#my old phone has a shit ton of notes too i just gotta find it

[red-blooded-terror]

Should I start posting little snippets of stories/poems/songs/prompts I find in my notes? Or that I randomly think of?? I have well over 200 at this point idk what else to do with them TwT

[genesisrose74]

Christmas With the Karasuno Boys (HC’s)!!

Part 2: Kageyama, Hinata, Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, Kinoshita, & Narita

Part 1 (Daichi, Suga, Asahi, Nishinoya, Tanaka, & Ennoshita) here!

A/n: Tumblr said my word count was too much so I’m splitting this bad boi up into two parts :p Enjoy!!

*****

Kageyama

This boy has a secret soft side for Christmas istg

He HATES showing it to other people on his team and shit

But holy bejeezus he is mesmerized by the holiday in every way possible

Lights, sweets, snow, just like,,, the general magic of December is the most awe-inspiring thing to him

Since he is still a sporty and pretty active mofo, you decided to fuel that on your holiday-themed date as Kags had noted that he’d never gone sledding before

Your jaw was on the FLOOR when he first told you because he would 10000% enjoy the hell out of it

And so you dragged him out to this popular sledding hill that you frequented as a child and taught him what to do

Not gonna lie, he was kind of nervous

“Well you’re experienced at it. I don’t wanna mess up”

🥺🥺🥺 bubby

“You won’t, Tobio! I can already tell you’re gonna be a sledding pro”

Feels a little better after that, but he asks you to help him out for his first run down the hill

He sits behind you with his arms secured snugly around your waist and his head nestled on top of your shoulder

Which would probably seem really funny to passerby because this boy is tol and intimidating in most other situations

As soon as the sled started down, Kags tightened his grip and made this cute little yelp of surprise

But you were laughing insanely hard at the combination of going really fast downhill whilst also having your boyfriend cling to you for dear life

And then when the sled stopped safely at the bottom he started to chuckle

FULL ON, GENUINE SOUND OF ENJOYMENT

That shit is rare

Y’all stayed at that hill for half the day because it was so fun

You got him a new, very high quality athletic roller for Christmas because his old one was just not cutting it anymore

And you also gave him this really cute bracelet with a volleyball, his jersey number, and a little strawberry milk set of charms attached to it

It matched this really pretty and subtle chain he’d bought for your birthday

His blueberry eyes got all wide with affection dfjdskfjsdk—

Got super blushy and couldn’t get a handle on his speech for a fat minute

He thinks you’re the coolest person ever no I do not take criticism

Geez you’re both adorable together, ideal “stoic boy becomes warmer during the holidays around his love” movie plot and I love it

Hinata

He is all in on Christmas. Not a chance this boy doesn’t get excited as hell

Will openly go into holiday mode as soon as November is over

Was secretly already listening to his Christmas playlist before then

He is one of the sweetest gift givers, that is FACTUAL

If you want something really badly, he will take notice and get it as your present immediately

He’ll also gift you an extra thing that’s handmade 🥺

Like some pastries that his mom helped him make, or a specially made basket of soaps with your favorite scents in it

It’s absolutely adorable and you cherish those ones especially

Is happy if you simply get him something; mans doesn’t care what it is

New practice volleyball? A brand new sweatshirt? Elated either way

You had seen an advertisement for a friendly match between Japan and Poland’s men’s volleyball teams, so you waited online on the ticket sales website until the minute it opened

Spoiler alert: you got some banger seats 😌✨

Shoyo may or may not have tackled you when he read the ticket details, letting out his excited giggle (you know the one)

“I can’t believe you got these, angel! You’re coming with me, right? You’ve gotta! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Gives you sweet little kisses between each individual ‘thank you’

“Of course I’ll go with you, Sho! I’m really glad you like it!”

He will give you the brightest smile of all time — that shit makes Christmas lights pale in comparison

“Have I told you how much I love you?”

RIGHT BACK AT YOU BBY

Hold his hands to warm up together when temperatures drop pls :)))

It’s become a weekly December tradition to watch a Christmas movie with Natsu at the Hinata household

She’ll sit in your lap while the three of you are cuddled under a blanket together, and Shoyo will lace his fingers with yours all discreetly

In conclusion, I am a sucker for holiday Hinata 🥺🥺🥺

Tsukishima

His room is decorated to the very minimum simply because his mom and brother had insisted on him being festive

You know those holiday instrumentals that are really calming and jazzy and stuff? Yeah, that’s the only Christmas music he will tolerate in his house

While he’s still got his usual icy demeanor, this blond bitch does get slightly less snippy with the Karasuno boys

Is always on the nose with getting you the exact thing you wanted for a present

Like,,, TO THE SMALLEST DETAIL

You don’t even have to bring that shit up beforehand, he just KNOWS

“Tsukki, how did you—?”

“It’s pretty obvious, with the way that one ad kept showing up on your phone.”

b r u h

How does he pay such good attention without even letting on??

As for his own present, you’ll usually get him two: one gag gift and one more serious gift

His dino plush collection size is partly due to the former’s contributions this time of year

Yes the dinos have names

You exchanged gifts on Christmas Eve with all the team (you made him go) and he saved your more serious one for last

It was a scarf that you’d gotten custom made, which had a Spotify code knitted into the fabric

Scanning the code opened the app to a playlist you’d created especially for him

He got pretty quiet when figuring it out and scrolling through the playlist

Would let out a certified Tsukki Nose Exhale™ when he came across certain songs

The more subdued reaction was expected because it’s Tsukishima

His little chuckles and warmer eyes were enough of a giveaway to tell you he very much enjoyed your gift

But on the walk home, he took the scarf and wrapped it around you both, and then brought his arm around your waist

“Thank you.”

You deadass almost combusted because it was so unexpected??

“You’re welcome. Merry Christmas, Kei”

Way to respond calm and collected 😌👍

But on the inside your body was in freak out mode

He wears the scarf all the time jdfsklfjdsk

Yamaguchi

Take the most tooth rotting fluff you could imagine

And then double that and put a fucking cherry on top

That’s the equivalent of what Christmas is like with Yama Yama

Y’all are like kids in a candy store — literally

For your Christmas dates it’s all about sweets and shared giggles, so frequent trips to the candy and baking isles of the grocery store is a must

Making gingerbread houses, peppermint tasting (mostly trying those different and wild ass candy cane flavors), you name it and it’s there

Stomach aches? I don’t know her

Yeah you do but they go away with enough butterfly kisses 🥰

Tadashi is exceptionally good at decorating gingerbread houses for whatever reason

He put a poll on his instagram between yours and his final products and he won by a landslide

It’s not like yours was necessarily bad, more like he’s just an icing master

You also might have eaten too many gumdrops which left your rooftop lacking in ✨spice✨

But it’s okay because Tadashi donated some of his leftovers to you

He’s such a sweetheart uwu

Please for the love of everything get him something heartfelt as his present

You know those long distance bracelets for couples?

Basically if your s/o taps the icon on the bracelet it’ll send a little vibration to the other person’s as a notice that you’re thinking about them

This boy seeks constant reassurance, and you love to give him his deserved love and validation, so it was the perfect present

It takes a second for him to figure out what it is, but after reading the directions and testing it out, the most adorable smile erupted on his face

And then since you already had yours on, he tapped the little icon again with a giggle

“Hey there”

It becomes common habit to tap it at least once every couple hours

GOD HE IS SO CUTE

He is just so soft this time of year, give him all the love and he will return it tenfold ☺️

Kinoshita

This boy is absolutely an awkward cutie and an avid romantic

Give him the cliches and he will eat em up, no doubt

It naturally gets more apparent around the holidays

He’ll take you on pretty winter walks, give you lots of little gifts (while blushing a hell of a lot), and is just a professional at stumbling upon some mistletoe

Wow wonder how it got there, Hisashi

He’s quite a bit more confident when simply alone with you than in a crowded space

And that definitely shows when he takes you out on a secluded sleigh ride around town

Yeah you heard me

A fuckin’ sleigh ride

Horses and blankets and everything

Don’t even ask how he managed to pull it off, because he loves watching the cogs turn in your head and simply will not give you a straight answer

Of course there’s the nice driver guy who’s there, but in the back alone Kinoshita’s confidence goes 📈📈

Lots of flirting, tons of skimmed touches and shared giggles throughout the ride

I legitimately simp really hard for him

Anyways it was a gorgeous ride through town and super fun

On Christmas Eve you both exchange gifts together and tbh whatever you got him will leave him happy and flustered regardless

But when he opens the wrapping paper to find an entire set of vintage VHS tapes, he’s stunned

He owns a VHS (actually canon!) and honestly loves it to death, and the fact that you’d get him tapes of pretty high quality for his collection meant a lot

Gosh he’s so underrated but a definite sweetheart, give him all the holiday love

Narita

Another underrated bby 🥺

He’s so chill and is pretty open to anything during the holidays, so long as he gets to spend ample time with you, his friends, and his family

Definitely more of an indoor person despite being accepting of most situations

Hence why you thought a cute little indoor winter picnic would be right up his alley

Which it absolutely was 😌✨ nice work

You’d made plans while in secret communications with his family members about the whole thing

He’d been pretty stressed lately with trying to handle his schoolwork, while also helping out others with theirs

Despite being a wonderful tutor, it was clearly becoming a bit overwhelming as he tried to grapple with so much at once

So when he came home one day to find a pristine house with you settled on a blanket in his living room, he was quite surprised

There’s a cheese plate, soda cans in a cute ice box, sandwiches, snacks, a presparked fireplace — you and his family went all out

Really adorable I cannot lie

“I thought you said you were going gift shopping today?”

“I might have maybe lied :P”

So he gives the sweetest little smile and sits across from you

Y’all stay there and talk for hours

After finally getting through everything previously laid out on the blanket spread, you slid him a little rectangular box that he looked at curiously

“Already? I haven’t wrapped yours yet!”

“Mine can wait a bit! Just open yours”

And so he does, and you watch with a face-splitting grin as he looks down in awe

You got tickets to see his favorite rock band in concert while they were on tour

He sprung onto you and pulled you into the tightest hug ever

“Holy shit you’re the best I love you so much how do you get even more loveable every day—!?!l”

It’s a jumble of words but you’re able to put it together and it makes you giggle

He deadass sprints upstairs to go get your gift and make sure that you feel as equally appreciated as he does

In simple words: wholesome holiday sweetness 🥰

[scripts4dreamers]

I literally JUST sat down, pt.3

Part One, Part Two, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

AN: The case stalls, but no one’s willing to give up on you just yet. Characters: Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi. Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

(Longer one this time! As always, let me know if you want to get tagged in the next part.)

—————————-

“I hate this,” you whined, as Garcia pulled you through the crowded streets, “why didn’t we drive straight to the office, again?”

“Because, my little Grumpy Gus, you look like you barely slept, and this place has the best coffee in the city.” She promised, giving your arm a squeeze.

You grumbled under your breath, but didn’t complain, letting Garcia ply you with endless cups of coffee.

“Are we getting for the whole team?” You asked, your mind drifting to your late night message to Spencer.

Garcia paused, her eyes narrowing with suspicion, “Yeeeeees, why?”

You shrugged, “I was just asking. No need to read into anything.”

“This is about Spencer, I can tell. Spill it.”

You groaned, letting your head thump down onto the table, “How do you do that?”

“I’m a veritable fountain of knowledge, Y/N, you know this,” she teased, “plus I speak fluent Y/N, especially the little known Spencer Reid dialect.”

“Witch!” You said accusingly, “You’re a witch!”

“You flatter me,” she winked, tapping your forearm, “now spill it.”

You sighed, taking another sip of your coffee, “It’s nothing, I just-I messaged him, alright?”

“You did what?”

“I messaged him! And it was stupid and he didn’t even respond, so it’s not important.” You explained, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Penelope gasped, “He didn’t respond?”

You shook your head, “Nope. Nothing, look-“

You took out your phone and glanced briefly at the screen, frowning when you spotted the notification from the night before. You swiped up, your eyes tracing his response. Something in your stomach pinched.

“Huh.”

“What?” Penelope asked, “What is it? You’re legally obligated to tell me, it’s in the rules.”

“He-uh-“ you stared at the screen, still frowning, “he responded. I must’ve fallen asleep…”

“Ooohhh my gosh, what does it say? What did you say? Is it romantic?”

You pressed your lips together, your mind whirling at a thousand miles an hour as you try to figure exactly what Spencer meant by “I did.”.

“It’s-“ you shook your head, “I don’t know really.”

Something in your tone must’ve let on how conflicted you were feeling because Penelope let the matter slide, just giving your arm a comforting squeeze.

“Let’s get to work, Sugar,” she said, standing and extending her hand for you to hold, “we’ve got crimes to solve.”

You gave her a weak smile but let her pull you to your feet, trying to force your mind away from Spencer and back onto your case.

“That we do, Garcia, that we do.”

——————————-

“We come bearing gifts,” Garcia announced as she pushed open the door to the BAU, “sustenance in the form of sweet, sweet caffeine.”

Your eyes instantly flew to Spencer, giving him a weak smile which, to your intense relief, he returned. You also noticed, with a rush of fondness, that he’d kept your side of the desk clear.

“Garcia you’re an angel,” Emily smiled, pushing away from her desk to accept a cup.

“Speaking of angels,” you sighed, carrying a cup of coffee flavored sugar over to Spencer and taking your seat next to him, “have we got an ID on our victim yet?”

“Marcus Wilcox,” Spencer said, flipping open the file closest to you, “25 year old drug addict and male prostitute. He went missing two weeks ago and was reported missing by his best friend.”

You glanced over at the picture of the man whose body had been left in your bookstore and felt the familiar pang of sorrow in your chest. There was always going to be another one, another life cut short, another dead son or daughter who’s family would grieve their loss for years. It was enough to put a damper on anyone’s morning.

You could feel eyes on you, heavy and questioning and you found you couldn’t look up to meet their gaze.

“Anything unusual in the M.E.’s report?” You asked, still avoiding the eyes.

“All the mutilation was done postmortem, so that rules out sadism as a motive,” JJ suggested, accepting a cup of coffee gratefully.

“High levels of caffeine in the blood too,” Emily pointed out, “and…” she pressed her lips together.

“What, Em?” You asked.

She looked up at you nervously, something like sympathy in her eyes as she said, “Biscuits, in his stomach. They found brown butter biscuits and coffee in his stomach.”

Your blood froze and you felt a rush of nausea. You put your cup down, suddenly not thirsty anymore.

“Is...that significant, somehow?” Hotch asked, his perpetual frown firmly in place.

“They’re the best sellers at Y/N’s coffee shop,” Spencer said, something off in his voice, “she sells them fresh every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.”

You looked over, shocked, and noticed that Spencer was working his jaw, like he was angry, his one hand curled into a fist under his chin. You itched to reach out and touch his forearm, like you once would have, but you restrained yourself.

“What the hell is this guy doing?” Emily asked, “Why go through all this trouble to personalize the crime? What’s driving him?”

“It’s gotta be erotomania, right?” Morgan asked, “Someone’s trying to get Y/N’s attention.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” you insisted, frustrated with having the same conversation again and again, “stalkers don’t start off with an elaborate and expertly executed murder. If it was erotomania, why not call first, or email or leave notes at my apartment? There’s been no build up to this sort of violence.”

“Plus, the victim has no connection to Y/N,” Spencer pointed out, “erotomaniacs want to reinforce their supposed devotion to the object of their affection, if he wanted to do that he would’ve picked someone Y/N knew, like an ex-boyfriend or an enemy of some kind.”

“Some who he thinks Y/N would actually want dead,” Emily agreed.

“Reid and Y/L/N are right, there’s something more to this, something we’ve missed,” Hotch said, “Garcia, I want you to go through everything you can find about Marcus Wilcox and see if he came into Y/N’s store at all. Maybe he’s a customer who was rude and offended the UnSub. After that, comb through Y/L/N’s life again; old friends, high school classmates, college professors, agents she worked with on cases, anyone who could have formed an attachment and been stalking her without us knowing.”

Garcia paled under her Barbie pink lipstick, “Sir, I-“

“It’s fine, Garcia,” you assured, giving her a soft smile, “I’ve got nothing to hide. You’ll have to get permission from the CIA to access some of my case files though, there’s some sensitive data in those.”

“I’ll call the director myself,” Hotch said, “that’ll expedite the process.”

“But, sir, sorting through all that data could take weeks,” you pointed out, “what do we do in the meantime?”

Hotch pressed his lips together, and you sighed, sensing his next words before they even came out of his mouth.

“We work cases, as usual,” he said, “Y/N, yours will still be our priority but, until we get a new lead…”

“We’re stuck.” You finished. You breathed in, trying to calm your restless nerves, and pushed yourself up, “Well, it was lovely seeing you guys again, but I guess that’s my cue.”

“What?” Spencer said, sitting up suddenly, “No, Y/N you can’t just leave, if there’s someone out there delusional enough to do this to get your attention then it’s not safe.”

“I’m with Boy Wonder,” Garcia agreed, shooting you an apologetic look, “I’m sorry, Sugar Plum but this whole thing is just icky and gross and I’d feel much better knowing you were here.”

You looked around, but we’re met with a wall of concerned faces. You wanted to scream. Nothing about this situation was fair. You hated feeling helpless, it was why you’d joined the FBI in the first place and, ultimately, why you’d left.

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do while we wait for a lead?” You asked, “I can’t go home, I can’t go back to work, I can’t just sit here all day until my assigned babysitter for the night is free.”

“You could join us on cases,” Hotch said simply, “if I’m not mistaken, you’re still officially an agent so you’re cleared to be in the field.”

Spencer and Emily sucked in a breath in unison, and you shut your eyes. Shit.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Emily asked, “You never actually resigned?”

You shot her a sheepish look, “I meant to! I did! It was just,” you shrugged, “at first I wanted the safety blanket in case normal life didn’t work out and, once it did, I just-“ you trailed off.

Truth be told, you didn’t know why you’d never left. It was really only one document that you needed to sign, it would take less than three minutes to complete, there was nothing stopping you. You’d even filled it out once or twice but, for some reason, you always stopped before actually submitting it.

You shot a nervous look at Spencer, who was determinedly avoiding looking at anything except a particular patch of empty air, and sighed.

“So...what does that mean?” Morgan asked, “You’re back on the team?”

“Agent Y/L/N has technically been on an extended sabbatical for the past year,” Hotch explained, “ideally we would be able to keep her on in an advisory capacity while we work her case but, with her safety being such an issue, for the time being, yes, she’s back on the team.”

——————————-

You collapsed into your old seat on the jet, exhaustion weighing you down like a ton of bricks. It had taken almost no time for Hotch and Garcia to brief you on the team’s newest case and, before you could even pack a proper Go-Bag, you were wheels up and on your way to Tampa Bay. It was a fairly standard case, or as standard as it got for the BAU at least, and it had only taken three days to catch the guy, but it had still taken the life right out of you. Hotch had noticed your distress and sent you ahead to the jet with Rossi while the rest of the team finished packing up. On the one hand you resented being treated like a child, on the other….well, you were exhausted.

Rossi sat down across the aisle from you, handing you a mug of warm hot chocolate, which you accepted gratefully. He raised his eyebrows in that grandfatherly way, like he was asking you a question, and you smiled.

“What?” You asked, “I can tell you’re thinking something.”

“You love this” he said simply.

“Love it?” You laughed incredulously, “Rossi I haven’t been this tired since I spent three full days setting up my shop. I’m exhausted.”

“And you love it,” he insisted, “I can see that Evil Genius sparkle in those pretty eyes of yours.” He gestured at your face and you smiled, “Not that I blame you. Catching killers tends to be more exciting than baking cookies.”

“Hey, I thought you loved it when I made cookies!” You complained, whacking his hand away in mock outrage, “You said they were your favorite!”

“They are, I’m just making a simple observation, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” you said suspiciously.

“Here’s another one; there’s tension between you and the Good Doctor,” he continued.

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t disagree, letting your mind wander back to the last three days. After Hotch’s little announcement to the team, things had been...odd with Spencer. Actually, you couldn’t be sure that was the catalyst, for all you knew things could’ve been weird before that but, now it was just impossible to miss. He would bounce between avoiding you like the plague and actively seeking out your company; sitting next to you at dinner one minute and then purposely standing as far away as possible the next minute. It sucked. It sucked and it hurt your feelings and it was confusing, so there was no point in denying it to Rossi.

“I just wish he’d talk to me, you know?” You said, “Or yell, or shout or something. Like, if you’re angry then be angry. At least then we could talk it out, but this-“ you shook your head, “I hate it.”

“Ah, kid,” Rossi commiserated, patting your knee comfortingly, “I don’t think he’s angry, and that’s probably part of the problem.” You looked up, confused, and Rossi continued, “If he was angry, things would be a lot simpler. Like you said, you could just yell for a bit, and then it’d be over. No, I think Spencer’s just hurt and confused. He blames himself for you leaving and, now that you’re back, he’s happy, but he feels guilty about being happy because you’re in danger.” He explained, “It’s a confusing time for him, for you both.”

You sat up, “Wait why would he blame himself for me leaving?”

Rossi looked down, like he was thinking hard but, before he could say anything, you heard footsteps and the rest of your team boarded the jet. You shot Rossi a look that said “we’ll finish this later”, and then turned away, smiling at your friends.

“Hey,” you greeted, letting Morgan ruffle your hair.

JJ gave you a small smile, but your eyes went straight to Spencer, Rossi’s words bouncing around inside your head. To your surprise, he collapsed into the seat beside you.

“Hey,” he said softly, “I-uh-I was hoping we could talk.”

Your heart leapt, but you tried to keep your face neutral as you answered, “Sure thing, Reid. What about? The case?”

“Actually,” he said, his voice still low, “I wanted to talk about you.”

You pressed your lips together, but nodded, following Spencer’s lead and leaning in to avoid being overheard as your team settled in for the flight home.

Spencer was silent for a moment, like he was thinking, and then, “Why didn’t you resign? I thought you wanted out.”

“I did, or I thought I did. Reid, when I first left I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I guess I wanted to be able to come back if things went wrong.” You explained.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You paused for a moment, “Spence-“

His breath hitched in his throat, “The first time, when you were thinking about leaving. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-“ you sighed, the exhaustion rolling over you like a river, “I didn’t want to worry you until I was sure and then, after that….” you shrugged, “it all happened so fast. I’m sorry.”

He nodded, like he understood, and you watched some of the tension leech out of his body. For the first time he met your eye, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

“I’m sorry too.” He said.

“Spence you’ve got nothing to-“

“I do,” he interrupted, “I promised you that we’d always be best friends and then, after you left, I just stopped trying.”

You were conflicted. Some part of you had been longing to hear this for months, ever since the texts, visits and calls had stopped out of the blue but, now that you were actually hearing it, it just made you sad.

“You did try,” you reminded him, “you came to the store a few times, helped me organize my books.”

He shook his head, “Not often enough. It just-it just got so hard, you know? Seeing you every weekend and knowing you weren’t going to be there when I got to work the next day,” he explained, his voice cracking, “watching you have this whole life outside of us, it just started to feel like maybe I didn’t fit-maybe we didn’t fit.” He gestured to the team, “And I thought maybe you were better off-“ he trailed off.

“Hey,” you cut in, reaching out and covering his hand with yours, “hey, listen to me. You guys are my family. You’ll always be my family, no matter what happens. I’m sorry you ever felt like anything else was even possible. I could never be better off without you guys.”

The hint of a smile played at the edges of his mouth, and he squeezed your hand gently.

“If it’s okay,” he said, still smiling hopefully, “I’d really like for us to be friends again. I know I broke a solemn oath but, if you’ll trust me, I’ll never let it happen again, I promise.”

Your smile felt so wide that it hurt your cheeks as you pulled him into a hug, savoring the way he chuckled as he hugged you back.

“Of course, Spence,” you smiled, still holding him close, “of course.”

“God, I missed you,” he admitted into your neck, “no one else pretends to care about Star Trek as well as you do.”

You laughed and let him go, feeling the distance that had formed over the last year vanishing bit by bit.

“I’ve missed you too, Doctor Reid.” You said, “But, I’ll admit, I haven’t missed the Star Trek talk as much.”

“None of us miss the Star Trek talk,” Derek said, making you both jump, “honestly, I miss not knowing about Star Trek.”

“Preach,” JJ agreed, “Y/N/N, I know you’re in charge of what we watch tonight but I’m begging you, please pick something made for adults? I’ve been watching nothing but Marvel and Disney for months.”

“But I love Disney,” Emily complained.

“Rest assured,” Rossi interrupted, “it’s my entertainment system and I don’t even have any Disney.”

“You have Lord of The Rings though, right?” Spencer asked.

You watched your team bicker amongst themselves, laughing like you hadn’t laughed in months. Being together like this was like a healing balm for your frayed nerves, bringing you back to a place of calm, like you’d just come home from a long trip. In the back of your mind, you knew there was still work to be done, old wounds you needed to address and mysteries you needed to solve but, for now, you were just happy to be with your family. For now, this was enough.

—————————

Spencer felt like he was living in some sort of strange fever dream, like all his months of sulking had finally driven him mad and now he was physically imagining things as he helped you out of his car. Touching you always made him a little dizzy but, over the years that you’d worked together every day, he’d managed to build up a tolerance, a tolerance that was now almost completely gone. It had been months since everyone had agreed to have family dinner at Rossi’s, but now that you were back, he’d insisted. Spencer was on cloud nine. He had his best friend back and, for the first time since you’d left, things felt good again, like he was exactly where he should be.

As you sat around Rossi’s table, swapping stories and reminiscing over the past, Spencer had to fight to stop from staring at you. You were really there. He could reach out and touch you. If he called your name you would respond and your eyes would light up the way they always had, like he was the only person in the world you wanted to see. It was surreal. In the back of his mind, Spencer knew he was being selfish, that he shouldn’t want you to stay this time and he should be itching to find out who was stalking you so that you could go back to the life you’d built. But he wasn’t.

When JJ had gotten the call that you needed them, Spencer had thought his heart was going to implode from all the pent up longing he’d kept stored away. Seeing you hadn’t exactly improved things. He’d spent the entire day trying to hold himself together, unsure of how to act around you, playing through every single memory he’d been keeping repressed for all this time like it would somehow give him the answer. God, half the time he’d wanted to scream, the other half he’d wanted to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go ever again. As his eyes traced the plains of your face, plains he’d memorized a million different times, he felt a flicker of that old flame burn in his chest, like the embers of a fire that had never really been put out, and he sighed.

“Hey, kid, where’s your head?” Morgan asked, his voice soft enough to avoid being overheard.

“Hmm? What?” Spencer replied, tearing his eyes away from you as you laughed at something Garcia said.

“Your head,” he repeated, where’s it at?”

Spencer thought for a minute, and then smiled, “I’m good. Really good, actually.”

Morgan nodded, a little too knowingly for Spencer’s liking, but let the matter drop. Just then, the unmistakable ping of Hotch’s cell cut through the late night air and, as if on cue, every eye in the house turned to face the sound. Hotch examined his phone, his frown deepening and sending shivers of worry up Spencer’s neck. He wanted to say something, to stop Hotch from giving them whatever horrible piece of news was on that phone, but he couldn’t. He just sat and waited, like everybody else.

“Hotch?” JJ eventually asked, her hand gripping yours, hard.

“They-uh-” Hotch started, showing a rare moment of nerves, “they found another note at Y/N’s apartment.”

Several people swore, Garcia whimpered, Derek slammed his fist against the table, but you just stared straight ahead, your face stony and unmoving. Spencer wanted to reach out, but he was frozen in place.

“What did it say?” You asked, “Is it another love poem?”

“No,” Hotch answered, “it’s a string of numbers; 29.07.15/18.01.14/38.8765.77.0006.”

“Reid, you got that?” Morgan asked, shooting him a look.

Spencer felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, but he nodded, “I’ve got it.”

“But, that’s not all, is it?” Rossi asked.

Hotch shook his head, “They found another body. This time in an empty storefront a few blocks away from Y/N’s apartment.”

“Probably the site I’d picked out for the second branch,” you supplied, “I just signed the deal three weeks ago.”

You buried your face in your hands, sighing as the atmosphere around the dinner table took a turn for the worst.

“Well,” Emily said, “Looks like we’ve got our lead.”

Hotch nodded, “Let’s get to work.”

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

Taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes​, @confused-and-really-hungry, @word-scribbless​, @reidloversisforever​, @ashookykooky​, @l0ve-0f-my-life​, @shilohpug​, @tangerinenotions95​, @petitchatonbleu, @pirateismywayofspeaking​, @must-be-a-weasley-92​, @whovianayesha, @holding-on-to-my-youth​

[gyllenhaalstories]

BIRTHDAY CAKE — RAPPER!JAKE HEADCANONS 🎂 🎁

anonymous asked: what do you think rapper!jake would get you for your birthday? warnings: mentions of sexual content & curse words. notes: i listened to the solo version of birthday cake by rihanna so join in if you want to <3 thank you anon for asking this okay ilysm whoever you are you’re so perfect! i wanted to post it when i was born but i couldn’t wait any longer! ps: the gifs are not mine, but i couldn’t find who made them since they were reposted on pinterest. i hope y’all enjoy the chain (and this too)!

why would rapper!jake get his birthday bitch, huh? 

everything she ever dreamed of, of course.

birthdays would start at midnight and end at the same hour the next day, no excuses.

he would wake you up with gentle kisses along your shoulder. “good morning, angel, it’s your special day”. when was it not when you’re one of the biggest hip hop artists’ girlfriend?

you would protest, grabbing on his arms that were around you tighter so he would not move. but he did. he pulled the blankets of your naked body and helped you turn so you were laying on your back.

no matter how many years the two of you have shared together, you were always excited for what was coming next.

