twisted the cap back with an intense focus and sweaty hands. 

You moved your chair a little closer to bed, took a breath, and spoke, “Hey, Jisungie?”

“Yeah?” He responded awkwardly. He looked up at you, a strange look washing over his young face. He seemed unsure of whether or not his dark brown eyes should meet yours, and his lips were pressed together nervously.

“I need to talk to you about something, bud,” you said.

“I thought so,” Jisung said quietly, your words seeming to confirm a fear of his. You smiled weakly at him, somewhat surprised by his response, but still unsure of where to start.

“You’re not in trouble,” you assured him. He looked slightly relieved by your statement, but the anxious look remained. You asked him, hoping starting with the smaller issue would be easier, “Did you see my test when we were downstairs?” 

Jisung looked down at his chip bag as he nodded.

“Are you afraid that Mom and Dad will be mad at you?” He asked, glancing up at you.

“Well,” you began shifting in your seat, “my average is still okay, so I think maybe it’s best if we don’t tell them.”

“You want me to lie to Mom and Dad?” Jisung looked shocked. You winced slightly.

“No, not lie,” you tried to explain. “Just, just don’t tell them. Keep it a secret, okay?”

“But what if they ask?” He questioned. You felt terrible. Your poor baby brother was probably panicking more and more by the second.

“I don’t think they’ll ask you about my grades, Jisungie,” you pointed out.

“Are you going to lie if they ask you?”

“I don’t even think they knew about this particular test in the first place.”

“But what if they ask you about school in general?”

“Then I’ll tell them that school is going fine,” you told him confidently. “Because it is. It’s just one bad grade.”

You fought back a gulp, realizing you just kind of lied to your little brother. But you held your eye contact with Jisung, waiting for some kind of reaction, hoping for a vow to do as you’d asked. 

Deep inside, you could feel your heart breaking. You hated dragging Jisung into your secrets, but your parents absolutely could not find out about your boyfriend or your bad grades from your little brother. It’s not that you think Jisung will tell them to defy you or get you in deep shit with your parents on purpose. Jisung was a good sibling. He was sweet, and he was honest - exceptionally honest, especially when he was nervous. He proved that by ratting himself out for not starting his homework right away.

 “Can I ask you something?” He finally looked up at you, as if he gained just enough confidence to make himself ask that.

“You can always ask me whatever you want,” you answered with an encouraging nod.

“If school is going okay, why did you make a bad grade?”

“Well,” you couldn’t even count the number of times you started your explanations to him with that one, time-gathering word, “To be honest, I just didn’t study for it the way I should have.”

“But you always make sure to study,” he responded.

“I usually do,” you reaffirmed, “but sometimes, you get distracted, especially if you study with some of your friends.”

“Do you and Taeyong study together?” He asked.

“We do.” You said. “We do that a lot.”

“Is Taeyong your friend or your boyfriend?” He asked, taking you by surprise. You sighed.

“He’s my boyfriend,” you answered. Jisung kept his eyes fixed somewhere on the bed.

“I saw him kiss you earlier,” he said softly and slightly embarrassed. You cheeks heated up immediately, fear shooting through every nerve of your body.

“When?” You asked, terrified that you brother had seen you and Taeyong doing less than appropriate things on the couch when he got home.

“When you told me come upstairs,” he said, immediately calming you. “I went to the bathroom before I went to my room. I didn’t mean to look. I just saw you from the stairs.”

“Okay. It’s okay. I’m not mad at you,” you clutched a small pillow on the bed, bringing it to your chest. Jisung followed the movement of the pillow, looking back up at you after a moment. You looked your little brother in the eyes before saying, “Jisung, I need you to promise me that that stays between us, okay?”

“You’re not supposed to kiss Taeyong?” He asked, ever so innocent. His widened before he corrected his question. “You’re not allowed to be the house with him alone, are you? Mom and Dad would be really mad.”

“Honestly?” You responded, gaining Jisung’s full, serious attention, “Mom and Dad don’t know that Taeyong and I are dating.”

“Why not?” He asked, obviously surprised by your answer.