(pun intented)

jake would leave kisses down your entire body, making his way down to your core by leaving light hickeys. 

your legs would slowly open up for him, and you would wrap them around his head when he finally reached the right spot.

he brags about your head game all the time, but boy got some sweet skills too. he has you mewling, whimpering, shaking and he’s only a few licks and gentle bites in. 

by the time you’re close to the edge, he stops. “count down for me, baby.” so you count down from your your age to 0. i pity you if you’re like 35. rip @ your pussy. he doesn’t make it easy for you. he nibbles on your thighs, he leaves kisses absolutely everywhere. he dips his tongue in your wetness, teasing your hole (or both of them because why not? it’s your birthday, girl, be wild!). and when you FINALLY reach 0, you’re absolutely exploding.

you’re screaming his name. you almost forgot that what? five minutes ago? you were having sweet fantasy dreams of jake as a knight and you as the princess of the candy kingdom. 

jake’s face emerges from your pussy, covered in juices as he gives you a playful smirk. “you’re just like wine, you taste better with age.”

and he’s got you laughing and trying to gently kick him.

he will deny you any attempts of paying him back. he’s got other things on his mind.

he sets you back under the blankets nicely and reach out for your nightstand, handing you your favourite plushie that you leave here at all times as he presses a kiss on your forehead. “just had my fave breakfast but i’m ,’bout to make some more.” he would wink. “whataya want?”

pancakes, waffles, froot loops, spaghetti, brownies, listen, you could have whatever you wanted. 

you opted for waffles this year. and jake, who happened to be quite the talented chef, and before you could fall asleep again, he brought you a large platter of waffles, cut fruits and maple syrup with a hot chocolate.

you turned on the television and found some crappy reality television to watch. at midnight, it was either that or a marathon of pawn stars. on the screen, there were some old episodes of say yes to the dress. jake paid attention to your reactions in front of the dresses and the brides. he made mental notes of your preferences.

once you were done eating, you turned one of your favourite movies on. it was some disney film jake actually loved although he would never admit it out loud.

eventually, the sun started to rise outside. 

and the fun was really starting.

jake listed what the two of you would do today: he would take you to the mall early so no one would bother you as you went from store to store, trying everything from prada, chanel, gucci and whatever you felt like it. and then, you would go for brunch. and then he would take you for a walk around the park. just the two of you.

and you did all that, while jake carried all of your shopping bags and helped you bring them back inside the mansion when it was time for a power nap.

the thing was: you weren’t sleepy.

and neither was jake.

he noticed that little sparkle in your eyes. he knew it so well. 

you were needy. and even if, most of the time it would annoy him when he had better plans in mind, he let it slide this time.

he placed his hand on your head and helped you lean down on your knees.

you palmed at his growing bulge. you freed it from his pants and he went to sit on the couch. he let you entertain yourself, lazily sucking and licking his length when his other, much more important present, was being prepared outside without you noticing.

you cockwarmed him in your throat for a while.

“why you bein’ so generous to me? it’s your day, we gotta do what makes you happy.”

“you make me happy”.

HE COULD HAVE PUT A RING ON YOUR HAND RIGHT THERE (but after he came in your mouth, he had better priorities than marriage).

FINALLY you heard noise outside. you swallowed his load and licked your lips clean, crawling towards the large windows to take a peak of what was going on.

there was a lamborghini.

of your favourite colour.

bouquets and balloons were overflowing from the open doors and top.

your jaw dropped.

“i don’t even know how to drive?”

jake stood behind you and gently went to pet your hair.

“i’ll teach you.”

and you ran outside like an excited child, smelling roses and kicking helium balloons on your way. you sat behind the wheel and imitated the noises of the engine.

jake was so fucking in love with you.

he went to sit on the passenger seat and fixed the brakes, instructing you to press the pedal to rinse the engine safely.

he couldn’t even hear the vroom vroom over your happy giggles.

“it’s not over yet.”

jake got out of the car and went to your side, kissing you lovingly, his chain tickling your chest when he leaned forward. “follow me, angel.”

and you did. you arrived just in time, some friends had made it to the backyard where a gigantic cake and even bigger teddy bear were waiting for you. the teddy bear was holding a present bag with your favourite disney characters printed all over it.

everybody melted at the sweet thought.

jake suddenly switched in his attitude.

he grabbed something from behind the cake, a large jewelry box. he presented it to you.

you opened it.

there was a chain, similar to his, shining under the golden hour sun.

he put it on you as you let out a happy tear.

you shared the cake with your close friends. you were taking photos. posting them all over instagram. and fans were going crazy at the sight of jake looking so happy and relaxed. 

people left.

you both started to run out of energy.

so you went to bed, it was almost midnight again.

and you made love. it was passionate, it was loving, it was sweet and it was incredible. it could not be compared to anything else jake has ever done to you. it felt as though your hearts were beating on the same rhythm. your eyes were locked the entire time as you both reached your high in this slow, but deep pace.

and when you finally closed your eyes to relax, jake managed to stretch his arm out and grab something from the night stand drawer.

you thought he was grabbing some bullet vibrator.

no.

it was an even smaller box than this afternoon.

“i bought this shit a long ass time ago,”

jake’s voice was cracking under the stress.

you encouraged with a gentle caress on his bearded chin.

“don’t fuckin’ cry or imma cry too.”

too late, you were both crying rivers. and chuckling. and shaking.

he did not even finish asking the question. he forgot the speech he prepared when he was eating you out earlier, thinking of romantic shit to say.

you said yes.

jake couldn’t see straight.

but he managed to put the ring on. it was the prettiest ring you have ever seen in your entire life.

after a ton of i love yous.

he found his phone somewhere on the bed and took a photo.

you looked awful and tried to cover your face with your hand.

“my bitch forever and ever happily ever after”.

he captioned the photo.

truth be told, he was so skillful that he did all of this without pulling out of you.

and he went at it again.

with more vigor. but with just as much passion.

“y’makin’ me feel so good wifey”.

perhaps wifey was the new bitch.

[iwantitiwriteit]

Slow Burn: Act 1 - Part 4

The Game Night

Pairing: Chris Evans x Famous!Reader

Summary: Game night with your cast and crew turns into a silent game of cat and mouse between you and Chris.

Warnings: Profanity, Sexual connotations, drunken silliness

Notes: This one was a fun challenge for me. Wanted to make sure there was a decent amount of conflict, but it was hard cos I am the queen of avoiding drama IRL; literally don’t know how that shit starts lol. Enjoy! Read the previous part here and check out the moodboard + music here.

Lush, autumnal trees that have yet to drop their leaves become more abundant and houses fit for large families grow farther apart as your Uber takes you from the bustling Boston city into the neighboring suburbs. Over the last few weeks, between staying with your sister in her Boston brownstone and filming on location on Harvard’s campus, you’ve become familiar with the urban terrain. You’re looking forward to the slowness of the suburbs, even if it’s just for an evening. It’s an experience you missed since being on tour non-stop. Always in an airport, then some large city, then on stage, in front of thousands. The quiet of the suburbs had evaded you the past few years, so you welcomed it with open arms.

“Whatcha got back there?” You had hoped having your earbuds in would keep talking at bay, but Charlie, the older gentleman driving your Uber, had other plans. The stress of his vowels lets you know he’s Boston born and bred. “I won’t say it smells bad, just… interesting!” 

In the backseat with you are a ton of old, dusty games you borrowed from your sister, but no matter how musky, you know he’s talking about the aromatic platters of food. “Oh, it’s um, samosas.”

“Orange juice and bubbly got the cah smelling like that?!”

You giggle slightly at his misunderstanding, “Not MImosa; SAmosa. Here, try one.” You hand Charlie a fried savory pastry.

He screws his face at it, the sight obviously foreign to him. “What is it?”

“It’s a fried pastry with some really flavorful potatoes and peas on the inside. Go on! You’ll love it!”

Charlie takes a tentative bite, then widens his eyes as the food hits his palate. You both begin to nod at each other slowly, knowingly.

“Good right?”

“So good! Where’d you get this?”

“From the Indian place on Columbia.”

“Oh I know that place! Pass it all the time, never go in. Smells weird.”

“It doesn’t smell weird; it’s just different to you. But now that I’ve introduced you to something on the menu, it won’t be so foreign to you, now will it?”

“You know what, you’re right! Next time I pass by, I’ll order me some, um, what’s this called again?”

“Samosa.”

“Yeah, samosa. Thanks miss!”

“No problem.” You love introducing others as well as yourself to new cultures, part of the reason you don’t mind being on the road so much.

“Wanna know something? My Ma has a restaurant on Columbia, too.”

“Oh yeah? What’s it called?” You ready your phone to look it up, but Charlie is already handing you a takeout menu. “Thanks. ‘L'amore Della Madre’. Mother’s Love?”

“Sì! Puoi parlare Italiano?”

“No, at all. I can read a little if I go slow and the words are short, but that’s just about it.”

“Well if you come by, tell ‘em Charlie sent you, and you’ll get free Italian lessons!”

“Really?”

“No, but they’ll treat you like family and you’ll learn all the bad words you’ll ever need to know.” You both laugh as you pull up to a gate with a call box. You tell Charlie the passcode to let you through —‘Harvard Hottie’, to which he quirks his brow at you through the rear view mirror.

“My friend thinks very highly of himself,” you laugh as you think about how excited Scott was to make that the passcode. He’s been highly excited in general about having some of cast and crew over for game night, insisting it was a great way to bond and team build.

“Your friend has got some money, huh?” Charlie remarks as he drives the stretch of winding road along a sizable amount of land before there’s a grand but understated farmhouse in view. Yeah, I guess so. Scott is living well. Good for him.

The car parks in front of the house, and you bid farewell to Charlie, gifting him another samosa for the road. “Thanks sweetheart, and I’ll see you at Ma’s sometime soon, yeah? We’ll get you set up with a nice Italian boy, ok?”

What is with everyone and setting me up?? “Least of my worries, Charlie. Least of my worries.” You collect your cumbersome party offerings and head for the door, then ring the doorbell with your pinky, as it’s the only appendage you can get free. As you struggle to balance the things in your hand, the door opens. You have a nervous smile ready to greet whatever familiar face that will be on the other side of the door, but it fades into a nervous confused expression as you take in the unexpected, but familiar face opposite yours.

There you are: dumbfounded and face to face with the one person you dutifully have not thought about or seen in the last few weeks since New York. Chris stands across the threshold looking widely at you, just as you are at him. You stare at each other for a few more seconds before you fumble with the stuff in your hands, Chris catching them effortlessly.

“Woah there, I’ll get those for you.”

“No, it’s ok.” The two of you do an awkward little dance trying to keep the things from falling. Just then, Scott comes from another room to greet you, but is met with the sight of you and Chris, each holding a little bit of everything, and one another, in order to keep the things between your bodies from hitting the floor. Scott can’t help but smirk at the two of you before coming over to help some of the things out of your hands. He’s quick to leave you alone with Chris, disappearing around a corner.

“Um… it’s good to see you again…”

“Uh-huh, that’s nice. SCOTT! Can I talk to you a moment?” you say as you go in the direction Scott disappeared in. You’re brought to a large, homey kitchen. You take in the simplistic decor, modern but rustic design and clean state of it. Scott was at the counter, already digging into the samosas and looking through your tattered game selection.

“I thought you said this was a cast and crew get together. What’s your brother doing here?”

“Well, I'm staying with him while we’re filming; couldn’t just kick him out of his own house! Besides, he hosts a WICKED game night and offered to help.”

“What’s with y’all Bostonians and ‘wicked’? Like, who the hell actually says that?”

“Plus I figured you guys hit off ‘cos he only asked me about a million times if you were coming…”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Yeah, yeah, whatever. Knowing you couldn’t badmouth your costar and new friend’s brother, even if he had done so about you, you were careful with your answer.

“Look, I know what you and Mackie are up to and you gotta stop.”

“What EVER do you mean?”

You clench your teeth at his faux ignorance. “You know what I mean! Stop trying to set me up with your brother, or anyone for that matter. I need to focus on our film, ok?”

“Hey, is everything ok?” Chris comes to check on you and Scott.

“Yep, everything’s everything!” Scott turns to you, “I’m gonna go let everyone know you're here and that we’ll be starting in a few.” Scott excuses himself with a wink at you.You and Chris stand a few apart, stiff as rods. This literally couldn’t get more uncomfortable.

Thinking that if you gave Jimi the coffee and flowers, and focused on your work, you could magically disappear Chris from existence. You let yourself believe that you’d *unrealistically* never see him again, while Chris made sure that wouldn’t be the case. When he didn’t get a response for his green room gift, he knew he’d have to apologize in person, but he didn’t think too much about what he'd say.

Chris breaks the silence. “Soo, how’s filming going?”

You look at him, head tilted, eyes squinted, nose scrunched. Really? That’s what you’ve got to say to me right now?

“Right… that was—  listen, I—“

“Where’s your bathroom?” you interrupt him.

“Uh, down that hall to the left.”

“Thanks.” You briskly make your way there and whip out your phone. Glancing over your shoulder, you see Chris face palming himself. As soon as you’re in the bathroom, you FaceTime Jimi.

“Hey hun! What’s up?”

“Girl, he’s here!” Your voice is panicked.

“Use more descriptive words honey. Who is where?”

“Chris is here at the game night!”

“Ooookay… and that’s a problem because...”

“Because he’s gonna ask me why I didn’t respond to his apology gift and I’m gonna say what? ‘Cos it was lame attempt after you grossly offended me after playing nice in my face all night. Like dude, I thought we vibed!’” You catch your breath before you start again. “Jimi, I may act like I want the smoke, but I really don’t! What do I do?”

“First off, take a chill pill. Secondly, just steer clear, and be neutral. Play nice, but don’t get too friendly. No need to make this bigger than it is.”

You exhale at your friend’s rationality. “Ok. Ok, I can do that!”

“Yeah you can! I have faith in you! Now, leave me alone until tomorrow, I’m catching up on Insecure and this ice cream is NOT gonna finish itself. Love you, bye!” You hang up with Jimi, and repeat “steer clear, be neutral, play nice, not friendly” as a mantra, while opening your messages. You text your sister to remind her to pick you up at 10pm. She offered since she knew you’d be drinking and said she didn’t want her “drunk, famous little sister in an Uber at night. They might hold you for ransom!” Simultaneously annoyed and endeared by her concern, you accepted her offer. She replies affirmatively.

Slowly opening the bathroom door, you poke your head out, checking to see that the coast is clear of Chris. When you find that it is, you step out and exhale.

“Hey.”

“OH SHIT!” You jump at the sound of Chris’ voice behind you, clutching your imaginary pearls.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.” He chuckles a bit, but stops as you side eye him. She's not gonna make this easy. He clears his throat. “Um, I was hoping I could talk to you for a few—“

“Hey Kid! Scott said you were here!” Mackie pulls you in for a hug. You hadn’t seen each other all week because you hadn’t shared scenes with him. “What’s up with ya?”

“Oh ya know… same old, same old,” you say with a shrug. You look over to Chris who's rubbing his neck.

“Hey!! Party in the hallway!” Ansel joins the three of you in the hallway already a little tipsy. “What are parlaying about?”

“Not how you use that word.” Ansel boops your nose as the hallway fills with a couple more people, and you were never more grateful for your overly personable, slightly invasive film family. You squeeze out of the “hallway party” towards the living room, relieved to have escaped interaction with Chris, but unsure of if you would be so lucky the rest of the night. 

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

The group of about 30 cast and crew members congragate in the living room and are split into 2 teams: Team 1 In A Million and Team A-fucking-mazing. Team 1 In A Million includes you, Scott, and Jaden while Team A-fucking-mazing has Mackie, Ansel and your director, Sonya.

“Wait, we only have 14, they have 15!” Mackie complains.

“No need to whine, Mackie. Chris, I know you were gonna hang back some tonight, but you mind joining their team?” Scott gestures to the opposite team and Chris reluctantly joins them. He sits with his team on the end of the sofa across from you. He’s dressed like the big brother of a fraternity: cap on backwards that pulls his hair away from his crystal blue eyes, too tight t-shirt that show off his bulging biceps, basic jeans that accentuate his long legs, and a plain pair of color coordinated Nike’s, a size who knows, you just notice how big they are, and quite frankly, you find it all… mouth-watering. He offers you a shy smile and shrug, but you look away before you could melt and forget why you’re icing him in the first place. Chris just sighs to himself.

The games get under way, drinks and conversation are flowing, while both teams compete in a series of minute-to-win-it games. You forget about Chris long enough to have some real fun. Not really one for smack talk, though you love healthy competition, on-the-spot made-up cheers to hype up your teammates is your specialty. Every once in a while, you’ll look up mid-smile or laughter and catch Chris looking and smiling at you. Your expression immediately resolves into a neutral one, and Chris’ heart sinks every time.

“This next one is called ‘Blow Ball’.” Scott announces.

“That’s what she said,” Jaden jokes, and you just shake your head, barely laughing.

“Thank you for that, Jaden. When the timer starts, each player must use only their breath to blow the 73 blue ping pong balls off the pizza tray, while at the same time keep the 3 yellow ping pong balls on the tray. Any questions?”

Jaden raises his hand. “So you’re saying the players have to blow on the blue balls until they get off?” Chris does his classic, boisterous belly laugh, and you’re inclined to smile and sigh to yourself. I forgot how good that sounds.

“You’re exhausting, Jaden. Ok teams, pick your representatives!” After some deliberation, you’re chosen to go for your team, insisting you had the best breath control. You turn from your huddle to see who your opponent is. Of. Fucking. Course.

“May the best player win,” Chris offers his hand to you to shake.

“I intend to,” you reply, slapping his hand away and the group erupts in instigating chorus of “ooo’s”. There’s even a “you gone take that Cap?!” from Mackie. Under normal circumstances, Chris would’ve found your cockiness cute, attractive even. But seeing as you snubbed his apology, have been avoiding him all night, and consistently let your face fall at the sight of him, he couldn’t help but take it personally.

“Alright, alright,” Scott calms everyone down. “On your mark, get set, go!”

The two of you set to work on your trays. Chris struggles to get strong enough breaths out to move the balls thanks to the amount of beers he’s already thrown back and his distracting thoughts. What’s up with this girl? Why won’t she accept my apology? Is she really that full of herself?

Meanwhile, you breezed through your ping pong balls, moving them off the tray with your controlled breath with ease. A couple minutes pass of you going at your trays, your team ridiculously rowdy thanks to the copious amount of alcohol consumed at this point. You’re down to the last few blue ping pong balls on your tray, careful not to blow the yellow ones off.

You look up slightly at Chris who has a little ways to go before catching up to you. You lock eyes with him. He then flicks his eyes down to your tray and notices there’s just a single blue ball between you and victory. He brings his eyes back up to yours, then to your Fenty-glossed lips that are serving him a cocky grin, which turns into a soft ‘O’ as you puff out just enough air to skid the last blue ball off your tray and onto the floor. You win.

You both rise slowly, maintaining strong eye contact, but it’s broken as your team crowds and rough houses you like you’ve just won the Super Bowl. Jaden puts a beer bottle to his mouth like a microphone. “So here we are with the most badass, bodacious Blow Ball player in the land. Tell us, how does it feel to bring your team to victory?” he asks you in his best broadcaster voice.

You patronize him because you’re having fun. “Well, you know, I couldn’t have done it without their support… and my Grammy-award winning singer’s lungs baby!” There’s another round of rowdiness from your team, but looking over at Chris, your smile falters for a different reason. He seems unamused by your antics. What’s his deal? You don’t stay looking at Chris for long, as your team turns you around for more drunken celebration.

“I want to challenge you to a game of beer pong.” Chris pipes at you amongst the loud chatter.

Your back is to him, as you were talking to one of your teammates. You only look over your shoulder as you reply. “Challenge all you want, but I don’t wanna. We won. That’s it. Move on.”

“What, you’re scared cos it’s not in your element you won’t win?” The group quiets down as you turn to face Chris. Studying his face, you come up with nothing, unable to read him. He’s joking, right?

Your mantra about steering clear and playing nice are gone from your tipsy brain. “No, but I’m sure your confidence is coming from the fact that it’s well in your element.” You approach him, sizing him up as he looks down at you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Despite your best efforts, you had been watching him tonight. The more drinks he threw back, the more bro-ish he became. Hella loud, overly competitive, with unsolicited coaching. It gave you a headache, but you brushed it off until now.

“Nothing, just that some of us,” motioning to yourself, “spent our college days studying, while others,” poking his chest, “got their frat on. Hence why beer pong is right up your alley.”

“Jokes on you: I didn’t go to college.”

“That explains why you think ‘brown’ and ‘mouth’ rhyme,” you say low enough for only him to hear. So she got the gift... There’s a pang in his chest and it’s evident to you in his eyes. The look he gives pains you and causes you to soften your features.

“So are we gonna do this or what?” says Ansel, mouth full of samosa, cutting the heady moment.

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

The next 30 minutes are a complete blur. There’s yelling, cheering, sneering, and shit talking. Cup after cup of beer is thrown back on your end as Chris whoops your ass at this game, just like you knew he would. By the end of it you are thoroughly drunk, having reached tipsy quite a few games back. His team swamps him in congratulations, but his eyes stay on you, his face still unreadable.

You’re not a sore loser, you swear it, you just couldn’t take the unsaid tension with Chris any longer, and excused yourself. You find a quiet corner to take a breather and an opportunity to text your sister to remind her to pick you up at 10. She says she’ll be there.

“Hey, cute doggie!” You notice the pooch perched on an oversized ottoman and sit next to, not bothering to make it to a chair. You read his tag. Dodger.

“Aaahhh. Chris’ best boy and dysfunctional codependent,” you recall from when the night you met in New York a few weeks ago. “Tell me, is he always this, this… frustrating?” You drawl out. Dodger just responds with a light bark as you scratch behind his ears to his delight.

You enjoy the dog’s company for a few minutes longer until he gives an alerting bark, causing you to look in the direction of the patio that you’d just left. You look up and can see double the Chris approaching. Not even thinking twice, you crawl out of the sitting area and into the next room where most everyone is now sobering up and playing low energy board and card games. You, however, are frantically looking for somewhere to avoid Chris.

Once Chris reaches, he only finds a happily panting Dodger, that he crouches down next to. “She’s seriously avoiding me, huh Bubba?” Dodger barks then licks Chris’ face, as if to say, “Yeah dude, give it up.” How childish.

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

9:55 pm rolls around and you are waiting at the front door for your ride like a kid on the curb of their school. All night has been an exhausting game of cat and mouse between you and Chris, and you appreciate the moment of solace in his foyer. The ringtone for your sister fills the room, and you put your phone to your ear.

“But Lynn, you offered!” Chris hears an anxious voice from his spot in the kitchen and walks in its direction to investigate.

“You didn’t just find that out! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!” As he gets closer, he identifies it as your voice. There you are, at his front door, coat and purse, ready to leave the festivities, and scoffs. Last to arrive, first to leave.

“Are you kidding me right now? I don’t need you to send me money! I’ve got money! Money is not the issue here!” Chris raises his brows to your statement. He has no idea who you’re yelling at like that, but it’s not helping your case in his mind.

“Yeah, whatever. Just don’t even breathe in my direction tomorrow.” Stupid sister, and her stupid bowling league. You continue to mumble to yourself as you assess your options. Seeing as you didn’t want to interrupt anyone’s good time, and want to get the hell out of there ASAP, you decide to just take an Uber anyway.

One last try. “Everything ok?” You look up to see Chris, eyes glossy from drunkenness, red from tiredness, nursing a water bottle and leaning on the archway.

“Yeah,” you say, not meeting his eyes, hoping he’d go away. When he didn’t, you moved closer to the door, hoping he’d get the picture then. Steer clear.

“Leaving already?”

“Uh-huh.”  Be neutral.

“We were just about to cue up some karaoke. I’d love to hear what those singer’s lungs could do.” You loved karaoke. But not tonight. Not with him.

“You all enjoy; I’m not in the mood.” Play nice, not friendly.

That’s it, I’ve had it with her cold shoulder! “Wanna know something? I was wrong about you.”

“Is that so?” You brace for another cringey apology.

“Yeah… You’re not an airheaded, wannabe popstar. You’re an arrogant, childish diva.”

You’re taken aback, but not entirely surprised. You can see how he got to this conclusion. What with you icing him all night, taking digs at him, and if he was in that archway long enough, that conversation with your undependable sister could have sounded diva-ish out of context. It’s a complete misjudgment of you, but you can’t help but think you started it. “Oh yeah?”

“Hell yeah.” The two of you meet in the middle of the foyer for your second stand off tonight.

“You wanna know what you are?”

“I get the feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“You’re a fickle, judgmental bro dude.”

“Bro dude?”

“Yeah! A bro dude! You're good at beer pong, you flirt relentlessly, try to get in my head, and get pissed and start calling names the second you realize you’re not getting the time of day.”

“Oh honey you wish I was flirting!”

“Is everything alright in here?” Scott appears in the archway his brother was in just moments before.

“Yeah, I was just going; my Uber’s here.” Your ride share arrived just in time to save you from any further wanton ridicule.

“Uber? I— or someone can drive you home.” Chris says as he grasps your elbow.

“More of your mixed signals. Save the fake concern for someone who’s got the time, cos it ain’t me.” Taking back your arm in a huff, you leave for your waiting ride.

“Woah... what was that about?”

“I… I’m gonna call it a night. I’ll help cleanup in the morning.” Chris kisses his brother goodnight, one last drunken act before retiring for the night. Scott is left in the foyer stunned, as Mackie comes to see what’s holding him up.

“Hey man, where’s Chris and— are they… ya’know?” Mackie gives a suggestive look, bumping Scott with his elbow. “I know you felt that tension, that sexual tension!”

“No, they’re not— They just had some intense words, and she left and he went to bed— alone.”

“What?! What happened?”

“I don’t know but we gotta think of something. They can’t hate each other!”

“Yeah, we’ll think of something… after we sing some karaoke. I’ll be Diana if you’ll be Lionel.”

“No, I’m definitely more Diana, you be Lionel!”

“Fine.”

Part 5

[puckngrind]

What’s In A Name:8 - J. Toews

Chapter 8

Where we left off: Bekah accompanied Jon to the NHL100 Gala and he suggested they could live in Chicago together.

Warnings: smut, language

Word Count: 3,396

Series Masterlist ) Puck ‘n Grind’s masterlist

Untitled.

His season ended in round 1 and anyone could see the disappointment all over Jon’s face for the first few weeks after being knocked out in four games. Bekah came to game 1 and wore the jacket he bought her with his name and number on the back. The conversation from LA still hung over their heads but was not discussed by either with the end of the season. Work was crazy for her and summer flew without seeing Jon much. She did take a Friday off in August to take the long weekend go see him at home in Canada. She could see why he spoke about home the way he did. It was peaceful even with the sounds of slap shots waking her up one morning. She toed out to the kitchen to see coffee already made and prepared to her liking of a splash of honey and cream. She hummed while taking the first sip realizing it was exactly how she made it. The large window in the back eliminated source of the sounds echoing through the house. Jon was working out on his mini rink in the backyard. She opened the door with nothing on but one of his old, warn UND shirts on.

“You are crazy Tae!” Bekah emerged with coffee in hand leaning on the railing of his deck. Jon laughs and starts to make his way to her.

“Determined is usually the adjective used Beks.” His sweaty lips dip down and brush against hers. “Determined. Also, good morning.”

He was very determined to get her to Chicago. He knew she loved the city but the conversation in LA was looming over every discussion of a weekend with him. It took a ton of effort for Brynn convincing Bekah to go for the Blue Jackets and Blackhawks game in October. She helped Bekah wiggle some of work accounts during a few lunches and wouldn’t stop talking about it until they booked their flight. Bekah was working so hard that she resisted at first but Jon was thankful for Brynn’s persistence got her to his city.

Brynn rolled her eyes when Bekah walks in from the parking garage in her playoff jacket within Toews airbrushed across the back and a I heart Chicago T-shirt under. “I’m happy for you friend but you are an Ohioan damnit!” Brynn laughs and links arms with Behkah so they can head to the arena.

Jon scored and had an assistant handing the Blue Jackets a lose. Brynn laughs as the two friends embrace near the locker rooms and head their separate ways. “Have fun you two.” She waves more at Jon than Bekah.

“Nice game Tae.” Bekah looks up at Jon as he takes her under his arm.

“I felt your energy, Baby.” He kisses her lips. “Let’s head home.” The words lingered but weren’t touched by either one.

Bekah loved the way Jon smelled post game. It was intoxicating especially as he pressed into her making her legs push hard into his ass while she moaned out his name loudly.

“Come on Beks.” Jon encourages feeling Bekah’s orgasm coming. His not far behind. Bekah’s back arches up and he works faster. Reveling in the way their bodies moved in sync.

“Jon, I...” She moans out while her toes curl tightly into his legs.

“Merde Beks! Je t'aime.” Jon grunts out as he climaxes and collapses into Bekah’s trembling body.

“Uh, what did you just say?” Bekah tries to catch her breath. “Tae?” Jon whinces realizing the gravity of his words. “Jon.” Bekah tries to move him but he just lays with his head in her neck attempting to catch his own breath. “Jonathan! What the hell did you just say?”

“It was French Beks.” He finally moves so she can see his face.

“You orgasmed in French? You’ve never... have you ever... wait. What did you say?” Bekah questioned.

Jon’s mind and heart are racing. Of course he loved her. But saying it in French while cuming wasn’t exactly the way he wanted to tell her for the first time especially when they hadn’t established anything beyond exclusivity. “Babe, I don’t know.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“I swear I heard t’aime. Isn’t that love?” Bekah feels the heat coming to her cheeks. Her hand swiping at sweat on Jon’s hairline.

“Beks. Maybe. I don’t tend to remember what we say in the moment. Plus my brain is hardwired for both languages. Remember, I learned French first.” Jon searches her eyes and sees a smile appear.

“Well that was new. I didn’t hate it but it was new.” She kissed his lip tenderly. “Does it mean something when you brain switches like that?”

“I don’t think so mainly comfort I guess but we’ve been pretty comfortable for awhile. Seriously Beks. I don’t think I’ve ever done it before, ever.”

“Interesting.” Bekah struggled her shoulder out of not understanding before kissing his lips and Jon was thankful for the dropped conversion.

Work picked up for Bekah again. Her firm was given the task of the Cannonball for the CBJ foundation. As the marketing department she was stressed. She took a few days at Christmas and spent them in Chicago. His family didn’t join this year because of the schedule but he was thankful to see her in the mist of maybe her biggest project yet. All-Star break came and went. Jon didn’t make the All-star team so he came to Columbus and spent time with her but mainly in bed then she was off to work. Brynn didn’t mind when he suggested lunch out and invited her knowing they had a standing lunch date.

The week of Cannonball Brynn walks in with flowers. “These were delivered for you.” Bekah could hardly see her tiny best friend over the ginormous bouquet. Bekah’s eyes bug out of her head when her eyes adjust to them. She has only received flowers once at her office and it was when her grandfather died and they were from Brynn and Derek not her boyfriend. Jon sent her flowers for her birthday but to her apartment and not to work.

“Holy shit Rin!” Bekah gets up to grab the flowers and places them on the ledge behind her desk.

“There is a card.” Brynn points towards the center of the roses. “I didn’t read it. Still sealed.” Brynn’s face lights up as Bekah fishes out the note and opens it.

To the purrdiest lady at the ball,

You have worked so hard and I’m so proud of you.

Always, Tae

Bekah’s heart skips a beat and her face has a smitten smile across it.

“Does he always end his notes that way?” Rin questions.

“What? Huh?” Bekah rereads the card and looks at her best friend puzzled.

“Always, Tae. Does he always sign things like that?” Bekah just nods gliding her fingers over the text. “Very similar to that tattoo you have isn’t it.” Brynn flicks her finger to Bekah’s left side where the Always yours tattoo was.

“He’s done it before seeing the tattoo.” Bekah’s brain remembering the note she kept in her wallet from when he gave her his jersey. Butterflies erupt in her stomach thinking about the similarities.

“Yeah, just adding to the list of your no name thing there Bekah.” Brynn breaks the silence caused by Bekah’s realization. “Those flowers are stunning! I’m gonna let you call that handsome man.” Brynn waves from the door and Bekah turns to inhale the arrangement of red and white roses.

She picks up her phone and calls Jon.

“You didn’t have to but they are beautiful. Thanks Babe.” Bekah hardly let’s him say hello.

“Oh, well deserved. You worked your ass off for this western rodeo campaign and I just wish I could be there to push you across that dance floor, Beks.” There was a silence that they both let happen.

“I miss you.” Bekah finally whispers.

“I miss you too Beks but I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”

Cannonball got Bekah all nervous. She ended up wearing the same dress that she did for the NHL 100 gala with some major convincing from Brynn. “You worked hard, that dress is amazing why not wear it and we can enjoy ourselves.” It definitely didn’t go with the theme and Bekah considered if it was too much for an event she was technically at for work. The fundraiser was perfect. Being country themed the players showed up in hats and bolo ties. About half way through Bekah felt the weight of the project lift off her shoulders as she started to mingle among some of women from the Chicago trip and the team. Her comfort level in the hockey world had dramatically changed and even Seth Jones noticed it when they were talking. He had run into her and Jon at the All-Star game in 2017 that became the focal point of the conversation. Bekah crawled into bed way later than she expected and didn’t wake up until her phone was ringing before her alarm.

“Hey Tae!” Bekah knew it was only Jon calling that early.

“Why the fuck do I see Josh fucking Anderson’s arm around you on Twitter?” Jon chokes out through his teeth.

“Huh?” Bekah sat up and rubbed her eyes.

“I was looking through the tag from your event and scrolled to see a picture of that cocky new call up Jacket with his fucking arm around you. Bekah... I... I....”

“You need to breathe Jon. No one had their arm around me especially Josh.” Bekah grabs her tablet from the nightstand to find this picture. The mention of Josh’s name made Jon almost growl.

“Well it sure as hell looks like he’s all cozy with you.” Bekah can tell Jon is pacing the floor. She hears the hard thud of his feet even over the phone.

“Jon! We. You and me, we are exclusive. I’m not seeing or talking or flirting with any other man.” Bekah scrolls as Jon breathes heavily into the phone. She finally sees it. From the angle of the photograph it does looks like Josh’s arm is on the small of her back and not whatever he was propping himself on. A small smirk on Josh’s face as she is talking to Seth. “Jon, Honey, I’m looking at the picture right now and I was just talking to the boys. Seth was asking about what part of the All-Star game I enjoyed since he saw us in LA. The conversation was about YOU,Tae.” Bekah waits and hears Jon swearing in both French and English. “Jonathan Bryan Toews calm the fuck down. You have a game tonight and you cannot be all like this.”

“Like fucking what Bekah? Pissed that my woman is looking like she’s talking to another man and one that is in my profession and one that I have to play soon. Pissed that we won’t call this what it fucking is because we live in different states or are scared or whatever it might be? My head hasn’t been in the right space and it’s hard to lead a damn team when I’m this way.” Jon stops pacing and can hardly hear over booming from his pulse in his ears.

“I... I don’t know what to say Jon.” Bekah feels the prick at the corner of her eyes.

“Well maybe you need to figure that out. I need to get to the rink and settle down. I’ll talk to you later Beks.” Jon hisses and hangs up. Bekah pulled her pillow over her head and starts to cry. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying but she just did it. Jon’s word echoing in her thoughts as she did.

The two texted a few times in the next few weeks and even Brynn could feel there was something off. “Bekah, he’s coming in town tomorrow night after their home game. You need to talk to him.”

“Rin, please don’t.” Bekah looks up from the salad she’s just pushing around with her fork.

“Call what you two have whatever you want but it’s something and in the last few weeks you’ve been a puddle of a human instead of the annoyingly hot for Toews bestie I’ve come accustomed to. You two make each other better you know?” Brynn stares into her best friend’s eyes seeing all the confusion that was stirring.

“But Rin.” Bekah whispers.

“Just go talk to him.” Byrnn spells out and Bekah knew she was right.

She texted Jon asking to meet in the lobby. He said he had a late team meeting but could slip out for a moment. Bekah’s heart beat faster and her cheeks flooded red when she sees him walking towards her.

“Hey Beks.” Jon leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“I’ve missed you.” Bekah blurts out.

“I’ve missed you too.” Jon stands close but not too close. “What’s up?”

“We haven’t seen or talked to each other in awhile.”

“Yeah, we’ve been busy.” Jon rubs the back of his neck looking down at her and she sees his pocket buzz.

“I... I... fuck... why is this hard?” Bekah whispers almost to herself as Jon’s pocket buzzes again.

“Beks, I don’t know but I really have to go. Tomorrow night, after the game I’ll meet you down in the tunnels like always okay?” He dips down and kisses her cheek before jogging off.

Bekah shook off the odd exchange and the next day wore her Toews jersey as she had been doing the last few seasons. Brynn’s eyes were bright when she got into Bekah’s car and saw the familiar jersey but said nothing. The ladies were closer than normal for this game and when Jon skated by during warmups she saw a slight smile across his face.

The game was not great and Bekah could swear she saw Jon push Josh after the whistle and words were exchanged but when Brynn said she didn’t see anything she wrote it off as paranoia. The Blue Jackets won and when Anderson scored in the third Bekah felt Jon’s eyes on her while the entire arena erupted in cheers. After the game, as always, Bekah waited for Jon between the home and visitor’s locker rooms. Bekah getting chirped by a few of the player who saw her in the Toews jersey and recognized her from Cannonball. Bekah sees Jon and starts toward him. His expression soft as he makes his way to her.

“Bek-caw!” A booming voice behind her calls out. She turns to see Josh with his hands to his mouth.  Seth, and Boone behind him in the tunnel. The boys all wave and she waves back then turns to see Jon standing in front of her. A grimace now flooding his face.

“Ready?” Jon pulls his arm tight around Bekah and she felt his whole body was tense.

“Yes, Tae. Let’s get outta here.” Bekah squeezed Jon and the two made their way to his hotel room. Once inside Jon drops on the bed kicking off his shoes but fully clothed in his suit. “I’m sorry Tae.” Bekah curls up into him and she can feel the tension radiating out of him. Jon finally groans and moves their bodies. Stripping Bekah’s clothes off first then his own in almost silence. Just the sounds of movement and kisses filled the air. He slinks down her body and presses his tongue into her core.

“Fuck Jon!” Bekah jumps and he presses his hand down at her hips to keep her body in place. He’s relentless and doesn’t let up after an orgasm rips through her body. His fingers curling into her as he sucks and flicks at her clit. Bekah yells out his name as the second orgasm crashes over her with even more of an intensity than the first. Jon only let’s up for a moment while he adjusts her legs and slams his throbbing cock into her. The room now filled with curses and moans. Jon biting at Bekah’s shoulder while she claws at his back. He thrusts hard into her then stops. Her eyes that are screwed shut fly open and the intensity of Jon’s eyes was a lot to take. Pupils blown, the look of want and a hint of something she couldn’t put her finger on before he rolled his hips out and slammed back into her. Bekah’s hands fly up to brace herself with the headboard. Jon’s hands move so he’s on his elbows with his lips ghosting her lips. “Mine.” He whispers then presses his lips on hers. Bekah feels Jon twitch deep inside of her which causes her body to climax again. Jon rolls off of Bekah. His hard expression softens and he kisses her then heads to the bathroom. She expects him to return but when the shower turns on she pads over to the bathroom.

“Tae?” Bekah looks into the shower and Jon’s forehead is pressed against the tile and the water is running down his back. He doesn’t move or answer. “Baby?” Bekah enters the shower and wedges herself between the shower wall and his body. Jon’s eyes closed and her hand comes to cup his cheek. “Jon?” Bekah runs her thumb across his cheek.

“I’m sorry Beks.” He opens his eyes and looks at her.

“Sorry for what?” She keeps her hand in place and blinks the spray from her eyes.

“For everything Beks. For everything but I’ll start with my behavior in bed just now.”

“Jon.” Bekah goes to kiss his lips and he moves.

“Let me finish. I got jealous. I got pissed off. I didn’t talk to you. I have let you and my team down. I just...” Jon takes a deep breath.

“Jon, let’s get out of the shower and talk okay?” Jon nods his head and let’s Bekah lead him out. She dries them both off and snuggles into his chest in bed.

“I’m sorry.” He says again and runs his hand down and up her arm then pulls her body flush with his.

“You keep saying that.”

“I mean it.”

“And the jealousy thing?” Bekah looks up at him.

“I couldn’t see beyond a poor camera angle and got angry that these local guys could see you almost daily. That they could easily have you if they wanted to.”

“But they don’t and they won’t.” She reassures him. “And the whole mine thing?” Bekah whispered out and rubs her shoulder.

“Fuck Beks did I hurt you?” Jon kisses the spot that already looks like it’s bruising.

“It was in the heat of the moment and I’ll be fine. But Mine Jon? The possessive sex thing isn’t exactly you.”

“I know. I just... fuck.... fuck... fuck.”

“You fuck?” Bekah laughs. Jon sits up on his elbow and looks down at Bekah.

“Bekah. I love you and I know we said we aren’t naming this but I love you and I’m a fucking idiot for not telling you this years ago.” Jon leans down and kisses her lips.

“Jon...” Bekah breathes out.

“And not just love. I don’t want to live without you honestly. When we leave each time it gets harder. When that hint of cinnamon smell from your pillow is gone I find myself in the kitchen trying to replicate it but it’s your smell. You. I want you. I want you to come to Chicago, run my new foundation, build a life with me, together. Je t’aime Rebekah. I said it once before and didn’t realize then that I meant it but I do.” He drops back down so their faces are inches apart.

“Jon.” Bekah places her head on his chest. He combs his fingers through her wet hair.

“You don’t have to say anything Beks. I don’t want you to say it back unless you mean it. I’m okay with being just this. Okay? Just know that’s what I want is more and if you don’t then we keep doing what we are doing but if you consider even a little bit of what I just said that we can start slow and not all at once. I’m in this for the long haul Beks.” He hand glides under her chin and slowly moves it to look her in the eyes and kisses her lips again.

“Okay.” Bekah quietly says.

“Okay? Okay to what Beks?”

“Okay....”

[smol-and-grumpy]

Something Just Like This - CH04

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

Warnings: Violence? (a little?), Feelings? (a lot?)

WC: 3039

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dean crouched down beside Milligan and saw the bullet wound in Milligan’s abdomen. There’s one on Milligan’s thigh too, and all Dean could think about in his state of shock and daze was, that he has got to fucking stop the bleeding somehow.  

“Milligan!” Dean shouted out, tapping on Milligan’s cheek for the other man to look at him. “Look at me! Stay with me, alright? It’s not that bad. You’ll be fine.” 

He knew that Milligan’s not going to be fine but for all Dean knew, he has got to keep that man alive and let him have the hope that he’s going to be fucking fine.

“Winchester, fuck. It fucking hurts, man!”

“It’s okay, you’re going to be alright, it doesn’t even look that bad,” Dean said, loud and clear, so that Milligan would hear him over the sound of gunfire.

Dean placed Milligan’s own hand on his abdomen and pressed down, applying pressure to the wound. “I need you to hold your hand down like this, alright?”

“Fuck!” Milligan winced.

Dean fished out a tourniquet from the first aid kit he grabbed from the Humvee before he made his way out here, and secured it around Milligan’s thigh, making Milligan scream out in pain.

“Listen to me, Milligan, stay with me, alright?”

“Yeah,” Milligan’s voice was faint now.

“Hey, hey,” Dean grinned, “what you wanna do when you get home, huh? You wanna eat something nice?” He tried to distract Milligan from the pain.

“Yeah, a fucking burger, man.”

“Good, good.” Dean smiled and agreed with Milligan, “Burger sounds delicious right now.”

“Yeah,” Milligan swallowed the saliva that built up in his mouth just at the thought of a burger. “Do you have a cigarette?” 

“No, Milligan, but maybe the squad leader has one. Let me get you over to him, alright?” Dean lifted Milligan up so that he was sitting, meanwhile they’re still dodging every fucking bullet. “I want you to place your hand around my shoulder and hold on, okay? When I say ‘go’, you hold on tight.” 

“Yeah,”

Dean swooped Milligan up and on ‘go’, he carried Milligan over to the Humvee. Running in zick-zacks as not to fucking get shot at.

 *

 Dean wakes up when he feels the vibration of his phone that was tucked in his pant pockets and he rubs over his face a couple of times, wondering where the fuck he was until he remembers. 

He didn’t even have time to get out of his clothes last night, passed out cold on the uncomfortable couch that’s way too tiny for his frame. He makes a mental note to maybe get a new, more comfortable one, but chuckles because who is he kidding. He probably won’t even remember it anymore come nightfall.

Sitting up, Dean fishes out the phone from his pocket to take the call. His eyes catch the numbers of the clock on the wall before he looks over the caller ID. It’s fucking 7.34AM. He doesn’t think that he’s had more than three hours of sleep.

“Cas,” He whispers into the phone, his voice rough from sleep. 

“Good morning, princess. You had a good night?” 

“What do you want?” He’s annoyed because that’s just what Cas does. Always circling around the fucking point instead of getting down to business. 

“Ash called. We’ve located the truck.” 

“Good, get people on it. As soon as you have the driver, give me a call.” Dean hangs up, and thinks about leaning back, maybe even lying down again, to catch up on more sleep, but he feels that his body is awake, feels the restlessness that’s creeping up his spine. Instead of taking a nap, he gets up and walks towards the bathroom. He needs a shower to wash away the rest fatigue that hangs heavy on his shoulders.

    Y/N wakes to vibrations of her phone on the nightstand. Blindly, she reaches for it and blinks a couple of times. Still, she leaves her eyes closed because there’s no way she can open them right now. They burn and sting. Those night shifts are clearly starting to take a toll on her and her body has a hard time adjusting to it.

She thinks back to last night, how Dean was nervous about asking her out and she can’t help but grin, thinking that it was actually kind of cute.  

When she’s ready to open her eyes to look at her phone, she sees a couple of texts from Linda, who she has saved as Mom on her phone. 

“Is everything alright?” 

“Hey, sweetie, answer me.”

“I’m really getting worried here.” 

And the last one...

“I swear, if I don’t hear anything I’ll send someone around and we’re blowing this whole thing off!”

Y/N thumbs over the screen lazily, yawning when she types a text in reply. 

“Geez, calm down, mom. Finally met my target. Everything’s fine. Now wait until I get back to you.” 

She sends it out and deletes the conversation. 

Better safe than sorry. 

  *

  When she gets to the Roadhouse, Ellen’s already in her office and curses at her computer. 

Y/N steps up behind her new boss, “You need help?” 

“This fucking program doesn’t work.” Ellen breathes out, before smashing her hand against the side of the computer monitor and Y/N had to suppress her laugh.

“Doesn’t help if you do that, you know that, right?” 

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Here, let me,” Y/N bends down a little and takes over the mouse. It’s an old book keeping program, nothing fancy. She had a rundown on different programs during training and this was one of them. 

Ellen rolls herself onto the side in her office chair to make more room for Y/N, and watches her typing in some codes and clicking on some buttons. Watch her take over the inventory notes and types in numbers. It’s really simple, Y/N thinks. The Roadhouse is a simple bar, there’s only her on the payroll. The books still need to be made, but that’s not rocket science. 

“Done.” She says after a while and Ellen looks at her surprised, mouth hanging agape, which really does make the older woman look comical. 

“You amaze me, girl,” Ellen smiles, wide and proud, “Glad that I didn’t have to call Ash for it. He’d want to change to a fancy program and what not.”

“Anytime, Ellen.” Y/N stands up, returning Ellen’s smile.

“Why are you here? Your shift doesn’t start for another hour.” 

“I just like to be on time.” She says, “Is Ash in?” 

“Yeah, he’s holed up in his room.” Ellen’s gaze is back on the screen as she takes in the numbers Y/N just typed in.

“Ok, I’ll go out and prepare the tables and chill the drinks,” She calls back to her boss as she walks out the door. Ellen’s too engrossed in her computer to answer her.

So, Ash is in, she’s gotta find a way to get into the room when he’s out. Or drunk. Both things at the same time would be perfect. 

    “Why are we here again?” Sam twists in his seat to be able to look at Dean as they are driving out to the Roadhouse.

“Ash.” Dean answers short, his voice low.

“You sure? Because normally Ash comes to us,” Sam’s one eyebrow climbs up his forehead, as if he doesn’t believe Dean.

“Yeah, I wanna see what he’s got.” 

It’s a lie. Dean knows where the truck is. Cas’ got his men there since Ash called but the driver is nowhere to be found. They manage to find their own driver though, knocked unconscious some 20 miles north. He can be glad that the driver’s not dead. 

It’s not that Dean knows the driver very well. In fact, he doesn’t know about any of them at all, but he considers them family nonetheless. Losing one of his men is like losing family, and Dean doesn’t entirely like the idea of losing any people at all.

Dean also knows that Sam can read him like a book, and Sam most certainly knows that Cas is already on the case.

“Yeah, right.” Sam scoffs but he doesn’t say more, just leans back and closes his eyes, and Dean’s thankful for that. 

  *

 The Roadhouse is still closed. At least the sign says so, but as Dean drives into the parking lot, he spots her car. 

It is strange how his heart thumbs in his chest. It’s a weird feeling, something unfamiliar. He can’t really say that he likes it, though. But he doesn’t particularly hate it, either.

The music from the jukebox spills out as they open the door to the bar, and Dean stops mid-walk when he sees her, making Sam bump right into his back but Dean doesn’t budge. Instead, he freezes. It’s like the nerves that connect his brain to his limbs have a short circuit. 

Y/N’s singing and dancing as she refills the fridge behind the counter with new bottles of beer. Her hair is up in a ponytail, her shirt today white and a little see through because Dean can clearly see her bra through the shirt.

She stops in her tracks when she notices them, and Dean can see that she’s already blushing. He kind of hates how much her blushing affects him. Almost like she’s a shy deer, his prey, and he’s the hunter who would just tease around to see her blush but then — then he would drive his fangs into her, he would feast on her, make her scream and blush even more, because he can’t get over how adorable she looks when her cheeks are all pink and flushed.

“We’re closed.” She says but doesn’t stop doing what she does, doesn’t really even look up, and Dean knows that she’s embarrassed, ashamed to meet his eyes. He wonders why that is.

“Just here to see Ash. You’re new?” Sam finds a way around Dean and walks towards the bar, and Dean’s out of his trance, following Sam.

“Yeah, just started a couple of days ago.” Y/N says, grins a little at Sam but wouldn’t let them interrupt her from her work.

“Ah,” Sam looks at Dean, a fucking stupid grin on his face. 

What a fucking idiot, Dean thinks.

“Shut up.” Dean mutters under his breath and Sam shrugs, the grin still tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You must be Sam,” She pushes the cooling drawer close with a swing of her hips and turns to face them. Dean could see Sam raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Sam, this is Y/N.” He thought that introducing them is the least he could do.

Sam smiles at her and she’s blushing again. Dean can’t help but feel a bit jealous. 

“So, I heard you’re opening your own law firm? That’s a great achievement. Congratulations!” She bends down and grabs another handful of bottles from the crate.

“Uh..thanks?” Sam is confused, Dean can see it. 

“I can’t wait for the opening.” She then smiles brightly before she turns around to place the bottles into the mini fridge behind the counter. 

She has her back to them, can’t possibly see how Sam looks at Dean with a puzzled expression on his face.

Sam clears his throat then, “Alright, I’ll go see where Ash is.” and walks to the door at the back.

Dean pauses at the counter, letting Sam slip out. He watches her until she looks at him, “You okay?”

Y/N raises her eyebrows and huffs out a breath,  “Yeah, why shouldn’t I be?”

Yeah, why shouldn’t she be, Dean thinks to himself. Thinks, that he’s a fucking idiot, too.

“Right, okay. Good.” He turns away from her, doesn’t really know where to look or where to go, thinking about taking off, why did he think coming here was a good idea?

Just when Dean is about to will his feet to take a step, she says something, making him freeze, “Did you sleep alright?” There’s a small smile on her face. Something that makes him relax. She continues, “Not hungover?”

He lets out a breath and turns back to her, smiling a little because, maybe? Maybe he’s not a fucking idiot after all. “Yeah,” He runs a hand through his hair, nervous all of a sudden, “No, I felt fine this morning.” 

It’s, of course, a lie.

She nods, and he walks towards the back door where Sam disappeared through. He holds the door open before he turns around again, “Bye, Y/N.”

Dean shakes his head as the door closes.

Yeah, he definitely is a fucking idiot.

He looks up again to see Sam leaning against the wall, his brother's arms are crossed over his chest. “How did she know about the opening?”

“I invited her.”

“Oh, so we just invite everyone that crosses our path now?” 

Dean shushed Sam grumpily, “Calm the fuck down, alright? I invited her because Crowley expects a lot of women and we don’t exactly know a lot of them unless we pay them, do we?”

He waits for the words to set in Sam’s mind. He’s right, and Sam knows it. 

“Whatever,” Sam scoffs, and turns around to make his way to Ash’s room. Before he knocks, Sam turns to Dean, “You ran a check on her?”

“She’s good, Sam. Trust me.”

  *

 They’re standing in the abandoned warehouse. Cas’ is by Dean’s side.

“So, Zachariah,” Dean snickers, “Can I call you Zach, yeah?” He takes a step closer to Zach who looks up at Dean, his face bruised, his eyes beaten black. Cas’ work, Dean knows. When it comes to thieves, Cas has no patience whatsoever.

“A little birdie told me that you stole from me,” Dean smiles a little, his teeth are sharp, his tongue wetting his lips, “How much did he get away with, Cas?” 

“Five.” Cas answers dryly, playing along.

“Five?” Dean lifts an eyebrow at Cas. “Are you telling me we’re arguing here about five fucking pounds of meth?” 

Dean knows that he wouldn’t care less about five pounds. Wouldn’t even get out here into the dirty and smelly neighborhood because some scumbag thinks that five pounds of meth is worth his fucking time. No, he’d only send his people, but this — this is much bigger than that.

“Five tons, Dean,” Cas says, playing his role in the charade, and rolls his eyes. And Dean registered that, thinking that the eye rolling is entirely Cas and not the part of the good cop he’s playing, “And two cases of bottled Opium. Pure. Not to add the twelve crates of brand new AK-47’s.”

“Oh, now we’re talking,” Dean snickers, and lowers himself down a little, squatting on his tiptoes to look at Zach who’s blood from his nose drops to the floor. Dean’s careful not to get any blood on his shoes or his suit.

Dean’s really not dumb, he just acts like it. Sometimes you need to give them a little show. He knows that Zach has stolen the whole damn truck, they only found him because of the tracking device he has on each and every one of his vehicles.

“So, Zach,” Dean looks at him and holds out his hand, the barrel of Dean’s gun is placed below Zach’s chin. He lifts it up so Zach would look him in the eye, “Who told you to do it.” 

Zach spits blood onto the floor, missing Dean’s shoes by a mere inch and Dean grits his teeth, “Nobody, I did it myself.” Zach says, his voice strained, vocal chords hurting.

“Ah, so you just woke up one day and thought, hey, I’m too lazy to cook my own meth, why don’t I just steal from someone who wouldn’t miss it, eh?”

Zach’s lips are sealed.

“Look Zach, normally, I would be more patient. Maybe strip you of your limbs first, starting with your nails, then maybe your eyelids…” 

It’s a lie. Dean always starts with the eyelids first. Because he wants the people to see what he’s doing to them. 

“…I’d do it until you tell me who gave you the fucking order, but you know what? I’m really not in a good mood tonight.”

Not a word of a lie. Dean hasn’t been in a good mood because he’d rather be anywhere else but here. 

“You’d have to kill me, I won’t say shit!” Zach spits out more blood, some droplets made it on Dean’s shoe and Dean’s not particularly amused by that.

He can’t believe that someone would rather die for Lucifer. They really must be brain dead. Or like, brainwashed.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he takes it out. Answering on the fourth ring. 

“What?!” He barks into the phone, waiting for the other party to answer.

“It’s a decoy. They’re testing us. Ash deciphered a code. It’s a fucking test run, Dean!” Sam sounds strangely calm over the phone. “They just want to see how long it’d take us.”

Dean pockets his phone away without a goodbye and turns to look at Cas. “Cas, I’m leaving. I got no fucking time for this shit.”

“Oh, come on! You’re kidding me!” Cas says, “What do you want me to do, Dean?”

Dean walks towards Zach again and before Cas could even blink, Dean places a bullet in Zach’s head, “There. Done.” He shrugs, placing the gun back in its holster. 

“Great. Well done, Dean. Now we don’t know who he’s working for.”

Cas is annoyed, Dean can tell.

Dean turns to walk away, the heel of his shoes clicking on the cement floor. “Sam said it’s a decoy, Cas. They just wanted to see if they could get away with it and if they could, they wanted to see how long it would take us to be on their case. They’re planning something,” Dean lifts a hand in a wave, turning around one last time before he breaks for a run, “Oh, and you know, get Zach’s body out of here, that’d be great!” 

Dean doesn’t know where he is rushing to. He just knows that he needs a fucking drink.

 CH05 

[notquiteaghost]

there’s nothing i wouldn’t do

mcu/hawkeye comics, post-avengers, barney&clint, 2k

inspired by this post

AO3 link in notes

He wasn’t expecting it to be a thing, is the problem.

Like, how often do aliens fucking invade New York? Once in a lifetime deal, it’s gotta be. Clint was busy — with having a hole in his chest, but SHIELD wouldn’t like him picking fights with run-of-the-mill mobsters, so it was, once again, up to Barney to step up and keep his baby brother safe. Hell, even if Clint could’ve got out his building without passing out, Barney still probably would’ve gone instead. Clint’s just a guy.

He had a plan, and it should’ve been simple. Bandana tied round his face, hair hidden under a beanie, and only Natasha’s gonna notice which Barton is actually slinging the arrows around, and Natasha’s well-aware of Clint’s stab wound. Murder all the aliens, sit through Coulson’s lecture on Clint’s behalf, hopefully their building’s still standing by the end of it. Hold it over Clint’s head until they die. Never, ever do it again.

Except.

He goes after the wannabe god, and the wannabe god can, obviously, control fucking minds, so then he shoots a shit ton of almost-entirely-innocent SHIELD employees. And then Natasha knocks him out of it and they all murder a shit ton of aliens, so hopefully SHIELD will cancel the shoot on sight order, but after all the aliens are dead, Tony goddamn Stark drags them all to get shawarma, and it’s not like Barney can say no. He can’t make Captain America think Clint’s an asshole.

And then, three days later, when Barney’s trying to explain to Coulson that, no, Clint is absolutely not going to fucking Russia, Clint can’t lift his arms, and also they’re still trying to get back the power in their building and also also as far as SHIELD is concerned it was Clint who got used as a puppet by a hostile alien and then bounced without any kind of medical eval so what is this actually about, because it sure as shit ain’t a human trafficking ring — three days later, his phone rings. Caller ID says Your New Sugar Daddy, so it’s Stark, so Barney hangs up on Coulson and answers it.

“Y’know, I could use some new shoes,” he says, throwing Clint’s phone on the couch when it immediately starts buzzing again. “What’re your terms? How much skin am I showing to get some new shoes?”

Stark splutters, but recovers within seconds and says, “Shoes are a titty pic at least,” and Barney is suddenly, sinkingly certain that him and Stark could be friends. It makes him shudder. 

He bites back the joke he wants to make about how many titty pics he gets to send before Stark stops buying him shoes, and says, “Titty pics ain’t why you’re calling, though.”

“Heard you’ve been having some apartment trouble,” Stark agrees, casually, like he has any way of knowing that that isn’t really fucking creepy. “Y’know, I have this great big tower. It’s got, amongst a lot of other things, an entirely self-sustaining power system.”

“…You want me to move in with you?”

“I’m just letting you know it’s an option, that’s all.”

Barney narrows his eyes. “Anyone else say yes?”

Stark huffs. “You’re first on my list, actually. Figured I’d start with the easiest, work my way up.”

Again, Barney bites his tongue. He cannot flirt with Tony Stark when Tony Stark thinks he’s his brother, no matter how funny it is. He’s sworn off starting shit with Clint since they got banned from Lithuania. “And what if I like my apartment?”