“I just haven’t found the right time to tell them,” you responded, which was completely true. Your parents were strict, and you knew they would have preferred to meet - and probably interrogate - Taeyong before you actually started dating, like they’d done with past interests. Now you were already in deep, and you didn’t know how to tell your parents about a relationship they didn’t know was blooming.

“Do you think they’ll like him?” Jisung asked, his head moving slightly to one side.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly.

“Is he not a good person?” He asked, making you chuckle lightly.

“No. Taeyong is a very good person,” you assured him.

“Then why wouldn’t they like him?” He persisted.

“It’s more complicated than that, Jisungie,” you explained.

“How so?” You paused, unsure of how to explain teenage relationships to someone who was barely a teenager themselves.

“Well,” you said, pausing once more and squeezing the pillow, still trying to find the right words, “for starters, I was studying with Taeyong when I got too distracted and then I got that bad grade. That’s why they can’t know about the test, okay? It’s just too many things at once and they would be really, really upset with me, and I don’t want them to think Taeyong is bad for me because he distracted me.”

“How did he distract you?”

You froze, then leaned down to grab your water bottle.

“I, I don’t remember what started it,” you lied, focusing on the drink instead of Jisung. “We just did. Sometimes, when you’re with your boyfriend or girlfriend, you just want to focus on them and not your school work. Sometimes, it’s harder than it sounds to be responsible. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“Do you two have sex?” You choked on your water out of surprise.

“Jisung!” You coughed out the exclamation.

“You said I could ask you anything!”

“How do you even know what that means?”

“Jaemin-hyung said that-”

“Maybe don’t listen to everything that Jaemin says,” you interrupted, looking at him sternly, the shock of your baby brother asking you that still coursing through you. “You’re too young to know about that. It’s adult stuff.”

“But you know what it is,” Jisung said, “and you’re not an adult.”

“I’m a little closer to an adult than you,” you argued, “and sometimes teenagers want to act like they’re adults. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” He asked. “That I’ll understand when I’m older?”

“Because it’s true,” you told him, “and you’re lucky you have an older sibling you can help explain those things to you. Mom and Dad doing it would be awkward. When you’re older, you’ll figure out that a lot of daughters are afraid that boys are trying to do adult things with them, and they’ll be cautious of you even if you’re a good guy.”

The sound of a car door sounded through Jisung’s window. It was closely followed by the beep of the vehicle being locked. One of your parents was home.

“Noona,” Jisung spoke, bringing your attention back to him. He kept your eye contact for the first time since things got serious. “I won’t tell Mom and Dad about your test.”

“Thanks, Jisungie,” you said, ruffling his hair.

“But only if you tell them about Taeyong,” he wagered. You cocked an eyebrow at him as you moved your hand from his hair, and he continued, “I think hiding it makes it look bad, and I don’t think Taeyong’s bad. And, when I’m older, I think I’d be upset if my girlfriend didn’t want to tell her parents about me.”

Your heart sunk. It took a kid to make you realize that you had never asked Taeyong how hiding your relationship from your parents made him feel. You’d never even stopped to think about it. You felt the heat of guilt from your selfish thinking and actions rush through you, and you moved to ruffle Jisung’s hair one more time.

“Okay,” you agreed. “That sounds fair.”

“Good,” he said, scrunching his nose as he tried to move away from your hand and making you laugh.

“I love you, Jisungie,” you told him.

“I love you, too, Noona,” he grinned up at you.

You turned to leave his room, your tear ducts threatening to spill over. You would have to wait for both of your parents to get home before you had the chance to talk to them. In the meantime, however, you knew what you needed to do. You wiped a tear from your eye as you closed the door to your own bedroom. Once inside, you grabbed some tissues and settled on the bed. You grabbed your phone and took a deep breath before dialing Taeyong’s number.

[thecollegefootballguy]

The Top 25 Teams of the Decade: #10 Stanford

Hello everybody, we’re celebrating the arrival of the 2020′s by looking at the 25 best programs of the previous decade.