The briefest of pauses, before Stark says, “Then you keep living in your apartment. Again, just letting you know your options.”

“Pay to have the power lines for my block fixed,” Barney says, just as Clint stumbles out his room, “and maybe I’ll swing by for lunch. That’s what this is really about, yeah? Team building shit?”

“Wait, your block doesn’t have power?”

Clint is staring at him, eyes narrowing. He’s been awake maybe ten minutes, and it’s a coin toss if he’s remembered to put his aids in yet. Barney makes a face at him. “Half the damn city doesn’t have power, don’t you watch the news? Hell, ain’t people waving big signs outside your front door?”

“I’ve been—” Stark starts, then stops himself, then presumably remembers he’s trying to tempt Barney into some kinda morning-cartoons perma-sleepover and that’s gonna require some emotional vulnerability, and says, “Been in the workshop, mostly. The suit didn’t cope so well in the vacuum of space. But, yeah, power, I can do power. Text me about lunch.”

“Only if Captain America’s there, too,” Barney says, then hangs up. Clint’s eyes are even narrower. He’s gonna give himself a headache. “What?”

“Were you talking to Tony Stark?”

“Yeah, he wants me to move in with him.”

“He wants me to move in with him,” Clint counters.

“Hey, I’m the one who actually fought the aliens, kid—”

“I was all for fighting the aliens! You ziptied me to the bed!”

“And that you couldn’t get out of those makes it clear you were in no shape for fighting the aliens.” Barney walks into the kitchen, digs through their pile of homecooked food — you showing up on TV saving the world makes everyone want to cook you things, it turns out — for Clint’s pain meds. Clint leans against the wall and looks pitiful.

“Maybe I wanna live with Tony Stark,” he says. Barney laughs, hands Clint the tablets and the water so his hands are free to talk.

“Thought you were gonna die in this shithole. Thought, next time anyone shoots you, you were gonna demand they carry you back here so you can bleed out on the floor since getting the blood out’ll be someone else’s problem.”

“Bet Stark’s eyesore of a tower’s got power, though.”

“And soon,” Barney assures him, “so will we.”

Clint shuffles back to the couch and flops over it, and almost hides his wince at the feelings his stab wound has about that. “Bet Stark’s tower’s got heated floors. Stupid fast internet. Bet he’s got chefs and cleaners and everything.”

Barney always forgets how being hurt makes Clint into a five year-old again. “If some stranger tried to clean your room, you would stab them.” Clint sticks his tongue out.

Then he jumps, because Barney’s phone is buzzing again. Got his aids in, then.

It’s a text, this time, from an unknown number.

???: Stark tells me you’ll only come out to play if I come out too - Steve

“Holy shit,” Barney says, “Captain America is texting me.”

“What the fuck,” Clint pushes himself up, “Give me the phone. Give me the phone! He’s texting me!”

“Again,” Barney says, typing complete nonsense so Clint hears the tapping noise, “it was me who he bonded with when we murdered a load of aliens together, he has no idea who you are.”

“Barney. He’s Captain America.”

Goddammit, that fucking whine. He throws Clint his phone.

Then stands behind him to watch him type.

You: he ain’t exactly my usual kinda buddy

You: appreciate the thing with the missile obviously but also i don’t think he pays taxes?

Clint backspaces four times to change his terrible text speak for actual words. It’s hilarious. 

steve!!!!: He fucking better.

You: if you yell at him about this please film it

You: i promise not to put it online i just want it playing on a loop in my apartment

steve!!!!: He says ‘Excuse me of course I pay taxes, I have to get rid of all this money somehow’

steve!!!!: I’m double-checking with Miss Potts.

You: did shield just give you the phone numbers of the entire population of new york

steve!!!!: No, I think it’s only 30%.

You: oh shit do you have fury’s number

steve!!!!: Strangely, no.

You: dammit

You: one day

“You are definitely the reason Fury didn’t give Captain America his personal cell number,” Barney says. Clint shoves at him. 

steve!!!!: Not planning on moving into Stark’s place, then?

You: think living somewhere that expensive would give me a rash

You: don’t tell shield this but i stole my apartment from the mob

“Oh my God Clint they are definitely reading his texts,” Barney groans.

You: hey uh unrelated but anyone give you an update on opsec

Clint glares at him, pointedly, then makes a truly inhuman noise when he reads Steve’s next reply.

steve!!!!: Is that an offer?

“Oh my fucking God I’m gonna become best friends with Captain America,” Clint says, low and reverent.

Barney rolls his eyes. “He still thinks he’s talking to me.”

“So? You wore a mask and shit, he won’t notice.”

“You are so fucking injured. He will definitely notice.”

“Okay, then you wear a wire, and I tell you what to say—”

Barney snatches the phone back, types out ‘hell yeah let’s get a drink, when you free?’, then locks it and tucks it away. Clint is fully pouting.

“I’m going out,” Barney reminds him. “Coulson wants you in Russia, I’m gonna find out the fuck why. Amuse yourself for a while, you can keep flirting with Captain America when I get back.”

“If you really loved me you’d wear a wire,” Clint huffs. Barney ruffles his hair and goes to find his jacket.

–––––––––––––––

“Explain to me again,” Coulson says, exasperated in a way Barney’s more used to seeing directed at Clint, “why you thought pretending to be Clint was in any way a good plan.”

Usually, they have chats like these in some pretentious hipster place, where all the drinks have dumb names and cost twenty bucks a pop, but for obvious reasons that’s not happening. So, they’re in a park, miraculously untouched. There’s a flock of pigeons going at what looks like some bodega’s entire stock of bread.

“Clint was stabbed doing something SHIELD don’t need to know about; SHIELD didn’t tap me for the Avengers, ‘cause they still think I’d sell them all out for the right price; aliens were invading New York; I live in New York and I didn’t have any other plans.”

Coulson pinches at the bridge of his nose. He for sure agrees Barney made the right call, given the givens, and he will for sure die before he ever admits it. Barney is the reason the wannabe god didn’t stab him through the chest, though, so Barney is gonna try and make him admit it.

“You don’t have clearance to know about the Avengers.”

“Half the world knows about the Avengers, we were on every news channel there is.”

“Prior to the Chitauri invasion,” Coulson says, exasperation ticking up a notch, “you did not have clearance to know about the Avengers Initiative. SHIELD already don’t trust you, and now you’ve been compromised by a hostile alien with unknown motivations and allegiances—”

“Which is why SHIELD’s gotta keep thinking it was Clint,” Barney agrees, “‘cause they'll just straight up shoot me.”

Coulson sighs, heavily. But he doesn’t disagree.

“Going forward, then,” he says. “Are you going to continue to be Hawkeye?”

“I kinda really thought the alien invasion was a one-time thing. You telling me we’re expecting more aliens?”

“Not with any certainty,” which is Coulson for ‘yeah, probably’. “But I, for one, would rather we were prepared. And with the way some things are going, the Avengers may be needed for purely Earth-based disputes.”

“You get superheroes, you’re asking for supervillains?”

“Unfortunately.”

Barney lets out a long breath. It should be hilarious, that some idiot might actually pull on a cape and a dumb mask and try to take over the world, but he just got done stopping the last idiot, and they’re still pulling out the bodies. Morning cartoons never have collateral damage.

“I gotta talk to Clint,” he says. “He’d be better at it, but he’s been muttering about bouncing from SHIELD lately. Taking it real personal that you don’t trust me, who’d’ve thunk it.”

“I trust you,” Coulson says, lightly. Barney rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, no shit. Look, I’ll go to Russia, but someone’s gotta babysit Clint while I’m gone. I’m sick of the fucker pulling his stitches.”

“I don’t know who’s going to be there to meet you—”

“This ain’t the first mission I’ve run in Clint’s place.”

Coulson blinks. Huh, Barney had honestly thought he knew about that. “Well,” he says, “then you leave bright and early tomorrow morning. Try not to get in too much trouble, would you?”

Barney grins, trademark Barton asshole. “No promises.” 

[heartofsnark]

This Is Love (Chapter One): Welcome to Hope County

Notes: Soooo, I’ve been talking about this for a bit and it’s time to just take the jump and start publishing my Far Cry 5 fic. I hope you enjoy. Also, i have like a series warning for this that will be on every chapter cause it needs it. 

Summary: Dahlia Hale is the youngest person working at the Hope County Sheriff’s Department. Hailing from a small town in Louisiana, it’s going to take her some time to fully acclimate to the new environment and living on her own. Developing friendships takes time even for the most functional of people and for disasters like Dahlia it takes even longer. She gets along with her coworkers and there’s some religious family who’s taken a shine to her, for some reason. It seems like she’s on her way to getting the kind of friends she’s only ever dreamed about, even if it’s going to take some more time. 

Then everything goes to shit. 

Halfway through her six-month probationary hire and that nice religious family has kicked off a holy war with her becoming enemy number one.

To one side she’s a hero. 

To the other she’s a monster. She’s not sure which is right. 

Word Count: 9,290

Series Warning: I usually do not like to spoil endgame pairings in my fics, but this warrants being up front. This series is polyseed and involves heavy, recurrent themes of at times romanticized noncon, dubcon, large age differences, and stockholm syndrome that develops into a romantic relationship. The relationship between my oc and the Seeds is extremely unhealthy, toxic, and should never be replicated or sought out in real life. No matter how things progress or how they are portrayed at different points, this fact remains the same. i am comfortable exploring and enjoying these themes in fiction, not everyone is. If you are uncomfortable with or triggered by any of these things, please skip this and take the precautions you feel necessary to avoid this material. If you are an individual who struggles with separating reality and fiction; please do not read this. Otherwise, if you’re comfortable with and enjoy that kind of content, please enjoy. 

Chapter Warnings: Bliss flowers, hallucinations, threats of violence (really not bad compared to whats to come)

A shiver rolls down Dahlia’s spine, the chill of the Montana night settling into her bones. A sign welcomes her to Hope County, her motorcycle tire spinning dirt at it as she passes. The moon shines bright in the sky, cascading silver light down on everything. It’s beautiful despite the cold, light reflecting off the lakes and streams that pass through the county.  

It’s mostly woods and forests, fields of big white flowers and animals wandering through. The entire county is begging to be put on a postcard, from the animals, to the fields, to the…giant cement statue of a guy with a manbun…

Her tires squeal as she comes to a stop on the thankfully vacant road, she pushes the visor of her helmet up, as if the tint could cause her to see something like this. Sure enough, the white hunk of stone is still there. It’s of a man with his hair pulled back in a small bun, in one hand he holds a book and the other gestures outward. 

Hair raises on the back of her neck and goosebumps collect across her skin, the statue is…eerie. It looms across the entire region, a creeping specter. Unnerving doesn’t even begin to describe it, her body has started to lean towards it, almost drawn to it. 

Maybe it’s a historical figure for the county? People do that right, build monuments to founders or something. The clothes of the figure seem old fashioned, but she’s not sure about how far back the manbun goes.

She shakes her head and slaps her visor back down, she needs sleep. It shouldn’t be much further to her hotel. Dahlia revs her engine and rushes off that way, finally finding the large wooden hotel with its red roof. There’s a large wooden sign welcoming her to the King’s Hot Spring Hotel, the parking lot is decidedly vacant, and she comes to a stop by the smaller stone black sign that sits close to the larger wooden one, easy to overlook if someone wasn’t looking close enough. 

“King’s Hot Spring Hotel

On May 12th, 1902 a 7.6 earthquake struck the mountain south of the hotel. It created a 10 million ton landslide that sliced a deep crevice in the earth and destroyed half the King’s hotel. 16 people were killed in the landslide, their bodies never recovered. To this day, their ghosts are said to haunt the site of the rebuilt hotel. 

Built 1866.”

So, from a dirty cockroach motel to a haunted hotel, certainly a step up. She doesn’t really believe in ghosts, they’re cool as all hell, she loves creepy shit. But she doesn’t think any of it is real and if she’s wrong, maybe the ghosts will be nice enough to kill her. She parks her bike and shuts off the engine, unclipping her storage bag from it and making her way to the door. 

The inside feels warm and welcoming, rustic. A large stone fireplace with a bear skin rug in front of it, wooden stairs leading to the upper floors. Her eyes scan the room and she finds a registration desk where a woman sits, reading from a white book. She stands out slightly in the old styled hotel, tattoos covering her arms. The woman’s light, almost milky, green eyes, look up to see Dahlia as she makes her way to the desk. 

“I called ahead and reserved a room for tonight.” 

“Hale, right?” The girl flashes a soft smile as she slides the registration forms across the desk and Dahlia finds herself looking down at the receptionist’s arms, SLOTH and ENVY with strikes through them; half tattooed and half scarred in the woman’s skin. Heavy-handed work. 

“Yeah, that’s me, how’d you know?” 

“Oh, not many folks check in here anymore, between the ghost tales and the new management.” 

“Management?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow as she finishes scribbling in her info and handing her card over. 

“Here,” the woman hands Dahlia’s card back along with a room key and a map, “I’m sure you’ll find the path.” 

“Uhh…thanks…” 

She shakes her head as she leaves the desk, doing a double take at the worker, who’s now back to reading the large white tome with a soft smile on her face. Dahlia is entirely too tired to deal with weird cryptic people, maybe she’s trying to play up the creepy factor of the supposedly haunted hotel. Probably intrigues the tourists or some shit. She takes her phone from her pocket, ringing Lloyd as she walks to her room. 

“Hey, Stray,” He greets her with the nickname he gave her and she already feels a little better despite the chill and exhaustion. 

“Hey,” Dahlia unlocks her room and strides in, there’s a deer head mounted on the wall and a vase of those white flowers on the bedside drawer, “just wanted to let you know that I am officially in Hope County.” 

She tosses her luggage, along with the gunk the receptionist gave her onto the bed and does a fist bump for no one’s benefit but her own. 

“That’s good, your interview is tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah, hopefully it’ll go well, if not it might be another year of me eating cheese puffs on your couch.” 

“You make it sound like you’re some sort of bum.” 

“I mean…” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m gonna be a mess when you go.” 

“If I go, still gotta get the job.” 

“You’re gonna nail it, I know it, me and Earl were friends way back. He’s not dumb enough to let you go. And if he is, well, I’ll be having some words with him.”

“You can’t fight someone for not wanting to hire me.” 

“I mean, I can, uh, yeah, sweetie it’s stray, I was kinda, oh Caroline wants-“ 

“Stray, did you throw your fucking phone away?” Caroline, Lloyd’s wife, is on the phone in a second, worriedly yelling. 

“I talked to you when I stopped off in Denver.” 

“Yeah, in a dingy nasty motel and then we didn’t hear a word from you for over twelve fucking hours!” 

“I’m pretty sure I could handle myself,” Dahlia laughs and rolls her eyes, the concern is appreciated but unneeded. She’s a cop and despite her short stature, she’s got muscles and knows how to protect her. Maybe it’s cocky and arrogant, but at this point in her life, she’s not afraid of anything hurting her physically, mentally and emotionally is a whole other ballpark. 

“Still, what if you were in an accident. Have you ate? Do you know where you’re eating tonight?” 

She ate back in Denver and her stomach is growling now, but she mostly just wants a shower and sleep. She’d rather just grab room service for breakfast. 

“I’m fine, I’ve ate and I will eat. Stop worrying, now I’m gonna get settled in for the night, I’ll call you after the interview.” 

“Wait, ha-”

“Goodbye, mon cher,” Dahlia ends the call after her casual term of endearment, cher and mon cher as normal to her as bud or pal. Maybe it’s just a Cajun French Louisiana thing, or it’s one of the many things she picked up from her dad. She instinctively plays with the ring that hangs from a chain around her neck, he was always so proud of where he came from, teaching her Cajun French from the moment she could talk. Would he be upset with her leaving the state? 

She shakes the thought from her head, she can’t concern herself with the opinions of people who aren’t here, as much as they’d mean to her. Dahlia finally has the tools to be independent and make her own way in this world, she needs to seize any and every opportunity. She double checks that her door is locked, before stripping out of her clothes. 

Dahlia sets her phone to play music as she takes a shower, singing along to it as hot water eases her aching muscles. Once she’s cleaned, she dries off and starts to make her way to the bed where her luggage is. 

The large white blooms on the table between the bed and window, draw her eye, her suspicion confirmed that they’re the same as the fields of flowers she saw on her way here. They must be a common flower here. She’s not a plant person, but she can appreciate pretty flowers when she sees them. The petals are soft against her finger and she pulls out one of the fresh flowers, sniffing at it. It tickles her nose, the soft scent pleasant, but it makes her want to sneeze. She tucks it back in the vase and scrubs at her nose.

Her vision swims for a moment, suddenly light-headed. She hasn’t slept much and has been driving a lot, her eyes must be tired as well. 

Dahlia digs some comfy sleeping clothes from her bag to change into. Content in her shorts and tee, the hotel much warmer than the outside chill. She pushes her luggage off her bed and takes a look at the Hope County map.  

Her vision is still swimming but she reaffirms where she needs to be tomorrow for her interview. It’s over in Fall’s End at the Sheriff’s Department. Dahlia fishes a marker out of her discarded jacket pocket and then starts to write directions down on her right forearm before tucking the map away. 

She rifles a cigarette from her quickly emptying pack, most places don’t like their hotel rooms stinking like nicotine.

Cool air rushes in as she opens the window, she leans against the windowsill, appreciating the view of the moonlight reflecting in the pool of spring water. Montana really is beautiful. 

She lights her cigarette, looking away for a second to ignite it. 

“Ooooh ooooh~” A soft melodic voice drifts in, piercing the quiet, and Dahlia’s head snaps back to the window. 

In the grass, a woman surrounded by green mist spins and dances, singing softly into the night. She’s young, but still older than Dahlia with dirty blonde hair that falls past her shoulders. A white lace dress with flowers across the waist and skirt. Illuminated by moonlight, a heavenly glow, angelic but singing a siren’s song. 

Who would be out there at this time of night?

Dahlia’s the only one in the hotel and she doubts the staff indulges in nightly dance sessions. 

When did Dahlia start leaning further out the window? 

Every fiber of her being screams at her to run to the woman. To jump out the window if she has to, anything to get closer to the hauntingly beautiful woman dancing along the decks before the spring. 

Dahlia slams the window shut, quick and hard enough to rattle it. It’s late, she’s exhausted, she’s ridden her bike almost twenty-eight hours straight. Only stopping for a late night in a shitty hotel in Denver before getting back on the road at eight am this morning. 

Between ghost stories and exhaustion her brain is fucking with her. 

The woman’s singing is still there. 

Softer now but still present, still beckoning. 

Every muscle in her body is tense, prepared to bolt in order to go find that woman. 

She smashes her fist against the side of her head, the impact of her knuckles rattling her skull as she literally tries to knock sense into herself. Her visions seem to clear a bit and she can’t hear the singing anymore, but she also might have concussed herself. 

Her cigarette is stamped out before she’s even halfway through it and she’s setting her phone alarm before jumping into the bed. 

She buries her face in the pillow, no matter what she hears or thinks she’ll see, she’s not going anywhere until the morning. This interview is the most stressful thing she’s dealt with in years, so much rides on it, and she can’t be exhausted tomorrow from chasing fairy ghosts or what the fuck ever. 

Her mind is just playing tricks on her, it’s an asshole, it does that. 

She’s not certain exactly when she fell asleep, but the next thing she knows her alarm is going off. Dahlia groans and forces herself out of bed, she hates waking up. Her interview isn’t even late, but god, fuck waking up. 

Her head is clearer now, no swimming in her vision and no singing or sirens. She forces her way out of bed, groggily trying to go about her day. 

She’s running late, she’s always running late, time isn’t real.

After taking her sweet sleepy time to get herself put together and inhaling a room service breakfast, Dahlia is running down the hotel stairs and scrubbing syrup off her chin. Why does she do this to herself? The receptionist calls out something and she waves her off. 

Helmet slapped on and engine revving, she guns it out of the parking lot and makes her way to towards the Valley. She comes to a bridge and pulls her arm from her jacket to read her scribbled directions, remembering too late that she can’t read her own handwriting. 

She squints trying to decipher what the hell she wrote, her chicken scratch leaving a lot to be desired. It looks like it might say she’s going to Holland Valley or Halland Volley or Hallard, something to that effect by crossing the Honne…Benne…Rover….Dridge… Why does she do this to herself?

She’s probably on the right track, probably. Dahlia readjusts her jacket, confirming that her mess of directions won’t be getting any clearer the longer she stares at it and makes her way over the bridge. More signs hang from the inner framework of the bridge, half of them bearing a cross symbol with what looks like sunbeams coming from the center, the other half states The Power Of YES; Take The Leap.

Heebie jeebies nest in her gut, those goosebumps from earlier coming back. Religion…

Maybe it was too optimistic, but she had hoped further up North she’d see less of…that. She did searches online and was told based on some statistical thing that Montana was less religious than Louisiana. But apparently religion isn’t completely avoidable in the United States. 

The crisp smell of apples manages to break through her helmet as she leaves the bridge. Apple trees as far as the eye can see, bright red fruit gleaming under sunlight, a giant orchard surrounds the road. People mill about the apple trees; couples holding hands and parents hefting their children up on their shoulders to pick the highest apples their little hands can reach. A few people look at her as she rides past, the rev of her engine and the music pounding from her helmet drawing attention. Some looks are judgmental, others unconcerned, a small kid waves at her as she passes by and she waves back, smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. There’s a constructed Apple Statue in the orchard, noting that she’s riding through the Gardenview Orchard.

Over the horizon, built into the hills of the Holland Valley is a giant Hollywood style sign that says ‘YES’. It’s infinitely less creepy than the weird man statue, but far cheesier. Whether that’s better or worse? Who knows, but Hope County is definitely…weirder than she anticipated. 

She passes through the orchard and coming up on the left apple trees are replaced with pumpkins on the ground. Fields growing them, some clearly bigger and further along in the growing process, none fully ripe, however. A house is built among the fields, one fence with a sign that says Rae-Rae’s Pumpkin Farm. 

There’s a couple walking around, holding hands, but more importantly there’s a dog. A mottled coat of black, white, and blue gray with a bandana around their neck. The dog’s head raises at the rev of Dahlia’s motorcycle engine passing by on the road, tail wagging but he doesn’t run out, a well-trained doggo. 

She’s running late. 

She doesn’t have time. 

One pet can’t hurt. 

Dahlia comes to a screeching halt, tires squealing and bracing herself against her handlebars of her bike so she doesn’t fly across the farm. The couple taken aback, staring wide-eyed at her as she kills her music and yanks off her helmet. The doggie is still wagging its tail, eager to meet their new friend. 

“Can I pet your dog?” 

The couple is older, by Dahlia standards, so probably around their thirties…or forties…or twenties…ages confuse her. A woman with short sandy hair and a man with a knit hat over his head, the woman’s dropped jaw becomes a soft smile, her eyes gentle. 

“Of course,” a thick southern accent tints her voice, “Boomer’s doesn’t know a stranger.” 

Dahlia stays outside the wooden fence, not wanting to step on crops or something, but she leans over it. Boomer’s big brown eyes landing on her, so cute, she already loves him. A few coos and he’s already rushing over, standing to put his paws at the top of the fence so he can get some much-deserved love. She pets the top of his head, scratching behind his ears and around his neck. He eagerly leans into scritch and pet, licking her. 

“Awww, such a good boy, yes you are,” she praises and laughs, soaking it in. Even if she’s running late, this is more than worth it. 

“You’re not from around here, are you?” The woman asks. 

“Nah, here for a job interview,” Dahlia answers, hugging around Boomer’s neck as she snuggles him. 

“Where you interviewing at?” 

“Sheriff’s department.” 

“You’re kind of young for a cop, ain’tcha?”

“I’m an adult,” she says, shrugging her shoulders through the hug. She is a young adult and that’s all that needs to be said on that. 

“They finally trying to fill that deputy position?” 

“Seems like it.” 

“Sorry, to brush you off so soon, but we have to go pick up some equipment before noon and we’re already cutting it close.” 

Shit, right, time. She’s running late too, but the dog was worth it. 

“No problem, have a good one, you keep being a good boy, Boomer.” 

She gives a final scratch to his head, then slides her helmet back on, waving off the couple as she hops back on her bike. Her nerves have eased slightly at having gotten some time with a dog and even if she’s late, she doesn’t regret it. 

Her engine revs and she’s back to traveling down the quiet Montana roads. The sheriff’s department is in Fall’s End. A water tower baring the town’s name lets her know she’s arrived in the right area. It’s not a huge town. Along the main road, there’s the sheriff’s department, a general store, a bar, a church. There’s little streets and roadways showing that beyond those there’s houses and an apartment complex. Not huge, but certainly bigger than where she’s from, which…isn’t saying much. 

Dahlia parks her motorcycle outside the sheriff’s department, all those initially dissipated nerves are bubbling back to the surface. Her stomach in absolute knots and her muscles tense with anxiety. She shuts off her bike and pockets her keys then pulls off her helmet, fiddling with her hair. A deep breath, before she finally steels herself to step into the building.  

There’s a desk to Dahlia’s right when she enters the building, an older woman with a layered bob of red hair. 

“There something I can help you with, darling?” Her southern accented voice asks. 

“I have an interview with the sheriff.”

“Really,” the woman’s eyes scan Dahlia up and down, eyebrows furrowed in judgement, “can I get your name?” 

“Hale,” she murmurs, once again fiddling with her messy strands of dark hair. She knows she doesn’t exactly look the most professional right now. But professional clothes and motorcycles don’t truly mix. The woman, her desk tag says N. McClure, shuffles through some documents and reads over something. 

“Okay, just take a seat and I’ll let Earl know you’re here.”

Dahlia plops down in one of the reception area’s chairs, fiddling with the cat ears on her motorcycle helmet. Her leg bounces up and down, shaking out excess energy as the woman at the desk starts to call back, asking for Whitehorse. It’ll be fine, Dahlia reassures herself, Lloyd and Caroline have been talking her up to their old friend. All she needs to do is be herself, maybe, probably not. She’s kind of a mess. 

The clock hand ticks slowly, Dahlia feeling like she’s about to go crazy waiting for her interview to start. Finally, the woman hangs up the phone she was calling back to Whitehorse on, a soft smile on her face that pulls at the wrinkles around her eyes. 

“Earl’s ready to talk to you, come on back.”

The older woman steps out and helps show Dahlia to the office door, passing through a bullpen style office area to get there, Sheriff Whitehorse is scrawled on a plaque by the door. Dahlia knocks and he tells her to come on in, she slowly opens the door and steps in. There’s a modest sized quaint office with only a few personal touches. She’s only seen old photos Lloyd had of himself and Whitehorse, from way back in police academy. The man before her is much older than he was in those photos, weathered with wrinkled skin. He looks like an old sheriff pulled directly from a movie; green uniform, cowboy hat, scraggly brown hair, and a mustache.

“You’re Lloyd and Caroline’s Stray, right?” He says, standing up from his desk to shake her hand over it. He’s over a foot taller than her, probably close to a foot and a half. His hand swallows her own whole, it’s probably bigger than her face. 

“Holy shit, you’re tall.” 

That’s not a good way to start an interview, but he seems to be laughing and smiling. So, maybe it’s fine. Lloyd once said she has a charm about her despite her lack of tact or decorum. She’s still trying to figure out what that charm is, but still. 

“Go ahead and take a seat,” he says, gesturing at the chair in front of his desk. She follows suit, leg still bouncing like it was in the waiting room. Whitehorse puts a manilla folder down on the desk, the little tab labeled D. Hale. It’s surprisingly thick for someone who’s never met her in person. 

“Lloyd and Caroline talk highly of you, hell the whole town does.” 

“The whole town…?” She raises an eyebrow, what’s that supposed to mean? Reinette, Louisiana is a small town, it’s police department has about six people in total and everyone knows everyone. But certainly, they wouldn’t call up Whitehorse to talk about her. 

“I swear Lloyd must have handed out the stations number to everyone down there, we’ve been getting two, three calls a day of people who can’t say enough good things about you.” 

“Oh god.” Heat flushes up Dahlia’s cheeks, god damn it, Lloyd. 

“You’ve left quite an impression on the place.” 

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Dahlia pushes some hair off her face, fidgeting with the locks.

“And you haven’t been working there long, have you?”

“Not counting training, about a year and a half, I know I don’t have much experience.” 

“Still making such an impact in a short amount of time, says something.” 

“Thanks.” His words soothe her nerves and embarrassment a bit, maybe this will go well.

“But, there’s the issue of your record…”

“My record…?” She shouldn’t have a record, he opens the manilla folder and she feels bile raise in the back of her throat. 

“Between what’s on the books and what everyone was saying, I was starting to wonder if there were two of you, Hale. Runaways, break in, fights, attempted grand theft auto, and petty thefts, the list goes on. Doesn’t exactly scream future cop.” 

“I thought records got expunged at eighteen.”

“If you request it.” 

“Oh…well then…”

“I know this all happened when you were a minor and you’ve been clear for the past two or so years, but…”

“It still looks bad, I know, I know. I’m not going to try to tell you some bullshit excuse or sob story. I did a lot of shit I shouldn’t have for a lot of reasons. I regret most of it, not all of it, but most of it. Lloyd and Caroline helped me get my life back on track, I know two years doesn’t seem like a long time, but I’m not the same kid I was when I did that shit.”

That what she tells him, but she’s not sure how much she believes it. It feels more like her situation’s changed than she’s changed, but if she just said that she’s no longer a delinquent because she doesn’t need to be, well, it wouldn’t sound as good or employable. 

“What made you wanna be a cop?”

“Wanted to help people,” she answers with a shrug, it’s not really anything more complicated than that. Whitehorse huffs out what sounds like a laugh, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Okay, I gotta ask, why here? Lloyd and the whole town loves you. It’s a hell of a move and the pay raise ain’t much.”

“Look,” she sighs and folds her hands on top of her motorcycle helmet, calming her body down, “I love Reinette, I love Lloyd and I love Caroline. I owe them and the whole town a debt that I’ll never pay back. But, I’m twenty years old. I’m not their kid and even if I was it’d be time for me to go, I’ve taken enough of their time, money, and everything. Reinette, bless the town’s heart, it’s...dying. There’s more cows than people, our station has more cars than officers. It won’t be long before they do away with the town’s department and just do everything through the Parish. And the parish’s department doesn’t need any more officers.”