We’re on to the top ten to celebrate the #10 team from the 2010′s:

Leland Stanford Junior University Cardinal

Record: 98-35 (.737) Division Titles: 5 Conference Titles: 3 Bowl Seasons: 9 Major Bowls: 5 Final Top 25 Finishes: 7 Final Top 10 Finishes: 4 Final Top 5 Finishes: 2 Best Season: 2010

Stanford had their best decade since Pop Warner nearly 100 years ago. The Cardinal have never been consistently good this long in program history. Part of the great story was just how bad Stanford was in the 2000′s, the Cardinal spent most of the decade as one of the worst BCS conference teams in the country before Jim Harbaugh came to town and turned everything around.

By 2010, Harbaugh had Stanford firing on all cylinders. In just his 4th year in Palo Alto, the Cardinal were one of the best teams in the nation even if nobody knew it at the time. Led by Heisman hopeful QB Andrew Luck, Stanford’s offense put up monstrous numbers. Despite starting the season unranked, the Cardinal quickly climbed up to 9th in the AP Poll by October with huge wins over UCLA and Notre Dame. Stanford had to topple heir-presumptive #4 Oregon in order to claim the PAC-10 title from the Ducks, but they lost in Eugene 31-52 as they were boat-raced by perhaps the best of the Kelly UO teams. The Cardinal were nearly upset by USC the next week, but regained their footing, and won out relatively unchallenged. 11-1 Stanford was pitted against ACC champion #12 Virginia Tech in the Orange Bowl. The Cardinal blew out the overmatched Hokies 40-12 to claim their first major bowl since the 1972 Rose Bowl and finished in the top 5 for the first time since 1940.

Jim Harbaugh’s work was done in Palo Alto, and the architect of Stanford’s turnaround left for the NFL, leaving OC and alum David Shaw in charge. Andrew Luck stayed on despite significant NFL interest, citing unfinished business. The Cardinal raced out to a 7-0 start, hammering all comers and averaging well over 45 points per game. The first real threat was again USC, the Trojans gave Stanford all they could handle, taking the Cardinal to triple overtime before falling at home in a 56-48 barn burner. #3 Stanford climbed all the way to 9-0 before once again reckoning with #6 Oregon. For the second year in a row, College Gameday was present as the nation watched the Cardinal once again fail to outpace the Ducks. Stanford lost 30-53 and was once again knocked out of the BCS Championship Game and Rose Bowl in one blow. Once again 11-1, Stanford was matched up against #3 Oklahoma State in the Fiesta Bowl. Special teams errors kept the Cowboys in the game and OK State eventually sealed the game in overtime 41-38. It was still one of the most successful season in program history, even if everybody on the Cardinal felt they could have done better.

Andrew Luck was now gone, and 2012 began with big questions on the offense. Stanford upset national champion hopeful USC, but struggled to score in that game, as well as in tight losses to Washington and Notre Dame. David Shaw threw in redshirt freshman Kevin Hogan to stabilize the offense and the Cardinal regained their form. Stanford rattled off four wins to climb up to #14 in the nation before their fateful date with undefeated #1 Oregon. The formerly snake-bitten Cardinal completely shut down the Ducks’ high flying offense and Stanford won in overtime, 17-14. The Cardinal claimed the North division and then beat UCLA in the PAC-12 Championship to win the conference for the first time since 1999. #8 Stanford was pitted against Wisconsin in the Rose Bowl and the Cardinal won 20-14 in a game that didn’t feature too many fireworks. It added a bit of closure to the 2010 and 2011 teams that failed to make it to Pasadena, though once again there were grumblings that the team could have reached even higher if the offense had been reworked earlier in the season.

2013 was another successful year on The Farm. Stanford had now reoriented itself fully into a hard-nosed, defense-oriented squad that dominated the lines. The Cardinal began the year 5th in the nation and remained there for the first month and a half before falling to Utah 27-21 in Salt Lake City. Solid wins over #9 UCLA and #2 Oregon saw Stanford’s defense put on a clinic against the mighty Ducks. The 8-1 Cardinal once again climbed to 5th in the polls before losing to rival USC 17-20 in the Coliseum. Thanks to an Oregon loss to Arizona, Stanford was able to remain in the North race. The Cardinal rebounded once more, winning the PAC-12 with an easy 38-14 win over Arizona State in the PAC-12 Championship Game. 11-2 Stanford was once again 5th in the AP poll and faced off against Big Ten Champ #4 Michigan State in the Rose Bowl. This time, the Cardinal were held off by the stout Spartans, who more or less beat Stanford at their own game in a 24-20 trench battle.

The Cardinal began 2014 with high hopes, but luck was not on Stanford’s side this year. The Cardinal lost to USC by 3, the Notre Dame by 3, before Arizona State really shut down Stanford 26-10. The lackluster Cardinal were then blown out by Playoff bound Oregon before falling to Utah in double overtime, again by 3 points. 5-5 Stanford was a far cry from the powerhouse it had been in the previous several years, but they finished strong to come end the year 8-5 and in the top 20 of many computer rankings in a very strong PAC-12 field.

2015 started off on the wrong foot to say the least. The Cardinal carried their troubles scoring into the new season, stalling out in a frustrating game against Northwestern 6-16. Then, they realized how to orient the offense around Christian McCaffrey and the rest is history. Stanford would never score fewer than 30 points for the rest of the season. The Cardinal obliterated #6 USC and then easily outpaced #18 UCLA among mostly easy victories over the rest of the PAC-12′s crop. Stanford was 8-1 and on the outside of the Playoff race when Oregon came calling. This was the last proper year of the Stanford-Oregon saga, and the Ducks finally got to repay the Cardinal for ruining their seasons in 2012 and 2014. Unranked Oregon upended Stanford 38-36 in Palo Alto to knock the Cardinal out of the Playoff race. The damage had already been done, and despite losing to the Ducks, Stanford already had the PAC-12 well in hand. A win over #4 Notre Dame knocked the Irish out of the Playoff before the Cardinal beat rival #24 USC in the PAC-12 Championship to confirm their trip to the Rose Bowl. Stanford was given #5 Iowa as a consolation prize for not making the Playoff, and the Cardinal demolished the Hawkeyes 45-16 in one of the most lopsided Rose Bowl victories of all time. Stanford finished 3rd in the final AP poll, their highest finish in the 2010′s.

The Cardinal returned all-world Christian McCaffrey in 2016, but struggled to replace Kevin Hogan behind center. Stanford started the season 8th in the polls but quickly dropped all the way out thanks to back to back blowout losses to Washington and Washington State. A 10-5 loss at home to Colorado was an extra twist of the knife that left the Cardinal well out of the North division race. Stanford did end up winning their final 6 games and finished the year 10-3 and 12th in the polls to recoup most of their hurt pride. 2017 was similarly disappointing. Back to back losses to USC and San Diego State dropped the Cardinal from the rankings again. A win over #20 Utah helped to bring the squad back to 6-2, but a tight 21-24 loss to Wazzu on the Palouse was another setback. Stanford rebounded the next week with a 30-22 win over #9 Washington and followed that up with an easy 38-20 win over #9 Notre Dame. Stanford was once again in the PAC-12 Championship Game, but this time not as an easy favorite. The #14 Cardinal faltered against #11 USC in their first loss in Santa Clara. A frustrating loss the TCU in the Alamo capped the season.

A slow leaking of talent began to take its toll in 2018. Stanford was no longer the team it had been in the first half of the decade, and sustained regular losses. After a 4-0 start, the Cardinal lost 4 of 5 to drop well out of the division race. They ended the year 9-4 but going 9-4 in the PAC-12 meant a lot less in 2018 than it did in 2013 or 2014. In 2019, Stanford really started to unravel, sustaining heavy injuries to finish a dreadful 4-8, their worst record since 2007.

It’s hard to say where the Cardinal go from here. They will likely regain their foothold as a regular bowl team, but it’s hard seeing Stanford get back to regular Rose Bowl competition. David Shaw is as committed as they come to sustaining success on The Farm. Time will tell.

The 2010′s will go down as a monumental success for the Cardinal. Stanford had a winning record against all its major rivals: outpacing Notre Dame 6-4 and USC 7-5. They absolutely dominated UCLA 10-1 and most importantly pounded Cal into the ground 9-1, easily their most dominant stretch against any of the other California teams since they began playing.