Her throat constricts as bile raises in the back of it, her stomach churning. After everything that town and its people have done for her, she’s leaving them. A traitor, betrayer. 

“You figure any of those officers will even find work in the parish, at all?” He asks with a knowing, soft look in his eye. If he keeps in contact with Lloyd, he’s already well aware of the trouble in Reinette. 

“I doubt it, town’s a sinking ship. Lloyd…he’s willing to go down with it,” her eyes sting and she clenches her jaw, containing herself, “I can’t do that. As much as they all mean to me, I can’t. Lloyd’s gonna retire when it goes under, I’m twenty, the fuck am I supposed to do? I’m trying to help people; I’m trying to make a difference. But my hands keep getting tied because of money, resources, anything and everything. Lloyd and Caroline gave me the means and the tools to make something of myself, I’m not gonna piss that away because some fucker decided we weren’t worth investing in, I…”

She’s clenching her fists and nearly smacking her helmet, anger and frustration welling up inside of her, a geyser of emotions threatening to break through. This is an interview, she can’t do this, can’t be emotional. She needs to stop this, a deep breath before she starts to speak again. 

“I can do more here, I know no place is perfect, but I can do more here.” 

“Well, no one can say you’re not passionate.” Whitehorse lets out another chuckle, seemingly amused. 

“Sorry, certain shit, just winds me up.” She massages the back of her neck, why is she such a fucking idiot? No one wants to hire a cop who can’t keep their cool and throws a fit. She was supposed to tone down her dumbassery, not ramp it up. 

“There’s nothing wrong with caring about what you’re doing.”

“Yeah…” She half-heartedly agrees, Whitehorse is trying to make her feel better. Her interview has become him trying to console her, absolutely pathetic. She might as well call Lloyd and Caroline now and tell them she blew it. 

“You got any questions for me?” 

“Uh…”

Did she just fuck this up as bad as she thinks she did?

 “Not really, I just wanna get to work.” That earns her another chuckle from Whitehorse, even if he doesn’t think she’s competent, at least she’s entertaining it seems. 

“Full of piss and vinegar, ain’t ya?” 

“To say the least.” She lets out a dry laugh, but there’s no mirth of joy behind it. Not a shred of happiness as she thinks about what a fucking idiot she is. 

“Well, if that’s all,” Whitehorse stands up from his desk, “I’ll go ahead and show you out.” 

Dahlia stands up, the sheriff places a large hand on her back as they leave his office, finding their way back into the reception area. 

“It was nice to finally meet you, Hale.” 

“Same, thanks for taking the time to talk to me.” She’s sure that he’d rather be doing literally anything else, especially after that beyond trash interview. 

“It’s no problem at all, I-”

The doors to the department open, a man and a woman in green deputy uniforms coming in. Another giant, the man is barely an inch of two shorter than Whitehorse, with shaggy dark hair and hazel eyes. More importantly, the woman while taller doesn’t absolutely tower over Dahlia, her long black hair is braided over her shoulder and her olive skin makes her hunter green eyes stand out all the more. 

Dahlia’s throat feels tight and her heart race is a little faster. So…that’s a thing. 

“We running a daycare, now?” The guy asks, looking down his nose at Dahlia, though that might just be because of the height difference. Either way, she glares at him, he’s been around her a grand total of five seconds and he’s being a dick. 

“Pratt…” The woman, her name tag says J. Hudson, rolls her eyes at him. Her voice is warm and rich; why is Dahlia’s face so hot? Is she sick? Has the Montana weather already kicked her ass, what is this?

“This is one of the interviewees. Hale, these are my deputies.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Hudson flashes a soft smile and what is Dahlia’s heart doing? It’s like someone’s squeezing it and filled her gut with bugs while they were at it. She fucks up an interview and now she needs a doctor, great. 

“Same, I was, uh, just on my way out actually.” She needs to go sleep off whatever the fuck has just hit her. 

“Good luck,” the taller woman gives a friendly tap to Dahlia’s bicep, “hopefully we’ll be seeing more of you around here.” 

Dahlia is dying.

That’s the only explanation. She fucked up an interview and now she has the heart plague or some shit, hell of a day. 

“Uh, yeah, I, um, ‘preciate it.” She’s avoiding eye contact and she doesn’t know why she's stumbling over her words and she doesn’t know why.

“Pssh,” Pratt scoffs, “she’s gonna need it.” 

Suddenly, she can talk again. Weird. Hudson and Whitehorse shake their heads, clearly use to his bullshit

“Sorry about Pratt, he’s, well he’s Pratt.” 

“Eh, every station has at least one cop who’s just trying to make up for his tiny dick.” 

“I assure you, I-”

“Enough,” Whitehorse cuts him off, talking like he’s breaking up a child’s squabbling. Doesn’t really help make her look any more mature or competent, way to steer into the skid, Dahlia. 

“For the millionth time, no one wants to hear about your dick, Pratt.” Hudson rolls her eyes, why is that being said for the millionth time?

“Well, that’s certainly my cue to go, have a good one.” 

Dahlia quickly waves off the sheriff and deputies, making her escape. She takes the couple steps to her motorcycle with quick rigid movement, making sure she’s away from windows or the glass door, not wanting any of them to see her. 

She lets out a low guttural groan muffled by how tightly her jaw is clenched jaw and knocks her knuckles against the back of her head. 

Idiot, she fucked everything up by going on some huge ass fucking rant. 

Despite the distance, this was a phenomenal opportunity the best she’s had. It’s not like she hasn’t looked into place in Louisiana, but something is always wrong. She’s never made it as far as the interview. Either she never gets a call back, maybe they’d seen her records the same way Whitehorse did and didn’t even bother giving her that chance. Or she’d learn the town, parish, city, whatever was no better off than Reinette. One of the sheriffs she talked to on the phone knew her stepfather and recognized her name, nearly making her puke before she hung up. 

This was beyond a shadow of a doubt the best chance she’s had. Whitehorse has the Lloyd seal of approval which is as good as gold. And as much as the distance is guilt inducing…, the fear of betrayal and abandoning people who mean so much to her. But, she needs somewhere far away. 

As many good memories as Lloyd, Caroline, and the people of Reinette have given her. There are still too many bad ones, too many people figuring out where she came from, one too many bad memories trying to be more than just that. As much as it may eat her up to leave, it’ll eat her up even more to stay. Between the impending unemployment and her own past, every good moment there has a shadow looming over it. 

When she gets back to Reinette she’ll start working to get her record taken care of. Once that’s settled, it’s back to job hunting. A bump in the road, a moment of frustration, but she’ll come out the other end. She always does. 

Her stomach growls, burning through a pack of cigarettes and stress binge eating sound like a great way to deal with this. She’ll find some place to stuff her face and call Lloyd once she gets back to the hotel. 

There’s a general store, she doesn’t know if the bar lets minors in, so it’s probably her best place to grab some quick snack. She plops her helmet on and makes the short drive to the store, parking her bike outside and pulling her helmet back off to light a cigarette by the dumpsters. Her stressed brain is desperately craving nicotine. 

She rips open her pack of cigarettes and lights one up, bringing it to her lips. Smoke pools in her lungs, clawing to her insides and easing her nerves if only for a second. Holding it there for a moment before breathing it out into the air. Her eyes are drawn to the neon sign of The Spread Eagle bar, even bright in the daylight. It also seems to have some activity despite the early hour. Well, early for a bar. A white truck pulls up in front of the building, a man with long grungy hair climbing out of the passenger seat. 

Those odd pains in her chest and churns in her stomach fade as she inhales the smoke, looking up at the clear blue sky. A soft breeze blows through, carrying the gray trails away with it. Montana really is beautiful…

“Get back here!” A woman yells out, door to the bar swinging open violent as the man with long hair comes rushing back out, arms piled high with crates of alcohol. 

Dahlia drops her cigarette and helmet, bolting towards the bar, as the thief tries to scramble into the back of the pickup truck. He gets the crates set down, but she’s grabbed the back of his shirt before he can climb in. A harsh yank, pulling the tall man back into her and away from the truck. She encircles her arms under his armpits and locks her hands behind his neck, grappling into a full nelson hold that keeps him from running off. The odd angle of these heights and the way he was yanked from the back of the truck leaves him on his knees in his grasp. 

“Someone call the sheriff’s department!” She yells out, she doesn’t have any jurisdiction here or cuffs to actually arrest the guy. 

He tries to fight back against the hold, attempting to break free, but all he manages to do is writhe and squirm. The door of the truck swings open, the driver jumping out, his feet hitting the ground with a heavy sound. Another man easily a foot or more taller than her. 

“Help me, brother Theodore,” the man in her hold struggles to beg for help. 

“We have strict orders from John Seed to confiscate this liquor.” 

“Don’t know or care who that is, mon cher.” 

“Someone like you doesn’t deserve to know him,” the guy tells her, sneering and she sees his finger twitch, brushing over the gun in his belt holster. She can’t have firearms going off in a residential area. 

“All you’ll do is end up shootin’ your friend, don’t be stupid. Liquor ain’t worth bloodshed.” 

He lets out a sigh and his hand relax, something clicking in his mind. The man, Theodore, chews his lip, eyes flickering as she nearly sees the gears turning in his head. 

“What’s going on here?” A familiar rough voice asks over Dahlia’s shoulder, she doesn’t need to look to know Whitehorse has come to investigate. Even if she did, she wouldn’t dare look away from the man in front of her, not until she’s sure he won’t try to shoot. 

“These pieces of shit peggies were trying to steal my liquor stash,” a woman explains, somewhere behind Dahlia. 

“Liquors still in the back of the truck,” Dahlia tells them, none of it seemed to break, so hopefully it won’t hurt the bar too much. 

“If it wasn’t for her, they would have cost me a month’s worth of sales.” 

“Pratt, Hudson,” Whitehorse calls the names of his deputies. 

“I got it here,” Hudson taps on Dahlia arm, cuffs in hand, and that weird heart thing is happening again. 

“Um, yeah, o-of course.” She maneuvers away from the guy, she’s never stumbled over her words like that before. Hudson cuffs the guy and starts reading his rights off. 

“Keep your hands where I can see ‘em,” Pratt barks out at the Theodore guy who's surprisingly obedient as he lets the deputy cuff him. 

Dahlia scratches at her nose, watching the scene unfold. She’s finally gotten a good look at the woman who was being robbed. 

And, not only is everyone here tall, they’re also apparently beautiful. The woman is than both Dahlia and Hudson, with honey blonde hair tucked up into a bun and soft blue eyes. Her features are soft, cherubic almost, with freckles over the bridge of her nose. 

Have women always been this pretty?

When did women start being this pretty?

The fuck is her heart doing?

“Looks like it’s a good thing you were here,” Whitehorse tells her, a soft smile tugging at his lips, “you managed to get Mary May’s liquor back and stopped it from escalating.” 

“Oh, yeah, I guess.” 

“Someone you know, sheriff?” The blonde, Mary May  asks. His smile gets wider and he squeezes Dahlia’s shoulder, a comforting touch. 

“This is my new Junior Deputy.” 

“I am?” 

He’s not serious, there’s no way, he has to be fucking with her. 

“Unless you changed your mind?” 

“Hell no,” she shakes her head, “I am the new Junior Deputy, wait, Junior?”

“You’ll start with a six-month probationary hire, paid of course, manage that and we’ll take you on permanently.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

“You’ll start next, c’mon down to the station Mary, we’ll book ‘em and get your report in.” 

“See you around, stranger,” Mary May tells her as she follows after Whitehorse, Hudson and Pratt forcing the thieves along. Theodore shooting a glare Dahlia’s way. 

“Look forward to working with you, Rookie.” 

“Pfft, I give her a week, tops.” 

And with that, Dahlia is left alone on the road of Falls End…with a new job. 

She got the job. 

She’s got to get through the probationary hire, but she got the job. Holy shit. Holy shit. And she starts in a week. She needs to call Lloyd and Caroline, she needs to find somewhere to live, there’s so much to do. 

Dahlia is practically skipping back over to her helmet and bike. She’s gotta start getting her ducks in a row. 

She speeds her way back through Hope County, making her way back to the hotel. She has so many fucking calls to make and shit to go through. Before she knows it she’s back in the Kings Spring Hotel parking lot, fumbling to get her phone. As silly as it may be, she’d rather call Lloyd and Caroline in a less populated area. She’s grinning ear to ear, enough to hurt her cheeks, she looks like a dork and that’s not going to get any better. Helmet under her arm, she dials Lloyd as she paces in the isolated parking lot. 

“How’d it go?” Lloyd is asking before she even says hi. 

“Six months, probationary hire, then we’ll go from there.” 

‘So, you got the job?” 

“That was the bummer way of saying I got the job, yeah.” 

“I can hear you smiling!” 

“Shut it!” 

“Caroline! She got the job, yeah!” 

“I,” she rubs a hand down her face, “I thought for sure I blew it.” 

“What changed?” 

“Some bar across the street got robbed right after my interview, I stepped in, next thing I know I’m the Junior Deputy.”

“Holy fuck, do you know what that is, Stray?” 

“Dumb luck?” 

“Fate, Stray, it’s fucking fate! The world telling you that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be!” 

“You really are a sap, ain’t ya?” 

“What are you doing now?” 

“I’m staying another night here, but once I hop off I gotta start looking into where I’m gonna stay. I start in a week, so I gotta start moving, I’ll see you all in two or three days once I make the drive. It’s gonna be tight, but I’ll manage.” 

“Man, you’re really leaving.” 

“No crying.” 

“Seems like yesterday Caroline found you in the barn.” 

“No crying.” 

“You were so thin, just a little bag of bones…” His voice is choking up.

“I’m hanging up, you cry baby!” 

She does just that, smiling up at the sky. It’s happening, it’s really happening. It feels like the start of a new life, a new her. There’s a jump in her step as she makes her way back into the hotel, room service food and she’ll start making phone calls. 

“Miss Hale!” The soft lilted voice of the receptionist calls out when she sees Dahlia. 

“Oh, hey.” Dahlia walks to the desk, head tilted in question, what could she need?

“A heads up, we’re switching the water in the tank for the shower and bath system to water pumped in from the spring.” 

“Oh, that’s cool.” 

“It’s so much more relaxing than regular tap water, be sure to use it tonight.” 

“Uh yeah, thanks, by the way can I order some room service?” 

“Of course.” 

Dahlia goes through her order for room service, being assured the order will be put in and delivered before she knows it. With that she goes back up to her room, she starts digging through the bedside drawer, searching for a phone book for the area. There’s a white book in the top drawer, with that same strange cross like symbol that was on the signs along the bridge. She throws it on the bed, finding a local phone book beneath it, much more important. 

She starts rifling through pages. Hope County is mostly a trailer park town, for people who can’t afford to build or buy an actual home and land. There is an apartment complex in Falls End, but the rent is high for pretty small apartments. The prices probably jacked since housing is so limited. She’d rather get a whole trailer to herself for cheaper and just travel further for work. 

Hours pass by her making phone calls, seeing about housing and stuffing food in her face when she’s not talking. The Silver Lake Trailer Park that’s nearest the station has no vacancy or trailers available for rent, but they refer her to the Moonflower Trailer Park. It’s some distance, but with how fast she rides her bike, it’s doable. It’s the only place with vacancy, she’ll drop by with a down payment and check out the trailer tomorrow before she heads back to Louisiana to get her stuff and everything tidied up there. The world outside the hotel window has gone dark, moon hanging bright in the sky. 

That settled she finishes off her food and collapses back on the bed. She’s still smiling, grinning ear to ear.

“Wooooooo!” She yells out and pumps her fist up at the ceiling, fuck yeah, she’s got this. 

She’ll grab one of those spring water showers and then pass out for the night. She grabs her phone and sets it up to play music in the bathroom while she washes up. Her clothes hit the floor, air conditioner chilling her skin as she waits for the water to heat up. It has a soft floral scent and is tinted slightly green, spring water. 

She steps in under the hot spray of water, letting it wash away the sweat and dirt of the day. Her muscles relax under the water and steam, as she scrubs the hotel soap into her skin. She blinks her eyes open once she’s done washing her hair, finding her vision clouding, her body feeling heavier and heavier. Must be the exhaustion of the day. Dahlia quickly finishes washing, the last thing she needs is to fall asleep in the shower again. 

Her steps are shaky, her body swaying as the world swims around her. Colors distort and shift in prisms before her eyes. It’s like the night before, but times a million. Her movements sluggish as she dries herself and quickly pulls on her sleep clothes. She was feeling ill earlier, maybe it’s catching up to her? But it doesn’t feel the same. Not panicky and nervous. One of her favorite songs starts to play through her phone, though its eerie tones aren’t as welcomed in this moment. 

She grips the sink for leverage, steadying herself as she looks into the mirror

All our times have come.

Her dark brown eyes aren’t dark brown, not quite. She tugs at her eyelids, the iris growing milkier and lighter than she’s ever seen it. What the hell is this? A soft melodic laugh echoes through the room, like it’s near. 

Here but now they're gone.

She stumbles out of the bathroom, finding her empty bedroom. Nothing unusual. 

Seasons don't fear the reaper.

The laugh rings out again, a flash of white passing by her open door. When did it open? She didn’t leave it open. 

Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain...

She’s walking out her door before she can give it another thought, looking back and forth across the hall, who’s there? 

We can be like they are

Her feet pad down the hallway, steps suddenly sure and confident as she tries to follow the voice. Like her body is being drawn, pulled, following sheer instinct. She needs to find them. 

Come on baby... don't fear the reaper

A flash of white, the swish of lace fabric, that laugh again vanishing into one of the rooms. Dahlia is there, trying to wrench open the door. Then it rings out from behind her. 

Baby take my hand... don't fear the reaper

A woman stands at the end of a long hallway, the one from the tight before. Long sandy hair and beautiful green eyes. A blue butterfly perches itself on her fingers, the woman looking at it in awe. Dahlia takes slow steps forward, she wants to speak, ask who she is and what she’s doing here. But her tongue is heavy, her throat tight, vocal cords numb, not a sound escaping. 

Baby I'm your man...

Green eyes flicker from the butterfly to Dahlia, a soft almost mischievous smile tugging at the woman’s lips. She laughs again as Dahlia nears her, then she runs, childish and giggling she runs towards one of the rooms. Dahlia is chasing her even after she vanishes from sight, legs moving without her permission, instinct driving her to reach this woman. She doesn’t know why, but she needs to reach her, touch her. Be closer. 

La la la la la

La la la la la

The laughter turns into soft humming, singing echoing through the halls. Somehow the sound is everywhere, all consuming and right in her ear, but also distant the source too far away for her to find. She walks down the halls, taking turns and climbing up stairs, following her instinct that pulls her in each direction she goes. 

Valentine is done

Flashes of white fabric, doors closing and shutting. It’s a game of tag that she can’t seem to win, the small hotel has somehow become a labyrinth as she tries to find the humming woman. Short hallways and few rooms have been traded for never ending paths with room lining them. 

Here but now they're gone

Sometimes spacious and open, other times claustrophobic, choking, walls scraping the skin of her arms where she has to fear she might become stuck. More halls and more floors than she’s ever seen, winding paths that make her dizzy. But she can’t stop searching for that woman. 

Romeo and Juliet

One more turn, the woman is at the end of a hallway. Standing before a door, softly singing to what is now two butterflies balanced on her fingers. Dahlia starts to walk down the hallway, tight, claustrophobic. She keeps her hands on the walls as if it will give her more space, as if she could force the walls to open wider for her. 

Are together in eternity...Romeo and Juliet

Her heartbeat races as she walks closer and closer, the walls threatening to crush her between them. She can hardly breathe, every breath ragged and tight. Dying. She feels like she’s dying, air being stolen from her lungs and heart pounding lie it’s trying to escape her chest. It worsens with every step she takes near the woman. 

40,000 men and women everyday... Like Romeo and Juliet

Some part of her brain, the small part that doesn’t have a thick haze of fog clinging to it, tells her to run the other way. That with this feeling only growing with every step towards the siren, with her heart pounding harsher, breathing getting raspier, she’ll die if she keeps going. That this truly is a siren luring her to death, but she can’t listen to that part of her. Her body won’t. She needs to reach her. 

40,000 men and women everyday... Redefine happiness

She’s getting closer and closer; the woman isn’t running this time. Just calming singly, like she doesn’t even notice Dahlia. She tries to reach out for the woman, her fingers nearly brushing the woman’s dress sleeve. 

Another 40,000 coming everyday... We can be like they are

Then the woman walks through the door, Dahlia could curse and cry if her vocal cords would only work. Once again, the woman evading her, being just out of reach. But this hall has no doors along its sides, no turns or twists. The only two options are going back or going through the door after her. It’s not even a choice. 

Come on baby... don't fear the reaper

She wrenches the door open and she’s in another world. No more wood walls and floors, her bare feet touching lush grass that tickles her skin. White petals float in the air and scatter across the ground. Trees curl around the area and when she looks out at the horizon, she sees that large statue of that man looming over the area. 

Baby take my hand... don't fear the reaper

When she looks straight ahead at the middle of the field is the woman, she twirls, short white dress fanning out around her hips. She stops, turning to face Dahlia, she smiles softly. Delicate and angel like, she stretches her hand out. An offer, a beckoning. 

We'll be able to fly... don't fear the reaper

The feeling of impending death lifts the very moment she sees the woman. Her heartbeat and her breathing easing, relief and contentment filling her body. She’s smiling and she doesn’t know why she feels alive. Free, like she can do anything. She’s walking closer and closer to the woman, each step making her happier and happier. Her body lighter and lighter. Calm and peace, she’s never known. She’s right where she belongs, she doesn’t need to be anywhere else. 

Dahlia reaches out, finally about to touch her, a touch of their hands is so simple, so minor. But it feels like the only thing she wants. All she’s ever want, like every moment in her entire life has been building up to this, being here with her, whoever she is. 

Before skin can meet skin, the siren fades to mist. 

No, no, no!

She grasps desperately at the air where the woman once was, her heart racing, her lungs stinging like the airs been knocked out of them. The world is crumbling, falling down, everything going out beneath her feet. It’s falling apart and she can’t stop it, she can’t fix it. 

Dahlia takes a heavy gasp, desperately sucking in a heavy breath and she blinks, the world around her has completely shifted. Her vision isn’t blurred, no more prisms of color before her eyes. 

Cold, goosebumps raising up on her skin, shorts and tee doing nothing to save her from the Montana breeze. She’s outside the hotel, in the world she knows. That damn statue looming still in the distance ahead of her. 

Dull. 

The landscaped she was so mesmerized by this day, seems so dull now. She feels dull, after so many emotions, so much intensity both in fear and happiness…she feels so numb. Dahlia rubs her fingers together, her craving for the feeling of another’s hand in her own…there’s an ache. She was so close, but now she’s been plunged back into reality. 

She stands out in the field outside the hotel, staring at that cement statue, it still seems to call her. Her heart telling her to go towards that looming structure, but her head tells her to go back inside the hotel. 

So, she doesn’t move. 

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, just staring. 

“Miss Hale!” A voice pulls her further back into reality, the hotel receptionist walking out towards her with a large blanket. 

Dahlia blinks a few times, she no longer feels numb, the very real emotion of shame flooding in. She’s standing out in public, in her pajamas. Did she just wander out of her hotel room in her sleep clothes? She must look ridiculous. 

“Hey…”

“Is everything alright? You just walked out of your hotel, looked like you were sleepwalking.” 

“Uh…yeah, I guess.” 

That makes sense, she must have went to bed and had a weird dream…yeah. 

“Here,” the woman wraps the large blanket around Dahlia, “you must be freezing.” 

“Thanks, sorry, I, just, weird dream.” She murmurs as they walk back to the hotel, Dahlia giving one last glance at the hotel.

“Dreams are nice, aren’t they? Sometimes you just wanna stay there forever.” 

[what-the--curtains]

Braving the Elements

Chapter 8: Tonys Party

Tw: Alcohol consumption, swearing , bad writing???

Authors note: we about to get a lil soft and a lil angsty babyyyy

(The balcony)

(The next morning in the kitchen)

Honestly both songs r like how I envision they’re relationship ANYWAYS HERE WE GOOO

“So, just how fancy are these parties?” you ask Nat and Wanda who are currently lying on your bed.

“Think Jay Gatsby meets James Bond.” Nat responds

“Shit, don’t think I have anything that nice.” you say skimming through your clothes which had finally found their way onto hangers. You had a lot of nice pieces, but nothing suitable enough for a black tie event. You had left most of your more exquisite garments back at your old apartment.

“No worries we have plenty, you can borrow something from us.” Wanda says closing her phone, before declaring that you should all get ready so you won’t be late. Nat and Wanda leave, then re-enter, your room carrying various dresses.

The dress you end up choosing is a midnight blue satin number. The top has a deep v on either side, exposing your back and a good portion of your cleavage. The top is tight to your body and gathers at your natural waistline before flaring out into a structured A-line skirt. You twist your hair up and pin it, pulling a few curls down to frame your face. Nat’s settled on an off the shoulder black, skin tight dress with a slit going all the way up her thigh. Her red hair clipped to one side giving it a wind-swept look. Wanda emerges in a long sleeve, scoop necked, mermaid style, maroon dress, opting to keep her hair loose for the evening. Pulling on your heels, Wanda shuffles you both out the door in the name of getting to the venue on time.

You wind up talking to Clint for a while and after ensuring he knows that you were not joking when you had asked him to teach you how to shoot a bow and arrow, you decide to go talk to Nat who's just been left by Wanda whose now at the bar talking to Vision and the rest of the boys.

“Well they all clean up nice” you say to Nat and she turns her head to face you.

“You know,” Nat says “ I think Wanda may like Vision.”

“Right!” you exclaim a touch too loud, realizing that you were slightly tipsy already. “We should set that up.” You stress to Nat who whole heartedly agrees. As the two of you make your way to the bar you can’t help but notice the small group of beautiful women who had gathered around Bucky. You couldn’t blame them, he’d slicked his hair back exposing his perfect jawline and the navy blue suit he was wearing brought out those eyes you liked so much.

You reach the bar and say “Someone’s popular tonight” nodding your head in Bucky’s direction

“Oh he always is, it’s the eyes,” says Steve

“and the hair” Sam chimes in

“20$ says it’s the arm, I know a few girls with a metal kink” you joke, causing Sam and Nat to burst out laughing and Steve to turn a lovely shade of red. The four of you talk for a while politely making conversation with anyone who came up for a chat.

“Jesus how stuffy can this party get.” you say while fanning yourself. Half falling off your chair you slur out an “ I gotta pee.” to the rest of the group before heading off to the bathroom. Exiting the restroom you manage to catch the tail end of a conversation between two smug, older, looking business men.

“I can’t believe Tony Stark is slumming it with mutants nowadays, what would his father think? I thought the commie soldier was bad, but this? Bringing in freaks of nature it’s too much who knows what they're capable of.” one of them says “Very well put, wouldn’t mind fucking her though she’s got a great ass.” the other one says looking right at you, almost as if he wanted to make sure you had heard him.

You bunch up the skirt of your dress in your hands and swiftly make a beeline to the nearest balcony. You can feel your chest tighten and your eyes start to well up. Stop it, you will yourself. Stop it right now. Don’t let them see you cry. You swing open the balcony's doors and finding no one there you exhale, resting your elbows down onto the banister, and dabbing away the few tears that had gathered in your eyes. Staring out into the lights of the city you focus on your breathing tuning out to the clatter of the party behind you.

You weren’t the only one to hear the man’s cruel words. Bucky had been standing nearby and overheard it as well. After seeing you practically run outside, he pulls himself away from the girl he’s been with all night promising to be right back, suddenly finding that the only thing he could think about was you.

A familiar voice breaks your silence and the noise from the party seeps back into your auditory field. “Hey, I said are you okay” the voice asks again.

Wiping away a tear and composing yourself before turning to face Bucky you smile brightly

“Never better, besides I’ve heard worse. I mean they said they’d fuck me, god what a compliment!” you scoff leaning back onto the railing. He rests his forearms on the banister and looks at you. “Well they did get one thing right”

“Ya, you're right, my ass is pretty great.” you say absentmindedly, causing him to laugh.

“No well , I mean yes, but bringing me in was definitely a bad move.”

“Oh, well that was a given” you quip back pushing yourself off the banister and straightening your dress.

Between the dress you had on and the way the loose strands of your hair were blowing gently in the fall breeze Bucky couldn’t help himself. Moving off of the banister he places his non-metal thumb under your chin drawing your gaze to him. He wants to kiss you right there, but not wanting to look like a fool, he waits for you to make the next move.

You meet his gaze and for a second you think you can see his eyes dart down to your lips. Figuring that the multiple glasses of champagne had got you imagining things, you turn your head away.

“You should get back in there I bet the girls are missing you.” you say, giving his bicep a gentle squeeze before walking back into the party. God if there was ever gonna be a moment it was then and you just blew it. You compartmentalize your mistake by ensuring yourself that your mind was simply playing tricks on you. He had tons of lovely women wanting to leave with him, why would he want to waste his time with you.

“Stupid” Bucky mutters to himself watching you leave. He was stupid to think you’d want to be with him. He just thought after that night in the kitchen that you felt something for him. He knew he felt something for you. Feeling upset by the rejection he decides to keep his promise and return to the girl from the party.

You walk back to Nat and Wanda making up some kind of excuse for taking so long.

After a while It was just the three of you. Sam and Bucky had left earlier with a couple of the girls and Steve and Vision had offered to help Tony clean up a bit. You convince Wanda and Nat to stay a bit longer, not wanting to run into, or hear, Bucky and his date in the room next door.

“God we have to have an actual night out” says Nat “not enough booze here and not enough dancing!”

“You know I think I know the perfect place,” you slur , “next time we go out your gonna see the underground of New York”

“Alright drunky,” Wanda says” let’s get you home.”

10 A.M., the next morning

You wake up with a dry mouth, feeling like shit, and regretting drinking so much last night. You cover your face with your hands and drag them down realizing that you had passed up on an opportunity to have a night of fun with Bucky. Before you can get too caught up in your thoughts you feel spit gathering in your mouth and you know you have to get to the toilet ASAP rocky. You make it to the toilet just in time before spilling your guts into the porcelain toilet. You have just enough time to fashion the belt of your dressing gown into a makeshift hair tie before vomiting again.

“Death!” you shout dramatically causing a distraught Sam to run into your room

“Whose death? Where?” he shouts jumping from side to side

“MINE!” you yell “I think I just threw up the equivalent of a human being.” You groan while crawling out of the bathroom in an oversized t-shirt, open nightgown and recently repurposed belt wrapped in your hair. The ridiculousness of your outfit causes Sam to erupt in laughter.

“Don’t move! I GOTTA get a picture of this” he exclaims with glee before running out of your room

“Samuel, don’t you dare!” You shriek chasing out after him passing by Bucky and the gorgeous brunette from the night before, and running into the kitchen.

“ Oh my god.” says Wanda stifling a laugh.

“Hey I think I look pretty good for a dead bitch!” you exclaim before striking a pose causing them both to laugh as Sam snaps a pic

After politely escorting the woman to the door, Bucky turns around just in time to see you running after Sam.

Following you into the kitchen he laughs at the line. He was amazed how different you were from the girl who had jumped through a moving cars window a few days earlier. You seemed lighter, happier. He knew he wanted to spend more time with you but didn’t want to ask you outright, especially after you had rejected him last night.

“Send me a copy of that will ya bird boy?” he says pouring out a cup of coffee

“So lover boy how was she?” Sam asks

“I don’t kiss and tell” he responds

“So that what the kids are calling sex nowadays” Wanda says with a smirk “huh who knew!”

You laugh along with the others, but you can’t stop yourself from feeling upset at the thought of him with someone else, still not fully understanding why

[slytherin-puffskein]

hope’s lullaby.

summary: The summer between Laurent King’s fifth and sixth year at Hogwarts was the one that hurt the most. Luckily, comfort came to him.

- - -

notes: a huge thank you to all my beta readers for the wonderful feedback they gave me!

- - -

Hope, as Laurent King had recently found out, is nothing but a lie. A stupid invention. A cruel lullaby meant to soothe you with unrealistic scenarios and to make you believe that everything is, in fact, alright when it is clearly not. He had made the mistake of hoping through all summer, of creating himself nonsense --illogical yet comforting scenarios in his mind-- and the truth about hope was finally hitting him full force: it’s sole purpose is to leave you, to abandon you, and to leave you stuck with your own feelings and disarray.

These were his thoughts as he laid before him the many letters he had just received. Spending the entirety of August at his aunt’s place, he had taken care to inform all of his friends of his new address. As he had expected, tons of messages have been sent to him, filled with love and friendship, now awaiting to be read. Even though he knew he should be feeling happy he felt a terrible, selfish bitterness take over his being as he realized something. Fucking called it. But why am I disappointed, if I had already sort of expected it? This doesn’t make fucking sense. None of this does. Why why why? Before him laid letters sent by Penny Haywood, Rowan Khanna, Tulip Karasu… none of them bore the name he had wished most ardently to see.

Barnaby Lee.

Throughout the course of the entire summer, Laurent had no received a single letter from him. It was as if, suddenly, Barnaby had vanished from the surface of the Earth. Or, as Laurent was thinking, as if he, himself, had vanished from the surface of the Earth. As if Barnaby had forgotten about him, had told himself he wasn’t worth it in the end, and the worst was that he didn’t even had the decency to end whatever they had via a letter. 

Whatever they had, he was using that phrase because he simply couldn’t find any other words to use. Friendship? They had more than that, ever since their date at the end of their fifth year. Love? No, they never kissed. And now it would probably, most definitely, never happen. You lost him. You lost it all. What did you do wrong? Everything, probably. It’s just as your dad tells you! No one will ever love you, not with how you currently are. A sob threatened to break through his lips, but he miraculously succeeded in holding it back. Instead of sitting on his bed and crying, he simply slipped the letters under his pillow. He’d read them later.

He didn’t have the time then, because it was time for his shift at his aunt’s bakery. Thank Merlin, I’ll have something to do to take my mind off this shit.

* * *

“Turn that frown upside down!”

Cyril Colin, Laurent’s cousin, was an all too optimistic guy, and at that very moment Laurent was finding himself feeling deeply annoyed. What does he know about what is going on anyway? I didn’t tell him shit. He has no business to try and comfort me. Of course, in another state of mind, Laurent would have appreciated that gesture, but right then the only thing he wished for was to be left alone, and to focus on the croissants he was baking.

In the face of his cousin’s silence, Cyril pouted, and insisted: “C’mon, Laurent. You know you can tell me everything, right? You’re here for me, it’s only fair that I should be here for you. So what’s wrong? Is it related to a wi--”

But before he could finish that final word, Laurent had shoved the first thing that landed in his hand, a macaron, in his cousin’s mouth. “Hush! Don’t say that word out loud, you know it’s supposed to be a secret!” And just like that, the conversation was over, much to Laurent’s joy.

However, by the end of his shift, Laurent still only held one wish: to curl himself in his blankets and to sink into a deep, dreamless sleep. Oh, yeah, that sounded just like paradise, at least to him. This is so ridiculous. Why am I so affected by Barnaby not sending me any letter? It’s not like he’s… my boyfriend or anything.

But that is something you wish for dearly, don’t you? a wicked voice whispered into his mind. You want to touch his hands, to touch his lips, to be his. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he figured out just how of a terrible guy you are. Remember what your father said: you act without thinking, and in your eyes the devil slumbers! That must be true, right? It surely is, since Barnaby’s left you!

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.

And all of a sudden, it felt as if his throat was closing right up. He was suffocating, suffering, hurting, and only one thing became his priority: to get the hell out of here and get some fresh air. 

Even if he still had fifteen minutes left on his shift and should have waited until he was done, it was as if his body had a mind of its own, shaky fingers untied his apron and let it fall to the floor. Before he could even realize what he was doing, he was standing outside of the bakery, his cousin’s voice faintly calling for him from the inside, worry painting each of his syllables. He hated that. He hated that Cyril always felt the need to worry over him. I’m fine, Cyril. I’m fine, I keep telling you that and you won’t LISTEN. But the truth was, Laurent wasn’t feeling alright. Not at all. He was just too proud to admit it to himself --too proud to come to terms with the fact that he was truly affected by Barnaby’s radio silence.

Too proud to admit that you’re in love.

“Damn, did you just come back from a marathon or something? You could have warned me, I would’ve come with you. Y’know I love running.” That voice. That all too familiar voice. No, it couldn’t be. Wait. Could it be? No. I spoke to him on the phone last night. Surely, he didn’t come all the way here… or…

As he raised his head and locked gazes with the man standing in front of him, it felt as if his heart was about to burst. Not because of the sadness that had been piling up over it, but because of the pure, bright joy that had suddenly taken over. With a sigh of relief on his lips, he threw his arms around Oscar Whelan.

If people declared Laurent King to be mischief incarnate, that only meant they had yet to meet Oscar Whelan --trouble incarnate. Any ounce of chaos put a smile on his face, every action of his was a mere result of his impulsivity, and his entire aura said one thing and one thing only: ‘let’s run away, you and I. Let’s flee this world and build our own’.

At least, that was what it said whenever Laurent was with him, so he came to assume that it was the same with everyone else.

Born a Muggle, Oscar had known Laurent ever since childhood. They grew up together and he’d been the shoulder Laurent cried on when his mother gave out her last breath. Following her funeral Oscar had brought him to this family’s small apartment where a sleepover without any actual sleep had taken place. Through comforting words and gentle laughter, Oscar had done everything in his power to make Laurent’s smile come back, while also helping him deal with his grief.

When his Hogwarts acceptance letter came, Laurent had been overwhelmed with the wish to tell his friend everything, but he knew very well that in no way that could happen. Instead, he told him that his father had decided to make him a student in a strict boarding school, and that as a result he was meant to leave for ten months, ever year for the next seven years. Are you serious? Oscar had exclaimed. You mean, like, a boarding school with uniforms and such? Lying to his best friend had been the worst thing for Laurent, but he was also well aware that it was for the best. If he were to reveal the existence of the wizarding world to someone outside of his family, just what would possibly happen? Oscar wasn’t a loose lipped person, but no risks could be taken.

No, that’s a lie. A risk had been taken, but an entirely different one. By hiding his true life from Oscar, Laurent had harbored the fear that a wall would build itself between them, separating them and preventing them from fully understanding each other. From his perspective, that imaginary wall would only lead to one outcome: the destruction of his friendship with Oscar Whelan, and that was something he knew he couldn’t possibly handle.

Years had passed and the wall still had yet to make its appearance. But Laurent had kept on fearing, and at sixteen years old he was still terrified. Even with Oscar currently hugging him close, the anxiety related to losing his friendship sprang forth and threatened to take control of his brain.

How unjust, that I cannot tell him everything!

After several minutes of silent hugging, Laurent pulled away at last, but his hands remained splayed on Oscar’s chest to feel his heartbeat. His friend’s arm, wrapped around his waist, provided him with unimaginable comfort. “What are you doing here?” Laurent’s eyes were pretty much filled with question marks at this point, and Oscar could only smile.

“C’mon now, Lau. I know you. When you called me yesterday I felt something was wrong, so I took it upon myself and decided to pay you a visit. Least I can do, right? Though I gotta admit, the thought of stepping into your bakery was also very enticing.”

“It’s not my bakery, Oscar.” Laurent giggled. “It’s my aunt’s, you totally know that.”

“Right. Otherwise you would have added many more flowers for decorations. You should talk about it to your aunt, I’m sure it would look great.”

Oscar’s words remained in Laurent’s mind: When you called me yesterday I felt something was wrong. Yes, Laurent had spoken to him on the phone, but never had he mentioned the letters or anything else related to them, for that matter. Had he sounded that sad? He almost wanted to ask, but decided not to.

“Are you done with your shift?”

“Only a few minutes left. Had to get out to get some fresh air.”

“Well, that’s exactly why I’m here, Laurent. To give you some fresh air. Finish those minutes left, I’ll wait for you here.” But he was smiling. Smiling, because he was seeing the glint of mischief already floating in Laurent’s eyes.

Laurent couldn’t help but smile back. “How about we go now, mhm?”

* * *

They spent hours together, and Laurent hoped that this day would never end. Because, finally, he was reunited with his friend. Finally, things were feeling less heavy, and he knew all too well that the distress would return as soon as it had left if Oscar were to leave. He obviously had to, at some point, and thus Laurent was mentally preparing himself for it. At least, he will be left with memories --wonderful memories to cling into. He would lie on his bed and replay them; hearing their laughs again, tasting the ice cream that Oscar bought for him again… and listening to their conversation again.

As he walked through the city with Oscar, a smile curled his lips when he remembered a conversation which occurred only a few minutes ago. They had been sitting on a bench, in Laurent’s favorite park because of its many trees, and he had decided to tell Oscar. Not the whole wizard business, obviously, but bits and pieces of the life that he had never told him about.

His new friends, for example.

“You have Penny Haywood.” He had told with a smile while still eating his ice cream. Caramel, his favorite flavor. “She’s, like, the sweetest girl ever, I’m telling you. Rowan’s is the best nerd, he helps me studying whenever I struggle with something. At some point, he even practically held me hostage in the library so I could finish my paper! My only focus was to walk around the school, take a breather… but Rowan had other plans in mind. Tulip is the greatest prankster, I think you’d like her. I know I do, she’s one of my closest friends. And--”  The words had died out, however, as he had realized that he had been just about to mention Barnaby Lee.

Oscar had noticed the sudden change of atmosphere. “Something wrong?”

So much. I’m so worried, Oscar. No! I can’t tell him about this. It would be… too complicated. He shook his head. “Nothing, I just… I just feel bad I never told you about them sooner” Lying by telling the truth, what a funny concept. “…about anything related to my school, in truth. It… it must suck, right?” Yes, lying by telling the truth, because he wasn’t telling Oscar the real reason behind his sudden change of emotion, but he was still talking about something that was truly bothering him.

Besides, he had to mention it at some point, right? He had to address his insecurities regarding his friendship with Oscar, the magical thing he cherished dearly, or else it would truly turn to dust.

Much to his surprise, Oscar giggled and gently nudged him. “You can tell or not tell me whatever you want, Laurent. I’ll never take it personal.” He suddenly paused, his brows knitting together in worry. “You… you didn’t tell me all of this because you felt like you had to, right? Because that ain’t right.” Laurent had been unable to not smile.

“No, not at all. I wanted to tell you about ‘em. You’re my best friend, after all. As you said, I tell you everything I want.” Maybe it had been a shadow, but he believed Oscar’s smile had wavered at those two words: best friend. Why, exactly?

He was still thinking of a reason, but he snapped back to reality as he realized that it was getting late. The sun was beginning to set, coloring the sky with beautiful orange and pink hues, and offered a sight that never failed to take Laurent’s breath away. He stopped in his tracks to just look up at its splendor. To memorize all of that beauty. Oscar did the same with a smile on his lips. 

“Beautiful, right?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I can show you something even better.”

Laurent raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

Teasingly, Oscar placed his index over his own lips. “Curiosity is a bad thing, Laurent King~”

“Says the most curious guy I know!” And just like that, his worries were gone again.

* * *

Oscar insisted that they waited until the sky turned black and, once it did, Laurent let himself be guided by his friend, holding his hand and trying to figure out just what he had in mind. That, however, was the problem with Oscar Whelan: You never knew exactly what he was planning. Every second with him felt like a toss of the dice, with no idea as to which result you’d get.

They stopped in front of a huge building that Laurent recognized as one of the many gymnasiums of the city. Pulling out a pocket knife from his leather jacket’s pocket, Oscar got to work, quickly succeeding with picking the lock and granting them access inside. Luckily, no alarm system began to blare, and Oscar turned proudly to Laurent, offering him his hand once again. “You trust me, right?” The fact that Oscar had picked locks frequently was not only apparent from the skill he had demonstrated, but also from the absence of shock from his friend.

Now, Laurent was having a faint idea of what his friend had in mind. And without hesitation, he reached for his hand. “Of course I do, Oscar.”

And that was how they found themselves in the gymnasium’s public pool, moonlight spilling inside through the windows and reflecting itself on the calm water. A beautiful sight, truly, one that rendered Laurent still with wonder for a moment. Oscar was right. It’s so beautiful.

“You’re crazy.” But the joy in his voice was impossible to not notice.

“Love you, too.” Oscar replied as he began to undress.

Laurent was quick to do the same and, once they were only in their underwear, he realized just how cold the air was, and how much colder the water would surely be. Oscar probably had made the same realization, because his wicked smile graced his features once more. With the moonlight illuminating the side of his face, he almost looked ethereal. Like a dream. A dream that Laurent found most comforting.

“I dare you,” Oscar’s said, voice filled with challenge, “to jump.”

Oh, you’ll see, Oscar! Laurent immediately turned to look at him, fists on his hips in an attempt to make himself look more intimidating. “I dare you to jump. Wait, no, double dare you!”

“Oh, is that the game you want to play, Laurent? You know I love games.”

The teasing, the stifled in giggles that their voices were containing, it all reminded Laurent of the many blissful moments they had spent together ever since they met, moments he'd missed dearly at Hogwarts. After months of being without his best friend, everything was now falling back into place. He had Oscar, everything was alright.

That wonderful chaos he loved sharing with him had also made its comeback, it seemed, as Oscar suddenly reached for him, his arm wrapping around his waist and bringing him closer --much closer. “You brought this upon yourself, Laurent!”

And with Laurent’s roaring laughter filling the air, Oscar jumped, inevitably dragging his friend along with him.

They broke out of the water’s surface, laughing, splashing each other; and, before Laurent knew it hot tears were streaming down his cheeks, for a reason he knew all too well and yet didn’t dare admit. Oscar realized he was crying fairly quickly, and swam closer to wipe them away. “Did you really not enjoy that at all?” He was telling this to make him laugh, it was evident in his gaze.

And it worked. Laurent giggled, then sniffled and nodded. “Yup, truly terrible.” A smile came, but he decided, at last, to tell him what has been haunting him. “I just… have a friend from school ignoring me. A friend I like a lot, and… and it sucks.”

By saying it out loud, finally acknowledging his feelings, it felt as if a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders, and he could feel himself breathing with much more ease. Oscar’s features softened, and his hand landed on Laurent’s wet shoulder. An awfully comforting touch.

While Oscar Whelan usually talks an awful lot, at that very moment he was silent as he hugged Laurent closely. Despite how little they were wearing, Laurent found himself unbothered. He’s my best friend, it would take much more to bother me.

And so, they hugged, and soon enough Oscar was whispering to him the lyrics of his favorite song. Ground control to Major Tom. Laurent let that song lull him into calmness, into total peace, and his eyes fluttered shut as they both stood still in the pool, surrounded by water. Calm, soothing water.

Maybe hoping wasn’t such a bad thing. With his friendship with Oscar, he had the hope --the belief-- that everything would turn out alright. That Barnaby would talk to him again. That he would be allowed, somehow, to love him. Those thoughts soothed him to the core.

They sang quietly.

For here am I sitting in a tin can,

Far above the world,

Planet Earth is blue,

And there’s nothing I can do.

* * *

Never write to him or even speak to him, again. Or I’ll kill him.

Barnaby’s grandmother words had kept ringing in his ears ever since the beginning of summer. He sat in his room as the moon shone bright in the sky, and caught himself staring at it.

And hoping.

Hoping that things will turn out alright.

And that he’ll soon, somehow, be with Laurent again. To touch his hands, to touch his lips, to be his.

But hope is a futile, useless thing. Isn’t it?

[hellyeahomeland]

“Fucker Shot Me”: an HYH recap

A day after Haqqani turns himself over to the Americans, the Americans are turning him over to G’ulom. Saul and Haqqani pull up to Ghazi Stadium, where G’ulom has been holding the Taliban fighters.

G’ulom is standing outside, in a cape, like he’s Andre Leon Fucking Talley (to be clear, we stan). Haqqani says he’s ready and Saul gets out of the car to give another speech that G’ulom is definitely not listening to about Justice and Due Process and Integrity. G’ulom fulfills his end of the bargain, releasing the prisoners, who all make a beeline for Haqqani because, well, he’s the Emir! Saul warns G’ulom that if he doesn’t treat Haqqani with respect, “your world will explode.” So that’s coming. 

Saul goes back to Kabul station and Mike and Jenna have something to tell him.

Jenna: Remember how yesterday I had one job, which was to get Carrie on the plane to Germany? Saul: Yeah… Jenna: Well, I fucked that up. Mike: Carrie was photographed at the airport getting in a car with everyone’s favorite Russian hunk. Yevgeny Gromov! Can you believe it? Saul: Yes. I mean, no! How surprising. Mike: They could be halfway to Moscow by now. Saul: First, chill. Second, doubtful. Carrie is all about saving her friend Max. She’s probably somewhere in Pakistan. Mike: This is an outrage. Rules! I must follow them! I’m referring this to the FBI. Saul: Whatever. Send me a text or something when you find her ok byeeeeee

Carrie and Yevgeny are somewhere in Pakistan, it turns out. They’re listening to the radio, which is such a quaint thing for two lovers frenemies to do together. The radio report is about Haqqani turning himself in, and they get to talking about the CIA’s working theory that Carrie is a traitor who told her Russian handler—Yevgeny—about the president’s helicopter so that he could alert Haqqani who could fire an RPG! Phew. That’s a lot. They’re both like “yeah that didn’t happen” but also realize the, like, component of weirdness of the situation since they’re off on this road trip together and look extra double super suspicious now. “Ironic,” Carrie says while gazing out the window.

They pull up to a checkpoint. Yevgeny gets out of the car because he is In Charge. He approaches two guys, who are actually his homies, inquiring about where “the American” (Max) is. They have a line on him.

Carrie and Yevgeny’s next stop is a small Pakistani village. Again Yevgeny gets out of the car and instructs Carrie to stay. But we all know (and he should too by now!) that if you tell Carrie not to do something, she turns into a four-year-old child who instantly must do that thing. Plus her spidey senses are tingling. Maybe she recognizes some of these structures? She hops out of the car and ends up at a gravesite. Rows upon rows of graves with the year “2014” etched across the bottom. Uh oh. A few split-second flashbacks later and… yep, these are the graves of the people she dropped a bomb on in “The Drone Queen.”

Carrie: Quit fucking with me. Yevgeny: Heh? Carrie: Quit 👏 fucking 👏 with 👏 me  Yevgeny: I’m not fucking with you. Carrie: Coolio, so we just happened to end up at the village I decimated four years ago in the event that probably more than any other haunts my waking nights? Yevgeny: What do you think happens after you decimate a village with a bomb, Carrie? We come in, help them rebuild the mosque, and develop contacts. It’s not a coincidence we’re here. But I’m not fucking with you. Carrie: I’m changing the subject now. What did the imam say? Yevgeny: He knows where Max is. Come on.

Saul, resident hottie Scott Ryan, and Not Martha Boyd are gathered around a conference table in Kabul station, talking to Linus and his homies back at the White House. They’re all very concerned that Haqqani’s trial will be a sham, he’ll be put up against a wall and shot, and that will mean more violence and more instability, and certainly not an end to “The Forever War.” Not Martha mentions that the lead judge is a woman she knows from some embassy events and she’s fair and independent so they can probably influence her (umm… what?)! Their meeting is interrupted by Hayes, who’s apparently just wandering the halls of the West Wing searching for something to do. He’s generally displeased this is all taking place behind his back, but no one thinks he can do anything, so it’s understandable. He flatly denies Saul’s request to declassify some intelligence that could prove Haqqani is innocent, asks again for the “action plan” to kill more brown people, and storms out.

Back in Carrie/Yevgeny land, Yevgeny continues to pry about the drone strike. He says again he didn’t put two and two together, then proceeds to ask actual personal questions like, “so is that why you left the CIA?” Carrie explains her mental state in season four, which is not something she’s ever done, but it’s interesting nonetheless. She catches herself at the end again questioning whether he’s being truthful or not, because if he is, she doesn’t know why. Poor Carrie has no concept of a personal relationship that’s not transactional.

They eventually arrive at the house where Max is being kept. Again, Yevgeny does all the talking. Carrie storms in to find Max, sprawled out on a mattress, one arm still handcuffed to the bed frame. Immediately she springs into nurturing, concerned Carrie, which is not a hat she wears often (side note: when will Carrie wear another hat?). Max says he’s fine but the narsty wound they show in close-up confirms otherwise. He explains that he doesn’t have the flight recorder anymore but he didn’t want to make a big deal about it, lest it suggest the flight recorder was not just some random red boxy thing. “You did good,” Carrie assures him.

Unfortunately, their touching moment ends right there because a few trucks full of Taliban soldiers pull up to the house. They uncuff Max and then cart him off. Yevgeny looks on helpless. Carrie tells Max she will find him. Then she goes off on the dude who let them in. Yevgeny has to physically restrain her. He looks in her eyes, tells her he’ll take care of this while Carrie attempts to calm her breathing. Did anyone else get the indication he has definitely done this before? He was too effective for that to be a rookie attempt. Anyhoozles, Yevgeny finally gets the location where they took Max, so it’s off to stop #3.

At Dover Air Force Base, Hayes is asking Linus for his unconditional loyalty, which is always something you want a president to be asking for. He’s really miffed that people are going behind his back but Linus says something like “we gotta be in the information flow, man.” Hayes repeats the phrase back, and you definitely get the indication he’s the type of person who uses words and phrases wrong all the time without realizing. Again, he’s the president! Don’t you feel safe?

Oh, the reason they’re at the base is because Hayes had an empty casket shipped back on Air Force One for a photo op. And surprise, surprise! G’ulom came over too. I’m sure they’ll have tons to talk about.

Elsewhere in Pakistan, Saul is grasping at straws and goes to Bunny’s home. Tasneem is there, because they have no secrets between them. Saul pleads for their help coming up with a way to help Haqqani. If they don’t, there will be another war, right at their border, and that’s not great for America, but they’re 7000 miles away. It’s really not great for Pakistan, because it’ll be right on their doorstep. Bunny is having none of it. The Americans play hot and cold with Pakistan, asking for their help whenever it suits them and in the interim killing their citizens, withholding aid, and generally being massive dicks. Enough already!

Saul sees himself out, but Tasneem surprisingly comes knocking on his car window. She’ll help him. Why? She doesn’t want to watch the world burn. This is a surprise because I thought that was Tasneem’s defining quality.

Carrie and Yevgeny arrive at stop #3, which is a field just above where Max is being kept. Carrie scopes out the house. It’s barely being guarded, but who knows how long that’ll last. She decides to phone a friend, but Saul never answers his damn phone. So she decides to phone a Single White Female.

Jenna: Carrie? What the hell? You made me look like an idiot. Carrie: Made you? Lol ok. Anyway, please listen. Mike: What are you doing, Carrie? Carrie: Oh, great, you again. I found Max. Y’know, that thing you guys were doing anything in your power to accomplish? I did it in like 12 hours. Mike: Who are you with? Carrie: ...Breezing by that question. Anyway, here are the coordinates. Will you call special ops? Max is in critical condition, I don’t know how much longer he can make it.  Mike: Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in? Carrie: Do you have any idea how much I don’t give a fuck? Just call special ops. Bye. [click] Mike: You are now a fugitive, your case is with the FBI, Carrie…? CARRIE?

In the Oval Office, Hayes and G’ulom meet for an “unofficial summit.” Hayes reads a headline on his iPad that declares “The Two Presidents,” which… is certainly a true thing about them. Hayes hems and haws about going back to war with the Taliban, and G’ulom says some manipulative stuff about the US being all-powerful fighters who could totally put them away in two to three weeks. Hayes doesn’t even know he’s being manipulated though and plays right into G’ulom’s hand. He eats this shit up! He loves hearing about American dominance and how he could be the steward of it. If it means murdering even more brown people, that’s just a bonus!

Saul and his new BFF Tasneem arrive at the home of the lead judge for Haqqani’s trial and plead with her that he’s innocent. She asks for literally any evidence and their response is “just trust us, two perfect strangers who barged into your house late at night.” She’s highly skeptical until Tasneem pulls up a news article about the RPG that hit one of the Taliban caravans back in episode two. That was meant for Haqqani, because he wanted peace and the ISI didn’t, and he still agreed to the peace deal. This is apparently enough to sway her, so she agrees to a continuance for one week while Saul and Tasneem figure out what to do.

Carrie is taking a light nap in the back seat of Yevgeny’s truck when he wakes her. Some more cars have arrived at the house where Max is. She peers through the binoculars to see Jalal Haqqani rolling up with his crew. Shit. Jalal enters the room where Max is being held and asks him who shot down the helicopters. “What helicopters?” Max cooly replies. Max 4 President!

Above, Carrie is panicked and phones Mike again. Mike admits that no, special ops isn’t coming. It’s too risky, they haven’t scouted the site, etc. Carrie, totally missing the point, offers to scout the site herself. The issue, of course, isn’t with the site, it’s with Carrie herself. She’s a rogue agent, calling from a Russian sat phone. Who else is even listening in on this call? Carrie says, verbatim, “I don’t underestimate the difficulty.” Whenever Carrie goes searching for euphemisms (“That is a mischaracterization!”) you know she’s in deep shit and that she knows she’s in deep shit. She pleads with Mike that Max is one of ours and we can’t just abandon him. He says they’re doing all they can, which is of course a lie. This must all feel eerily reminiscent of Brody and Tehran for her, a slow-motion car crash she’s powerless to stop.

In need of something, anything, to do, Carrie asks Yevgeny for his gun. She’s going to scout the site herself, at least see if Max is still alive. Yevgeny reluctantly agrees but vows to book it if she gets in trouble, which is also of course a lie.

In Kabul, Saul visits Haqqani in his cell, which is also eerily reminiscent of the cage they kept Brody in in season three. He tells him of the continuance he secured and Haqqani is like, “bro, why are you doing all this?” Saul says it’s because he’s innocent. Haqqani knows the truth though: after forty of years of war, none of them are still innocent.

In the court room, one by one the judges file in. The last and presiding one, however, is not the woman Tasneem and Saul met the night prior. That’s right, G’ulom pulled the ol’ trial judge switcheroo! This new guy is definitely not ordering a continuance. He gives a speech about the pain and suffering Haqqani has inflicted on thousands of people. How he killed both presidents. He sentences him to death. Saul looks on horrified. He calls Linus, who informs him that Hayes has asked for new perspectives on Afghanistan, and John Zabel is in the Oval Office meeting with him as they speak. They are extremely disgusted, so we know John Zabel must suck. Outside the courthouse, crowds have gathered in celebration of the announcement of Haqqani’s inevitable execution.

In the Oval Office, Linus interrupts the meeting between Hayes and John Zab—oh my god, it’s Hugh Dancy! Ok, ok, we all knew it would be Hugh Dancy, but it’s still exciting! He has a terrible haircut, awful facial hair, and gives off general vibes of hot evilness. He makes a few incredibly racist remarks, praises Hayes’ quick action in avenging Beau Bridge’s death, and talks about next steps. Linus comes thisclose to doing a Jim Halpert on The Office impression.

A few Taliban soldiers come into Max’s room and drag him up. He groans and yells. Outside, Carrie, gun in hand, makes her way to the perimeter of the house. They’ve carried Max into the courtyard and are pulling an orange jumpsuit on him. He screams in protest, doing everything he can to resist. Jalal stands in front, camera and tripod at the ready. Carrie watches in horror, beginning to put the pieces together. They pull Max’s glasses off and she pulls her pistol up, ready to shoot.

Suddenly, Yevgeny grabs her from behind, his hand over her mouth, muzzling her cries. He puts her against a wall (why is this so sexual??) and stares into her eyes. “No,” he whipsers. For once, she listens.

[artificialqueens]

Trick or Treat (Branjie)- athena2

A/N: Vanessa takes her sister trick-or-treating, and Brooke answers the door. Cue Vanessa doing anything she can to knock on Brooke’s door again. Please leave some feedback if you’d like!

—

“Isn’t 12 kinda old for trick-or-treating?” Vanessa asks Izzy.

“Isn’t 25 kinda old to spend Halloween watching Hocus Pocus?” her sister shoots back, plastic pirate sword swiping at Vanessa’s face. “And Mom said you have to take me.”

Vanessa resists the urge to take credit for teaching Izzy to read so finely when the read is directed at her.

“Fine. But make it quick. Silky and A’keria are coming back with my pizza soon.”

—

They make their way up the apartment building as brightly-wrapped candy piles into Izzy’s pumpkin. Izzy pounds her fist on a white door, and Vanessa notices the person answering for the first time. She has to crane her neck just to see the blonde’s face, wide pink lips contrasting smooth, fair skin and bright green eyes. Her lips stretch into a smile.

“Trick or treat!” Izzy bellows. The woman laughs and tells Izzy how great her costume is as she offers her a skull-shaped bowl overflowing with king-size candy bars.

Blondie’s got the good stuff, Vanessa notes.

“You, um, you live on the 7th floor, right?”

It’s several seconds before Vanessa even realizes the woman is talking to her.

“Apartment 712!” Vanessa shouts. Shit. What is she doing? This woman is a tornado tearing through her usual supply of smooth lines and flirty grins, and all Vanessa can do is grit her teeth and hope it looks cute as Izzy pulls her away before she even learns the woman’s name.

Now I gotta knock on this bitch’s door again–

She looks over at Izzy, lifting her pirate eye patch to examine her jumbo Snickers that could feed a family of four.

Bingo.

—

Silky and A’keria sit at the kitchen table expectantly, munching on pizza, when Vanessa trots in, thinking of how she can get Izzy to agree to this scheme.

She hands her sister the largest slice of pizza in the box, flourishing her hand so the cheese stretches like it always does on TV, figuring food is a decent bribe. She’ll use money as a last resort. Izzy’s 12, five bucks is probably enough to get her to do anything. What’s a 12-year-old need money for anyway?

Vanessa keeps her tone casual. “Hey Izzy, you wanna put on my old witch costume and go back to the 6th floor? They had some good shi–stuff down there.”

Izzy raises an eyebrow, one of Vanessa’s own gestures directed at her, like looking in a mirror. “Is this ‘cause you want to talk to that tall-ass blonde?”

“Tall-ass blonde?” A’keria inquires, head turning like it’s on a spring. “The one that works at that dance studio across the street?”

“No!” Vanessa barks before A’keria and Silky can start giving advice, which usually came in the form of roasting her. She doesn’t even know if Blondie likes girls, but that smile, and those eyes… Vanessa has to try. “And you ain’t supposed to swear, Izzy.”

Izzy shrugs. “Don’t tell Mom, and I’ll put on your costume.”

“Deal.”

—

After instructing Silky and A’keria to work on more costumes, Vanessa finds herself back in front of apartment 620.

“Trick or treat!” Izzy calls again.

Blondie extends the bowl once more and Izzy sinks her hands in. Vanessa tries to peek inside the apartment, but Blondie is almost as tall as the doorframe and she can’t glimpse much. The kitchen behind her looks neat, but that’s all she can get.

“Back again?” she asks pleasantly.

“You remember me?” Vanessa bats her eyelashes.

“I wouldn’t forget that face.” Blondie’s cheeks turn pink. “Also, it was only like 10 minutes ago.”

“Right,” Vanessa laughs. “You’ll be seeing me some more tonight. Got tons of siblings. Figured I’d take ‘em one at a time so I don’t lose anyone.”

Maybe it’s the Halloween moon, but her smoothness is returning. The lie flows out with no thought, and just like that, Vanessa’s bought herself another few trips to her door.

“How many more siblings do you have?” Blondie asks, and Vanessa can’t tell if she’s asking out of curiosity or to clock her for the lie. The gleam in her eyes makes Vanessa thinks she’s on to her, but she can hope.

Vanessa does some quick math–never her strength–in her head and figures she can scrape together three more costumes. “Three.”

“I guess I’ll see you soon then.” Blondie smiles shyly.

“Yes, you will.” Vanessa grins back.

—

“How we doing on costumes? We’re gonna need three more,” Vanessa informs them when she’s through her own door, Izzy tearing off a Reese’s wrapper behind her.

“Going old-school with this one.” A’keria holds up a white sheet. “Silky found your old vampire cape, so we can do that one next. And we found your angel costume, but I don’t think you want your sister wearing that.”

“Heck no.” That costume was her pride and joy last Halloween, phone numbers and drinks flying into her hands like she had a magnet. Maybe she could put it on for Blondie–no, that’s way too desperate.

“Why don’t you just ask her out?” Silky demands.

“I ain’t gonna look desperate!”

“Because dressing your sister in any costume you can find to pretend she’s several different children isn’t desperate at all,” A’keria mumbles dryly as she finishes cutting eye holes in the sheet.

Vanessa shoots her a look and hands Izzy the sheet. “Put it on.”

“I don’t wanna be a ghost,” she whines, “That’s lame.”

Vanessa leans in. “You want more candy?”

A nod.

“Then put it on.”

—

“So, you been in this building long?” Vanessa asks as Izzy digs in the candy bowl. “I think I woulda noticed you,” Vanessa adds, stepping on Izzy’s foot when she rolls her eyes.

“Just a few months. I got a job at a dance studio nearby. I don’t go out much, to be honest, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you haven’t noticed me.”

A’keria was right.

“I’m, um, I’m Brooke, by the way,” she continues. “I don’t think I told you.”

“Vanessa.” Before she can stop herself, she throws her arm out, wraps her hand around Brooke’s, and shakes it. Who the hell does she think she is, a white businessman? But the mystery of what her touch feels like is too much to resist, and Vanessa’s heart misses a beat as she meets Brooke’s skin, soft and a little cold in her grasp.

Izzy nudges her, and Vanessa realizes she’s still pumping Brooke’s hand up and down, the blonde’s whole arm shaking with the motion.

“Guess I better go get the next kid,” she says, sadly pulling her hand away.

“Guess so.”

Brooke sounds just as sad to have her hand back.

—

“Alright, vampire is ready to go,” Silky says, gesturing to a cape and white shirt. “We even got some face paint.”

“If you’re doing makeup and everything, I want money,” Izzy insists.

“How much?” Vanessa’s fingers curl around the five-dollar bill.

“Ten bucks.”

Damn. “How about five?”

“In this economy? Please,” her sister scoffs. “I want ten.”

“Fine.” Vanessa parts with the money. She’d pay triple that for another minute with Brooke.

—

As Brooke tells Izzy what a scary vampire she makes, Vanessa finally tears her eyes off Brooke’s face and takes in her clothes for the first time: white Converse, dark jeans roaming up her mile-long legs, and a loose black sweater on top.

“No costume for you?” Vanessa asks.

Brooke shakes her head. “Nah. I was with this dance company for a few years, and after putting on makeup and costumes for hours every night you kinda need a break.”

“I get that.” Vanessa nods. “I do people’s makeup all day, sometimes I don’t even wanna do my own after.”

“I think you’d be beautiful either way–not that it’s any of my business, of course,” Brooke offers.

“I could let it be your business,” Vanessa winks mischievously.

“Are you gonna move? I want candy!” someone yells, and Vanessa whirls around to face an irate, waist-high Captain America, shield raised menacingly.

“Sorry.” Vanessa pulls back into the hall. “I’ll be back,” she calls to Brooke.

“I’ll be waiting.”

—

“This is your last chance, V,” A’keria warns. She hands Izzy the princess dress and Silky scrubs off the face paint. “You’re out of fake siblings, unless you want to tell this woman you adopted a child in the last hour. Just give her your da–dang number already.”

“I know, I know.” She digs through her junk drawer for paper, hoping Brooke won’t mind it’s a sheet from the Disney notepad Izzy left here, the image of Moana staring up at her.

“At least you closed your mouth when you stared at her this time,” Izzy says, tugging on the dress.

“Hey!”

“You know you did it, girl,” Silky insists.

“Probably drooled, too,” A’keria adds.

“I don’t see either of you in a couples costume tonight!” Vanessa snaps. She triumphantly lifts the paper with her phone number like an Olympic medal. “I’m gettin’ my girl.”

—

“This is the last one, huh?” Brooke asks. She sounds genuinely sad about it.

“Yep.”

“Amazing how they’re all the exact same height.” Brooke bites her lip and Vanessa knows she knows but couldn’t care less.

“Yeah, real amazing.” Vanessa grins. “Anyway, I got a little something for you.”

“A treat?” Brooke raises her eyebrows.

“If you want it to be,” Vanessa says coyly as she slips the paper into Brooke’s hand.

“Thank you,” Brooke says sincerely. “And I like the Moana theme,” she compliments.

Vanessa shrugs, straining her neck for last one peek at Brooke’s eyes. “It’s my sister’s.”

“The real one?” Brooke teases and Vanessa can’t hold back her laugh. “Don’t worry, I think it’s kinda sweet,” Brooke reassures her. And then Izzy steps back and the moment is over all too soon, with nothing to do but wait for Brooke to call.

“Well, happy Halloween.” Vanessa shuffles down the hall.

“Happy Halloween.”

—

The sky is dark, the living room still littered with popcorn and candy wrappers from the annual Dreamgirls showing of Hocus Pocus, when the doorbell rings.

She yanks it open with a sigh. “Look, it’s midnight, I ain’t got cand–oh.”

A lacy black dress pops against Brooke’s milky skin, exposing her strong shoulders and the top half of her chest in a deep V that really needs to go a bit deeper. Her lips are red as blood, eager eyes framed in heavy black makeup, blonde hair hidden by the tulle rising from her head.

“Thought you said you didn’t like costumes,” Vanessa manages as her knees turn rubbery, mouth dropping open.

“Well, I had this in my closet, and I thought I’d make an exception for you,” Brooke says, stroking the rubber snake slithering around her neck with black-gloved fingers. “Now, what do you say I take you downstairs and give you a real treat?”

[charmed-asylum]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓷𝓮𝓻𝓼

ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀꜱ, ᴘᴀʀᴛ 3

Summary: Finn Cox had everything boy would ever dream of a hot cheerleader girlfriend, loved by everyone, and caption of his hockey team. So why is since Camille Dawson step into his life he starts to have second thoughts about everything

FYI: You know what sucks being sick during the holidays. Anyway, we about to get into the good stuff. Sorry not sorry but you might go through an emotional roller coaster  Lets CHAT Come get a tag or Whatnot. If you are new catch up :)

✨ The Partners: Ch. 1 / Ch. 2   ✨

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝑔𝑒𝒹:   @weapinggwillowss​ @nottherightseason​ @strangerfictions​  @thewolfswriting​ @ hauntors 

Nikkei was piss he could not be at her cheerleading practice. Something he just didn’t care for and had time to fake it. 

“ Look I’m sorry Nic. Things have been crazy with my mom” Finn said walking beside her down the hallway. She was shuggle under his arms wrap like a ribbon around a pretty Christmas present. “How do I look, Finn Cox. WE are captains not being together. Is just unheard of.  Me alone with no public PDA. You nowhere to be found. Sometimes I feel you don’t care about my needs. Just yours. You know that selfish “ Nikkei said with hatred. He remands quite just mumble yes dear. Camille was walking swiftly down the hallway carrying too many books coming in the opposite direction. “ See you in class Cam” Finn shout out to her. She smiled nodded yes and continue on her way almost tripping on her shoelace. Nikkei stop and yanked him close to a window. “Another thing. Don’t do that with her when I’m with you. Knowledge her like that. It’s belittling Finn. Better yet do not do it at all in school. People were talking and not good stuff. Stop it or else by 12 periods you be nothing” Nikkei said with her arms cross. He rolled his eyes. Said the girl who cheats on daily tripping on a friendship. “ Nikkei she nothing but a partner for a class you heard Kev. She a golden ticket so I’m playing nice. Freakin chill. You have nothing to worry about “ Finn said holding her tight. He started to kiss her lifting her against the glass window. Making sure all those worries were wrong.

He just missed the bell after a full-blown makeout session with Nikkei. “ Your late” the teacher said tapping at the desk. Finn sat in the back tried his best to pay attention but all he could think about was what Nikkei said. Camille was just a friend. Yeah, he thought about her a lot and stuff but was it more. Nah. He needs a break to talk it over with someone. Raising his hand he quickly rushes to the bathroom. 

Camille sneaked into the boy's bathroom flustered at him. “ We gotta make up a schedule Finno. I was in class. Yeah, we were watching a movie -” she stopped and looked at him. “ We should probably not be in the boy's bathroom “she said looking around. He grabbed her hand and walk into a nearby empty classroom.

“ I just wanna tell you things might come around on something I said and it’s not true” Finn said.  "Willy Wonka" Camille said standing by the bookshelf. He got closer and stood in front of her confused. “What does that mean” Finn said a bit irritated. Camille walk around him and walks towards the back of the classroom creating some space. “ Golden ticket. I’m not stupid. I was aware of what your intentions were. Nikkei probably acting like any girl would. I’m sure I add a few punches this week” Camille said moving her hair behind her ear and grinned. She looked up at him through her natural thick black lashes. “ How you know” Finn said growing close to her. She wiggles her shoulders a bit at the question. “ Isn’t that what you want to say... Is it your mom" Camille said holding onto his forearm. Finn looks down at her hand. It was like a gentle touch. She brushed her thumb against his bicep smoothing him. A touch he didn't want to let go. Still, he did not move it away. “ No. she fine. She has doctor appointments today. What should I do with Nikkei” Finn asked? Camille sighed. “She looks like a person that’s a big show me. You should take her out. Somewhere where she can get all dolled up but also a place you people go too. Alright, Cox" Camille said a bit chipper. “When did you become my bro, “ Finn said with a chuckle. Camille walk towards the door looks back towards him. “ Maybe your just my sista. Tonight take her out. I have your back with your parents” Camille said leaving. Finn nods and started to laugh. “ I already sent you a link. The private plane ride got a coupon and good to take pics “ Camille said poking her head inside before going.

Finn rushed back and made an excuse. While anyone wasn’t looking he put everything together and sent Nikkei a text to meet up after school. He waited for her by the gym entrance after practice. Nikkei walk out with her hair perfectly straight down with a middle part a white blouse with a big black bow and a short plaid skirt that went above her knees all in red pumps. Completely different from what she was wearing this morning. Then again making your friends give up their lockers to you can probably do that. He held on to a dozen on red roses. Nikkei took them and hand it to her friend. “ What the big surprise “ Nikkei asked. Finn grabs her hand and walks her to his car. “ It’s a surprise" Finn said excitedly. She said nothing just text on her phone. Finn looks over and tried to start a conversation with her. Nothing. Pulling out his phone he texts Camille for pointers.

Cam😇: Probably not txt the girl she had a problem 😛 w/ & say her makeup look hot makes me wanna kiss you lol 

Finn clears his throat. “ You know Nic you're looking hella fine those lips so juicy I can’t wait to kiss them, “Finn said trying to sound cool. Nikkei look up from her phone and beamed. “Really because I been using this makeup that cost $200 the bare minimum. Where we going “ Nikkei asks eagerly. Finn tried not to sweat. “ Somewhere special for my lady” Finn said. He pulled into a runway he and parks by a plane. “ I want to show you the world so I decided to start with this. Private half-hour ride" Finn gesturing to the plane. Nikkei smile and took her phone out. “ Oh, my gosh those salty bitches gonna be so jealous “ Nikkei said recording what was happening. Finn rushes his hands through his hair. “ Probably talk too” Finn mumbled. She was paying him no mind the whole time live streaming and took selfies. Finn hated it. He just looks out the whole time wishing he was somewhere else.

Nikkei was thrilled and delighted after the ride. Happy and not talking crazy like before. She clings to him the whole ride home calling anyone who answers and brag.

He lends against the door waiting for Camille. It was crunch time two more weeks then presentations were starting. Yo, what up for BDay 🤢🍺Kevin text. He started to text back when Camille came walking down the hallway with her hair bouncing around one side to another.“ Smile" Camille said holding up her very old camera. Finn knocks it to the side and walks in with her. “ What up with the Father Time over here” Finn asked holding the camera. He went to take a picture of Camille till she stops him waving her hand to cover her face. “ Didn’t your parents tell you gotta warn a girl before taking a picture? “ Camille said muttering through her hands. Finn giggle. "Okay" he said laughing at her. Peaking through her fingers Camille looks at him,” How was yesterday “. Finn sat back in the seat and took pictures of random things. “ It was alright” Finn said. Camille let her hands down and look at him. She said nothing just look at him. She always knew. “ I enjoy it though. How do you find out about that place” Finn asks? “ My uncle took me when I first came here and no anything else you gotta wait until after we gets work done or buy the audiobook ” Camille said. “Alright ALRIGHT. Cam I was thinking we can get a few people tonight before the game and some today during class” Finn said pulling at his notebook. “ Ready when you are” Camille said getting up.

She was writing down some notes a curl drop down in front of her forehead. “ You owe me a game” Finn said lending against the desk. She stopped and chuckled to herself. “ Yeah. Been there done that. I’m good. Thanks “ Camille said. He looked at her then around holding his hands to scream. "HEY GUESS WHAT" Finn started to shout. Camille pulled at his arms down giggling. “ Okay. Okay. But we gotta get some shots so do good” Camille said getting up to leave. “ YES DEAR” Finn shout out. She turns around and puts her pinky up at him and walks away.

His mom and dad decided to come after finding out their new buddy was coming. It was an important game very important. One of those you win it really can mean something. Nikkei's ex-team was their biggest rival. He stood tall putting on his gear when she walks in baby blue jeans Bon Jovi vintage tour t-shirt and a big brown jacket camera swinging side to side. Flash “ You can’t be here. Dawson" coach said before she got to him. She peaks over his broad shoulders to look at Finn. Looking back down bashful, "I’m sorry coach Jackson. Thought it was the girl locker. While I’m here can I take a few pictures for the yearbook” He nods and point towards the opposite direction Finn was. He wanted to laugh he could only imagine her in the boy's locker room again.

 “Alright but make it February girls get sappy for that love shit” Kevin said walking over. Throwing his jersey on his approached  Finn. “ Man you got a piece of that attention” Kevin said pointing at where he just came from. Finn looked over once more. “ What action you talking about. Get your mind right” Finn said closing his locker. Kevin wave his hands and points towards where Camille was. “ Nothing. Bro. Look your partner over there taking pics of us. Said it can be a calendar good. Imagine tons of tens shut even fives under me in their beds. Touching themselves in their bedrooms holding a fucking teddy ” Kevin said laughing. 

Finn got up and walk off. He was a bit conflicted. Yeah, she was a friend but a part of him didn’t get why she was talking to others. By the time he walked over no one but the team manager was there cleaning. “ Where the girl ” Finn asked. “ Cox. She left but hey I got a picture she said might be good for February “ he said. Finn kicked a ball and walk off. “ Say cheese buck a roo” Camille said sitting down by his locker. He sighs and walks pass towards his bag. She followed behind. “ What up with you talking to the guys" Finn asked throwing things into his bag. She took off her glass and look at him her big brown Bambi eyes sparkle against the tacky ceiling lights. “ Look at me. I had to make a reason why I am in the guy's locker room. I did get in trouble last time I bust in here. Do you want me to get in trouble? Finn” she said putting them back on. He stops throwing things in. STUPID  “ Oh. Yeah, I knew that. So a calendar” Finn said. Lending against the locker beside his.” Yeah, I actually might make a calendar now. Kinda feel bad for lying. I can probably put it together by the final game if you win today. Oh, wait my uncle said good luck “ she said pulling at the camera straps blushing. He never saw he blush like that. Of course, she gets bashful but she always looks away or coughs in her oversize sleeves. Finn smiled and starts to say something. “ Cox Dawson. You gotta go” Coach said. Camille nodded and left. Finn watches as she left. Thanks, Cam Cam 

He walked out with the rest of the team. This was it his home safe place. Something about playing made him excited thrill happy pump everything. He looks out to Nikkei with her friends. Then in the far center, Camille was sitting by his mom. Will on the other end next to his dad cheering out loud waving foam fingers. Both his dad and Will was wearing the team color paint on their face waving their beer in the air. Camille smiled was so bright that it was could be brighter than the sun. She waved at him and pointed so his mom can see him. He looked back at the ice and took a deep breath in, GAME TIME.

The sweat rushes down his face as he made the winning shot as the bell rings. Finn drops to the ground and screams out loud with excitement. The floor started to shake as everyone stomp and scream filled the whole arena. Tears flow down his cheeks mixing with the sweat and blood from a busted lip. Everyone jumped on top of him yelling. Flash He looked over to see Camille at the corner of his eye taking a picture of him with the team. His mom came over to her and talk to her for a second before walking back together where they came from. He slaps everyone hand and got lost in the win.

His parents waited for him by the parking lot. Waving signs rooting for their boy. Dad playfully patted his back and mess his hair. “Good game kid. Like how you listen to me about those shots you took and D” dad said rubbing his back. “ Yea dad” Finn responded looking around for Camille. Mom taps his side. “ Don’t worry she be coming soon. You ask her out yet “ mom said with a big smile. She liked Camille a lot. “ No. I got a girlfriend ma. Camillie just a friend “Finn said rolling his eyes. He spotted Will walking over on the phone. No Camille. “ Yo Will over here” Finn said waving him to come over. Will wave okay and finish his call. “Any plans with the team “ mom asked holding dad's hands. “ Coach invited the team for pizza so we doing that I guess" Finn said looking around for Camille. Where was she at she was fine a minute ago. 

Will wave at everyone and walk over. “ Yeah, I know. I don’t know baby alright. I talk later” Will said rattled. “ Where Camille “ mom asked worriedly. Finn looks at her then at Will waiting for an answer. “ Huh, she alright. Girl stuff. You know that time of the month. She said she was sorry. Good game Finno” Will said rubbing his hands. Finn looks over by where the high school entrance then again at Will. “ Can you tell her I call later if that’s okay with you just to check on her ” Finn asked. Will frown a bit and nodded okay. He spoke to his parents to the side even inviting them to his yacht to celebrate the win when he comes back from a business trip.

It was loud a lot of cheering. In good sport coach invited the other team. Surprisingly they show. It was probably the free food and trash talk. He tried enjoying himself but all he could do was think just what changes in those minutes. Maybe it was something he did. “ Yo to Finn Da Cox sucker. Great win bro” Kevin said raising his drink. Everyone rooting him on. “ Thanks, K “ Finn said spotting Nikkei walking in with her ex. Crushing the red cup in his hand he gave her a look. Nikkei wave goodbye and walk over to Finn and the guys. “ What up with that. Really at my celebration Nikkei “ Finn said pissed. She clings onto his jacket and pushes him to stop. “We were just chatting and smoking babe. You know everyone jealous of you and me. Mostly me” Nikkei said kissing him on the lips. He looks at her ex and walks back over to the party with Nikkei. She sat on his lap as they all celebrate. Time to be Finn all love and envy.

He rubbed his eyes and yawned, letting out a big cold breath out of air. He looks out. He was on her road just sitting on the hood of his car. What happened those moments. Nikkei was extra nice. He had to get his mind right he won so why it feels like he didn’t. He looks again at his phone. A bike road up down the road. Camille came closer to him in a pair of sweatpants covered by a huge black Santa Cruz shroom dot spider dye hoodie. Swinging over the seat she hopped off and walk to him. Her hair blew with the wind. It was silent just noise of nature but in his mind, it sounds like a track of his life went off as she got closer. “And why couldn’t you just come to my house and do this. I’m in my PJ” Camille said pointing at herself. Finn sigh. “ Sorry. I was worried about you. Will was acting strange and you. You were fine then your sick out of nowhere" Finn stated. It was dark yet he could look like a dream. “No no. I’m sorry. How was the part-tay" Camille asked amusingly ignoring his concern? He got closer to her. She walks back a little so she was still a dream imagined. “ It was good. You should have come. Nikkei was extra nice" Finn said putting his hands into his back pockets. She said nothing just look at him. A car passes by making her face clear to see. She had a few bruises busted lip and cut across the face. Finn got close and touch her. He didn't know why but it felt where his hands had to be. Protecting her comforting her. She closes her eyes and smile hold onto his hand and moves it down. “ I’m fine” she said holding his sweaty hand. He knocks it back up and tried to wipe some of the blood away. “What happened” Finn said concern. Her eyes widened and she just looks at him. “ Nothing. Finn, it’s not for me to say. I’m fine it’s just war paint. It’s late. You should probably stay sleep in a guest room. Will got clothes and stuff that should fit you” Camille said bringing her bike over to his car. Breathtaking.

She gave him some towels and a change of clothes for tomorrow. “I will never hurt you, Camille. I just wanna let you know. Never” Finn said. Camille stopped in the doorway and look back at him. “It’s not good to make promises we can’t keep. Good night Finn. You did well today. I'm proud of you“ Camille said. Finn got up shook his head no and squeezed her arm tight. “Never” he said seriously. She nods and touches his cheek and whispered in his ear good night. He lay in bed and thought about her and this time she was just a few feet away.

The smell of fresh cinnamon rolls covers the whole house. He walks into the kitchen still trying to wake up. She was putting the breakfast out for the two. Her glasses tilt down a bit as she was singing. If he never saw the state she was in yesterday he would never think she was a nasty fall. Grabbing a biscuit he sits down. “Your uncle not gotta kill me is he” Finn asked. She holds up the coffee then the orange juice. He nods at the juice then points at the coffee. She sat across from him her feet cross in the chair. “ I guess we will have to see. He is a good shooter... No, he left this morning before you woke up meeting in Canada or was it Calfoina” she said eating some pineapple slices. Finn looks around. “ So they are usually gone all the time like this for real. My parents are so different always there. But still, I feel alone. Guess I should count my blessings" Finn said. Camille pushes back then forward in her chair and nods yes. “ Don’t get any ideas, Finn. It’s a bit of isolation in a land of quiet but I enjoy it. Like the jogs I take. Skills I learn. Oh, that reminds me” Camille said getting up. Finn leaned back to see what she was doing. She walks back with something in her hands. “ What this” Finn asks while drinking coffee. She sat on the table. “ I’m taking the bus to school. So here are the keys for you to lock up” Camille said swaying a key on a Hello Kitty and moon keychain. “Let me take us in” Finn said stopping her. She looks at him then bit her bottom lip. She looks back down then up at him. “You won’t let me go only if I say yes. Then okay but you let me out a block from the school. Don’t want the right people getting the wrong idea. Right “ Camille asked a hand on her hip. “Yeah” he said letting go. She sat back down and look at him before finishing her fruit.

He stops her a block from school just like she asked. Something happened. Last night. Something that she was keeping hidden and probably Nikkei was trying to keep it that way. He wouldn’t have thought that way. Yet it what Camille kept saying and not saying. The looks though that was the keyhole. Nikkei and Kevin waited for him by his locker talking to one another. “ So bro what happened to you. Tried to call you last night” Kevin said greeting Finn. “ Nah nothing. So you heard about the finals” Finn said. They look at each other. “ It’s next Monday. So it’s like what two days after your birthday. No-fuss bro” Kevin said excitedly. “ I got so many ideas for your birthday. We discussed what I like for you to do at lunch okay “ Nikkei said then walked off. Finn looked down at the ground. He completely forgot about his birthday. He has been so busy with classes, his mom, and hockey it didn’t leave him room to be a kid.

They got their assign days, Friday. Camille text him as soon as it went up. They finished thanks to her quick thinking but all left was the actual interviews that they had to do during class. Finn asks a few of his friends and Camille asks a few from class and her group. She was set up in the empty art room. “ What up what are we doing” Finn said walking into the plastic on the floor. Camille looks up in her overalls and crop top. “ Setting up. Finn, you forgot “ Camille said wiping her hands on her overalls.

Stroking his hand through his hair he laughs. The surprise. He looks at her as he was about to say something when people start to come in. It was a genius pure genius perfect IQ smart. Wiping her face she threw a towel at Finn. “ We still gotta film each other part. Look into the bag” Camille said sitting on the stool. Finn look at her then reaches in. It was evening dress, tiara, stash, and his Boy Scout uniform. “ No, I’m not doing that. Mamma boy I’m doing that “ Finn said laughing. Camille flips off her sweat jacket. “ No, I remember you making me do mine and you doing yours it’s in the paper. You know the one we already gave last week. Come on. I go first “ Camille said holding onto her stuff. “ Where you even get this stuff. Cam God damn" Finn said. She smiled and point for him to turn around. He turns around in his stool and pops some music in his ears. After a few minutes, he turns around to see if she was done. Camille was bent pulling up her dress. He watches as she was getting ready. God Kevin was right. Her skin was smooth and tight even her birthmark was cute. Zipping up she flips her hair a bit and turns around. He tried to relax before he did anything else. Cursing at his pants as they grew tight.  Camille walks over and sets up her camera for the interview. He watches her. He wanted to smile but he knew he couldn’t. She was the partner just a friend. “Your too cute” Camille said standing beside him. “ What” Finn asked jumping off his stool. “ The uniform it’s cute. So we did the voice-overs now we just gotta have fun with it. Any ideas" Camille said playing with her tiara. “ I got a few” Finn said with a smile.

She said no one will see it till Friday. Not even him. Nikkei was having extra fun planning his birthday bash. Kevin was talking up all the chicks he was inviting. “ I don’t know where we gonna have it at. I got into trouble for the last party. I guess breaking all grandma old crap wasn’t right “ Kevin said eating his apple. Nikkei rolls her eyes and giggle. “ I mean I can see if daddy gonna be home or out with his sugar baby. What about Saturday “ Nikkei asked. Finn looks out at the grass. She was on his mind. “ Yeah do whatever. My parents are having a thing Friday though" Finn said getting up. Nikkei look at Kevin then at Finn. “ Where are you going“ Nikkei says upset. “ Bathroom" Finn answered. He looks deep into the mirror and rushes cold water onto his face. Sitting on the floor he sighs and holds tight. Breathing slowly he slaps himself a few times. Ding Getting up he quickly bumped into someone. He grabs a few of the books and hands it to the person. “ Thanks” Camille said. Finn smiled and nod. “ Yeah welcome. Gotta go” Finn said and dart to his next class. Was it strange, yes but he couldn’t help himself he didn’t know what it was or wasn’t? Or probably it was the fact this year was ending and what would that mean for their friendship.

“ So plans for your birthday. Honey “ mom said folding clothes. Finn tosses his bag on the ground and hops on the king-size bed. She sat beside him and move his head onto her lap. “ You should not be doing this ma. Let me or dad do it “ Finn said. His mom rubs his back a bit. “ I promise myself something, Finn. When it’s time for me to go. I go on my time. No matter the pain. I wanna go when I’m ready. So plans” mom said rubbing his head now. He turns around and looks at her. “ I want to spend it with you. I guess maybe dad can come too” Finn said. His mom smiles and looks at him. He knew what she wanted. “ Surprise then it is" mom said. He smiled and got up to help fold things. Dad came a bit later from work then Finn went off to his room. He swings in his chair as he finished up his homework.

There was a knock waking Finn up from a nap he wasn’t planning on having. “You up. Finn “ a voice said from the other side. Finn slowly got up and wipe his mouth. “ No. Just finished up with homework “ Finn said opening a book to a random page. Dad walks in and looks around. “ Good work out there and around the house. Just wanna make sure alright “ Dad said looking at the trophies. Finn turned his chair around and look at him. “ Thanks, sir” Finn said standing up. He nods in agreement. His dad was a different strong one with no words. That when he speaks all you heard was pride strength and a bit beer. Looking back at a picture of the two he nodded again and walk out. Dad man of few words but always carry the world on his back.

Finn made it clear to himself he wasn’t going to tell Camille about his birthday. “ You got any plans this summer” Finn asked Camille as they sat watching a group. Camille glance at him then back at the group. “ Don’t know. Probably be sent off somewhere like any time I’m not in school. For the summer last year I was feeding and building houses for third world countries. You” Camille said softly. He got a bit closer to her and rest his head on the desk. “Summer practice . Hang with the boys make out with Nikkei. I and my two brothers and my dad go camping at the end of the summer. Summer is supposed to be fun Cam Cam” Finn said nudging his shoulder to hers. She got low and closer to him. “ What I have fun. I went to every museum in this state thank you. I know fun” Camille said with a smile. Finn turns to her shock as if what she said was the biggest nasty secret he ever heard. She rolled her eyes and toss a cookie. “How you know I’m hungry. Food whisper" Finn whispers into her ear. “Maybe I’m just the Finn whisper. You have lunch before me and you are always hungry. Now hush eats your cookies before we get into trouble “ she said tickling him. After class, he waited a bit for her. “ They were good today. We should probably practice. My house after practice. I can take you home after again if you want” Finn asked walking beside her. “ No. That’s alright. I meet you at your house. But I would like it if you drop me home though please “ Camille asked. He grabs at his backpack straps and nod yes. She gently touches his shoulder “Thank you “ she said and walk off. He was worried truly worried his time with her was ending whining down. He wasn't ready for that.

“ So I was thinking probably party. Few kegs, DJ like that techno kid, and lots of chics for your party" Kevin said tossing a ball up in the air. “ We should do something different. Oh, I got it. Bubble machine and I can wear the cute bikini I got. Good idea Finn” Nikkei said to him. Finn looks out to the rest of the classmates than to Nikkei. “ I wanna keep it open to the whole class. We always have the same people the same thing “ Finn said bored. “We look into that Becky" Nikkei said looking at Kevin. Finn sat back slowly mellowing out. Watching everyone put together his birthday party without really thinking. Is this what he wanted. All this time he didn’t want to tell Camille and now he wished she was the only one that knew.

Camille was right in the kitchen cooking and helping mom like so many times before. His dad in his same spot drinking a beer while watching sports. Holding her hand laughing and talking about whatever girly thing mom never was able to talk to with Finn. “Finn come you have to try this. Camille taught me a new dish” mom said to bring over a plate. Finn took it and ate the small nugget side treat. “ Good what is it” Finn said wiping his hands on his sleeve. “ I call it the Alaska roll. She wanted something new so I gave it to her. Your dad loves them “ Camille said pointing at the plate by dad. He smiled and grabbed her hand. “ Ma we got work to do. Do you mind if I take her for a little? Promise I bring her back in one piece“ Finn said walking out with Camille before she could answer.

They sat together on the bed facing each other. She probably is the only girl he never made out or had the attention to do anyway besides his mom in his room. Her posher was tall with strength and pride. She had a sweet floral scent. “ They were good today. I know we are going to be good just” Finn said trying not to pay attention to her scent. She nods in agreement. Unaware of the battle boy beside her was fighting. “ Your right we can practice but we should do something different. What about an audience. I think I see two lucky ones in the living room” Camille said with a gentle elegant smile. “I don’t know. I do sports in front of them but school stuff not sure. Cam” Finn said. Camille got closer and pat his back. “ Finn I’m being serious now. Your amazing it’s time you show them that. Can I tell you something “ Camille asked? He looks up at her and nods. “ I’m scared too. But your family is your family they love and will support you. If you can go in front of a crowd every so night plays a sport you love. In front of your friends your foes strangers. You can do this. I believe that and I guess you” Camille said still rubbing his back. He looks into her eyes and just smiled. “ Can we see the video” Finn asked. Getting up she held his hands. “ They can you maybe" Camille said then went off to ask them.

They were laying down watching a doctor show. “ Can we go over something with you mom and sir?” Finn asked. Camille slowly walks behind him and stood holding on to her computer and sheet. Mom coughs a bit. “ Yes” mom said standing up a bit. Finn looks back at her then at his mom. Camille passed out the paper as Finn started. She decided not to show him but both his parents were more than please, even his dad almost smiled. “ It was so good. Finn” mom said with a big smile looking at the work video. “It’s great. You did great Finn” dad said taking a sip of his beer. Cam looks at Finn then at his dad. Glancing at his watch Finn made an excuse to get out of there. Camille stops before getting out. “ So you know. You're great. Have to give yourself more credit. I hope you realize that. Finn. I hate being the only one. Well besides your family and Will “ Camille said with a smile. “ Same to you“ Finn said before turning back to the road. He stops before driving off. “ I wanna just tell you.... huh. Never mind good night” Finn said. She looks at him. She always could tell. Always.

It was finally the day. The day that took them weeks to prep. He couldn’t believe it was only weeks ago she wasn’t in his life. A time he barely can remember. Without her. Next to him. He wanted to focus on thinking about the future but now he could one thing to do.

Finn paces back and forth outside. Camille wasn’t nervous which made him more nervous. Don’t worry Finn! When all the things he could do was to worry. Games people anything but this. Was it the whole speaking in front of a class thing or the fact he wanted to do good for her. Camille walks up with ripped jeans and a plastic bag. “ Here tiger for you check them out” Camille said pulling one out. Finn dropped his bag and open up the shirt. It was a white t with #TruUBeU, their title of there subject. She waved her finger for him to turn it, his name. She pulled out another box. “What that “ Finn asked. Camille put it down. “ It’s for later. Ready to blow some socks off” Camille said walking in. They were last. Finn was nervous as they set up. Camille thought it is nice maybe even different if they set things different then it usually is done. He watches as she introduces them interacting with the class. Her space. She spoke in a way that made everyone feel special like it was only you and her. It works like lyrics to a song. All working together so perfectly. People were invested. Even the teacher was at the end of the seat. Then the video all brought everything together. By the end the whole class chant and clap their hands. Finn looks at her then at class. His hand intertwined with hers. Proud wasn’t the word he felt important. She left for the next class but not before she gave him the box.

Sitting on the hood of his car he took out the box. It was school colors with a fancy bow with a little card: 𝒯𝑜 𝐹𝒾𝓃𝓃𝑜. 𝒯𝑜𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝒶 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓌𝑒, 𝑜𝒻 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒, 𝒸𝑒𝓁𝑒𝒷𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝓊𝒸𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒶𝓁𝓈𝑜 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓁 𝒹𝒶𝓎. 𝐻𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓎 𝐵𝒾𝓇𝓉𝒽𝒹𝒶𝓎 - 𝒞𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓁𝑒 𝒟𝒶𝓌𝓈𝑜𝓃

Inside was a jersey with Cox’s Ice Devils and a photo frame of him and his parents from the game. That night he celebrated with his parents everything was perfect. They enjoyed each other's company, gave gifts, and watch all the family videos from when he was young.

Dad and mom had a doctor's visit early Saturday which left the party that night. Everyone was hyped excited. Nikkei even text a few pictures of bikinis she was choosing to wear. By the time he arrived at the party, it had already started music bang from ear to ear. Drinks everywhere. Everyone having a good time. Everyone but him. He already got into another fight with Nikkei about her kissing some guy plus all his friends were drunk showing around the calendar. He sat down and watch everyone. Buzz buzz Grabbing his keys he left his party behind for some real fun.

“ Hey, you wanna hang today. Got somewhere fun I wanna take you” Finn asked Camille. She let her hand out the window and flow with the breeze. “ So where are we going, “ Camille asked looking out. He looks at her and smiled. “ You see” Finn said. They pulled up to a festival fair. Camille looks out at aw. “ I go every year. Well use to with my dad” Finn said opening the door for Camille. “ It’s cool. I wish I can say I have been before. Didn't you have a party or something tonight? Don’t you think they miss you” Camille asked? Looking at his phone he turns it off and tosses it into the car. “ Now I’m here with you and all these crazy rides and treats” Finn said taking Camille's hand and running inside.

They walk around to all the attractions and play games against each other. “ How long did you know" Finn said eating popcorn. Camille gave him some cotton candy for some popcorn. “ Your mom told me a few weeks ago. If you wanted to tell me I’m sure you would of“ Camille answered walking beside him. He smiled. “Can I ask you something?" Finn asked. Camille stops and looks at him. Her hair flow with the breeze. “ These weeks have been amazing. Like if I can spend every day like this I want to. Tell me there an after for us. After this. I’m hoping we can still be after this “ Finn said looking into her brown chocolate eyes. “ Yeah. You mean. We can still be friends... Wanna do the photo booth” Camille asked with a giggle going inside.

Finn sat beside her looking into her eyes. Today beginning to feel like the best day he ever had. “ No. I mean more. What if I want more. I did not want to say before but every day I feel like giving up. I felt everything was useless. But with you huh I get butterflies I feel there meaning” Finn said looking at her as he put money in. CLICK She was silent and look at the camera to smile. They started taking pictures smiling till he looks at her once again and stops. Bring his hand to hold her cheeks in each hand he reaches in and kisses her on the lips. CLICK Camille hold his face and kiss back deeper with a little tongue. It tastes like heaven felt like paradise. They drift off playing off with each other mouth with one another. “ Camille” he said muon into her mouth. CLICK She looked at him then move back coming off high that was their kiss. Breathing heavy. “ I shouldn’t you are. But" she said touching her lips looking away. Finn reaches closer and moves her hair to the side. “ Since the day she said your name. I knew. I know you feel it too. Tell me I’m wrong. AND I would never bring it up again. I’m not with her anymore. I don’t care. Cam. I think I want this with you” Finn said combing his fingers through her curls. She was speechless but her eyes answered. The doubt. “ I promise I won’t hurt you” Finn said kissing her again this time a bit more rough hungry. CLICK “ I promise Camille I won't ever leave you. You will never have to alone” Finn said with his forehead touching hers. He looks up into her eyes his hands never leaving her hair. 

They hold hands as they rode the Ferris Wheels. Like they finally gave in all the tension that has been building up for weeks. Talking about plans they were gonna do over the summer together. Weeks they spend at each other house. Finn bringing her with him to the camp trip at the end of the summer. Her inviting him to Miami for a week with her. The future. Everything and then nothing. He was happy. More than that he was at peace. Their fingers intertwined with each other as they walk around the grounds. Other holding a few plush animals he won her. He never felt this with any girl before. She was light warmth his heart been missing. Camille stop and glance at her phone. She slowly let go of his hand and called someone. She whispers to the phone then look at Finn. “ We have to go” was all she said. Finn looks at her eyes they were full of joy and were now cold and silent like the dead of winter.

They got to the hospital just in time. Finn rushes past everyone and leaving Camille behind fighting back her tears. Praying they made it just in time. Finn sat by his mom's tears rolled down his face. “ I want to go knowing my baby happy. I know that I can leave you and you will be alright. I don’t want to be in pain anymore. I love you, Finn Edwards Cox. My boy my sun and my moon. I love you” she said holding tight to his hand. Finn wouldn’t leave her side even as the minutes roll to one.

With each call text, Finn stayed away. Alone to himself. Even when it came to the funeral he asks for Camille not to come. He couldn’t he won’t. In class, he wouldn’t answer her just pretend she wasn’t there. All he wanted was to be numb to forget.

It was the championship and he was different. Not the same as he was before. Was that for the better or worse. The locker room was empty just him and his thoughts. “ Did you hear we got an A. Best in the class. It was perfect. All thanks to you. How are you?” a soft voice said by the entrance. Finn pays the voice no mind. Camille walks in and stood in front of him. Her eyes were gentle. While he was raw full of anger and an unsettling mist. She went to grab his hand but he moves away. “ What do you want!” Finn snaps at her. Camille looks around then at him startled.“ I tried calling you. I tried everything. You shut me out. I promise we can make through this Finn. I can show you. Like I did when I lost my parents” Camille said trying to look at him. He pushed her away from this time firm. Making her almost fall back onto the ground. “Don’t you get it. Why are you so…” he stops and grabs at his hair “It was nothing. We are nothing you are fucking nothing...Your nothing. NOTHING but a fucking pathetic bastard of a joke. I mean how fucked up are you your parents had to die to leave you. God sends you back because he doesn’t want you either. Your only family rather be anywhere but with you. NOTHING but a GODLESS BITCH“ Finn shout out to her.

He turns his face from her. He couldn’t see it but he felt the pain. Standing right behind him she started to laugh. “ You not worthy. Oh yeah, say the words I see on my face every day. I was the one you went to Finn. You came to me. You told me how I made ... Freakin kiss me. Your looks can fade your friends are leeches those skills you hold so highly can’t be the answer all the time. But I show you a magic trick. Something so worthy. You won't ever see it coming. I disappear vanished you can look right at me but not see a thing. My name would be of gibberish ” she said softy holding back any emotion. He turns and she was gone. The crowd cheered out for him. He stops and looks once more than went out to the lights.

[onewhoturns]

fictober.23.: the first appointment

#Fictober19 Prompt: 23. You can’t give more than yourself. Fandom: Oxenfree Characters: Jonas, Duke (OC) Rating: T (no warnings apply) Tags: Angst-ish, emo Jonas, mental health & therapy Word Count: 2802

So... I'm posting this in order to maintain Fictober, but in all honesty this is actually a side scene/side story to a previously mentioned project that is still in the works and has yet to be posted. There may be some spoilers for the beginning of that fic. This is more an exploration of who this AU's version of Jonas is, how he's been affected by the things in his life- I'm calling it 'emo Jonas' but it may not be the type of emo you're expecting, I don't know.

If you want to read it when it comes up in the fic, it's looking like that would be anywhere from chapter 6 to chapter 9 (we're still in the midst of writing at the moment), and I'll update the summary and add it in as a related work when that becomes applicable.

For now, if you still want to read now (and it's cool if you don't), enjoy Jonas's first meeting with Duke, with no context to the rest of the story.

-

An appointment. ‘Like a doctor’s visit.’ Yeah. Well, maybe.

“Hey. You want to come on in?”

Jonas holds his breath for a second, standing from the waiting room to follow the man inside. The guy is in his early 30s, brown hair with a bit of gray starting in, just barely this side of messy, with glasses that look like he should be drinking craft brews at some gastropub in Portland. Duke. That’s a name, alright.

“Nice to finally meet in person.”

Jonas just nods. He’s not great at speaking to new people. Took him a couple weeks to start talking in intake. But he has kinda met Duke before. A pretty long phone interview, not to mention emails. They wanted to find a good therapist, and Camena had options. He’d settled on Duke.

“It’s nice to have all the paperwork out of the way already. Kind of a waste of session time, really.”

Jonas’s brows raise as he tips his head in acknowledgment and agreement.

Duke has a leg crossed over the other, and Jonas realizes, in retrospect, that the guy is actually his height. Maybe an inch shorter, but pretty damn close.

“How tall are you?” They’re the first words out of Jonas’s mouth, but they do their part.

“Six three. On a good day, anyway.”

“Nice.”

“Shoe size?”

“13.”

Duke winces audibly. “Damn, you beat me. 12 and a half.”

Jonas smirks a bit. And the ice is broken.

“You came from school?”

Jonas’s eyes wander to the side table between his chair and the unoccupied couch. He reaches for some kind of adjustable wire toy, turning it inside out and flipping it into different shapes. “Yup.”

“What’s your electives?” It’s a better question than ‘how was your day,’ at least. Duke’s foot is bouncing idly, as well.

“Gym and weight training; shop.”

“At CHS, right? Wilkinson still teaching wood shop?”

Wilkinson? “Yeah, I think that’s his name. Old guy, wears a lanyard with a whistle on it even though I don’t think he does any sports stuff?”

“Yep. He’s not too bad. Get him talking about baseball, that’s a thing. Does he still have that slugger in the workshop?”

“I… don’t know?”

“He’s got two, actually, I think. Louisville Slugger wooden bats, one official and one he made. If he still has it. I heard one year some kids stole it for a prank.”

“Kinda a dick move, the guy’s gotta be at least 70.”

“Yeah. Kids can be idiots. Present company excluded, of course.”

“Technically an adult, and I’d agree regardless.”

“When we talked before, you sounded kinda meh on the Individual Studies thing. How’s that looking?”

“It’s…” Jonas pulls a face. “Still meh on it. Some of the other kids are… ehh. Remind me of guys from North Valley, thinking they’re the shit. And the teachers - or whatever they’re called, aides? They’re a mixed bag. This one girl - woman, I guess - she seems pretty cool. Darcy. Good attitude, even if she seemed kinda fake at first.”

“I’m not sure I totally get what the course is, to be honest.”

“I mean, I’ve got three periods of it, it gets old fast. Though— I mean I guess they’re not all the same. First period for me seems more like… learning skills?” Jonas winces. “I dunno, it’s kinda cringey sometimes. And then third is gonna be assessment stuff— kinda miserable, just packets of standardized test questions and shit like that. Last period is chill though. Basically like a study hall for me, working on the stuff from the tests. And I’ve been getting out a little early, so I can-” He stops.

Duke waits a second for him to continue, and when he doesn’t, he lifts his chin from looking at the pad of paper in his lap (where Jonas can see little geometrical doodles as well as his illegible scrawl of whatever he’s noting). “A reminder; mandatory reporting doesn’t include stuff like truancy, just plans to harm yourself or others. And I consider ‘plans’ to actually mean plans.”

“So… there’s this girl, right?”

“A friend?”

Jonas hesitates. “Yyeahhh…”

“Or… sounds like maybe not just a friend?”

He shakes his head, “No, definitely just a friend, just… kinda insane.”

“Fun fact; ‘insane’ is really a legal term.”

Jonas rolls his eyes. “Kinda wild, then. Her and this other guy, too. They kinda like… adopted me?”

“Is that a positive or a negative?”

“I think it’s a positive? But— right, my point was, it gives me time to dip out the back and then meet them in the other parking lot.”

“Why the other parking lot?”

Jonas shoots Duke a flatly skeptical look. “Well they’re not gonna come meet me over in the ‘special’ wing.”

Duke huffs out a short laugh. “Wow, okay, strong feelings about IS are still there I see.” Even as Jonas is rolling his eyes again, he goes on. “So the wild duo. What kind of wild? You think they’ll get in the way of treatment?”

That makes him think for a second. “Um… no? I dunno. The guy is kinda stupid rich and somehow has a line to a shit ton of weed, apparently. Which could be a problem.”

Duke’s brows have risen high. “Could be, yeah. Does your JPPO do random testing? Think being around them could mess with your results?”

Jonas shakes his head. “Nah, they’re scheduled. Every other two weeks. And that should be done by the end of June, and the testing might be ditched entirely when we go down to only meeting once a month. Plus apparently he’s more of an edibles guy, so I’m not super worried about anything accidental. I can always just keep away for a few days before testing, shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Even though you’ve been adopted?”

He snorts a bit at that. “Guess I can’t know for sure. Not too worried, though.”

“That’s good. How exactly did you manage to get adopted?”

“The girl was my tour guide first day. I guess she thought I was cool, ‘cause she introduced me to her friend and… I dunno. We exchanged numbers and stuff. Texted. They’re kinda high energy for me, but also-” Jonas hesitates, rolling his eyes before continuing. “It’s weird, ‘cause Alex is kinda… popular? She’s a total dork, constantly jokes about being a witch, but it feels like everyone knows her? And likes her? It’s weird.”

“Huh. Are you saying you think they shouldn’t?”

“I’m saying…” Jonas shrugs. “Eh. She’s nice enough, I get that. But like… I feel like at North Valley she would’ve been… I mean, not disliked. Considered annoying, maybe, in large doses. Not exactly a class clown, but that same idea. More of a subject of entertainment than friendship.”

“That’s an interesting way of seeing things.”

“What do you mean?”

“Analytical.”

Jonas considers that for a second. “…Maybe? It’s just kinda how the world is, I’m not complaining about it or anything.”

“Are you unhappy about it?”

He shrugs. “No? Like I said; it’s just how it is. People offer certain benefits, right? Sometimes that’s, like… like someone who always knows the homework. If we’re thinking concretely here. And then there’s the one who always has a pencil you can borrow. —It’s like a study group sorta analogy. There’s someone who’s able to get everyone together at once, and someone who can talk to the teacher and argue on your behalf, but who you might not want to spend time with outside of class ‘cause they argue with everyone. And there’s a class clown type, who’s really entertaining but can sorta get in the way if you’re trying to be serious.” Jonas pauses again. “I mean, there’s a lot. But everyone kinda has their strengths and weaknesses, right? It’s like a teamwork thing.”

“So where do you fit in this?”

He thinks for a moment, still playing with the wire cage. “I dunno. I have a car.” That’s part of it at least, even if other things come to mind as well.

“You think that’s what people see you for? Your car?”

Jonas’s lips pull. “I’m not saying that’s my only redeeming quality, I know I’m not just some dude with a car. That’s just, like, the prime benefit.”

“What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your other ‘redeeming qualities.’”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m— I know I have them, okay? I’m- I have skills. But they aren’t- y’know, like, my function in a social group.”

“What if you didn’t have your car? You can’t give more than yourself— what qualities do you think you’re bringing.”

“…Alex seems to think my height is a benefit.”

“She obviously has not been 6’3 and attempted to sit in a compact sedan.”

Jonas cracks a smile. “Yeah it’s cute, she’s not tiny but both her and Ren are like… she said it before, I don’t remember what it was 5’5 or 6 or something. Joked about needing me to retrieve pickle jars or whatever.”

“So you’re the guy with the car and the pickle-getter.”

“Sure.”

“That all?”

“Well- I mean, the tall thing is also like—” he waves a hand, “-y’know, the other tall stuff.”

“Can’t say I know what you mean, apart from reaching things and being asked about the weather.”

“You know.” Jonas fidgets slightly. Duke has to know that part of things. “The kinda… intimidation thing.”

“How do you mean?”

Jonas’s lips pull again in that vague passing annoyance. “You know. Being tall and looking— not scary exactly, but like… imposing, I guess. Basically looking like someone you don’t want to mess with.”

“And that’s what you think you bring to a friendship?”

“Yeah. Like… like a bodyguard or something.”

“You think your friends are in danger you have to protect them from?”

“No- well.” He lets out a short sigh, a rueful smirk hooking his lips. “Not yet, anyway. And once they are, I’m betting they’ll have put themselves into it.”

“What does the whole ‘bodyguard’ thing mean, then?”

“Um.” A few images pass through Jonas’s mind, and he hesitates, face impassive for a second before he shrugs again. “Trying to keep her from getting hurt. I guess.”

“…That doesn’t really sound like something based solely on height.”

His fingers twitch, and Jonas’s ears feel warm. “Look, I spent a year in juvie for physical assault. It might not just be the height.”

“You think she wants you to fight for her? Is this like… an American Gladiators kinda thing, or…?”

The laugh is just a huff of breath, but the corners of Jonas’s mouth are lifting. “I don’t think she wants me to fight. I’m just— And I don’t want to fight!” he assures Duke. “But like… there’s probably some element of ‘this guy makes a good meat shield’ or whatever.”

“You ever think they might just… like you? Like just, as you?”

He snorts. “I— I’m not saying they don’t! I mean, at the very least they tolerate me, and I assume they must like me, otherwise we wouldn’t text all the time. It’s really easy to ignore someone’s texts and make excuses.” Jonas isn’t even mad about the question, it’s so far removed from how he feels. “I’m just saying that there’s this fringe benefit for them.”

“And is that how you see them, as well?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “Honestly, they’re my allies right now. Not in a bad way - I like them, they’re fun - but at the moment their function in my social circle is connecting me to my new community, right? They’re transitional aids, like a kinda PREP thing. Or IS. I mean, she was a tour guide.”

“Sounds kinda dehumanizing.”

“It’s not meant to be. I’m— Look, we talked all the time about support systems and community engagement, and buying in, right? So, I’m building a support system of peers.”

Duke cocks his head, looking mildly bemused.

“What?”

“It sounds like you know the words pretty well.”

“Yeah, well. I didn’t talk much. Mostly listened.”

“Is that really how you think about the people around you? As… I don’t know, bricks in your support structure?”

“I mean, it’s not the only thing I’m thinking. I like the company, I like the distraction, they’re fun. But…” Another one-shouldered shrug. “I dunno, man, call it a justification if you want.”

“What do you mean?”

Jonas sighs. “Gives me a reason to keep trying.” Again, it’s not said in anger, or even in sadness. Just a straightforward factual statement.

“What would you do if you didn’t think of things that way?”

“Can’t know for sure, obviously. But— I dunno. Call it distress tolerance. Giving them a function gives me a reason to tough it out. Like—” He pauses. “…Yeah, no, I can’t figure out an analogy for the brick thing. Sticking with people instead of being— transient.”

“Transient.”

“Kinda drifting around. Moving through things.”

“You think you’re transient?”

“I think I’d survive without friends. Until shit started to go wrong, I guess.”

Duke is quiet, eyes narrowed like he’s trying to parse the statement, considering. “…I’m not sure I get it.”

“I like people, but all the— politics, I guess. It stresses me out. I’d rather just… not. At least, in group things. School, juvie— the social dynamic is this constant thing where you’re maintaining. Don’t shit where you eat and all that. Don’t fuck it up, you’re stuck there. All this work to not make things worse for yourself. Honestly, I’d rather just see people when I see them. All day every day is… a lot.”

“…Can I ask you a question?” He’s leaning forward, and his tone is a different kind of curious than he has been.

“I mean… that’s literally all you’ve been doing.”

“Your residential center, your stepdown stuff— they had GED programs. Why come back to high school?”

Jonas is spinning the little wire toy around one finger steadily, keeping an eye on it to avoid having it fly off, even as he picks up speed. “Dad wanted me to.” His stomach dips, and his voice is a little quieter. “Mom would, too.” He’s silent for a second, still spinning. “And it’s supposed to be good for me. Community engagement, support structures, all that.”

“Why do you think they wanted you to do school?”

“I mean, my mom was a teacher. My dad… just wants me to be well-adjusted. I think he wants me to feel normal again.”

“What do you think?”

Jonas’s gut has been steadily, gradually, slowly but surely filling with lead. He breathes evenly. Too evenly. Actively making the attempt. When he speaks, it’s a low mutter. “Not sure that’s possible, if we’re being honest.”

“Why not?”

He shakes his head. “I dunno. Things just— changed. Can’t really undo that.”

“…I mean, I agree that you can’t live in the past. Things happened, you can’t undo them, but you also can’t spend every minute thinking about them. I know mindfulness tends to get a bad rap ‘cause it’s sort of trendy in the mental health field right now, but there’s definitely a ton of upsides to it.”

“I’m… vaguely familiar.” Jonas’s voice is a bit wry.

“So you know the whole idea of where you’re living. The goal is being present. So not living in the past, or in the future, but in the here and now, without judgment.”

“…Okay…”

Duke is still bouncing his foot a bit. “What do you think? Like— really consider it for a second. What that means.”

“What, living in the present?” Duke shrugs in a casual kind of confirmation. Jonas sighs, fixes his eyes on the therapist, and tries to do as asked. “…I guess I just feel like that’s asking for trouble.”

“How so?”

“I mean… thinking about the future is kinda important. Otherwise you fuck things up and can’t undo them.”

“Who says you can’t?”

Jonas snorts. “You? Like… a minute ago?”

“I guess— maybe it’s just the use of ‘undo.’ You can’t rewind and make something not have happened, but you can control how you handle the consequences, how you potentially repair the situation, your reactions to things, all of that. But if you’re constantly fearing every possible outcome of anything you do… you do nothing.”

“So you’re saying not to think of consequences. You want me to just go party and violate parole and not care what might happen?”

“Well, no.” Duke actually rolls his eyes. “Hell— it’s a delicate balance, right? But some part of that has to be just allowing yourself to exist without judgment.”

“O…kay?”

“Or analysis.”

“…Ah.”

“I mean, it’s not like I’m advocating underage drinking or drugs or truancy or anything, but… You’re out, y’know? You’re in this do-or-die headspace, but your situation has changed dramatically. Now’s your chance to go back to being a kid. Live a little.”

[source for AO3]

[seenashwrite]

Dearest Nash, I've touched on this before in (I believe) in a discussion re: why some mainstream fics get oodles of notes while more original ones do not, *but* I wanted to get a bit more specific here. There are certain writers here whose writing has a definite vibe to it (if you will) that separates their work from others, and your name is one of the first that comes to mind. Bear with me, because trying to detail what makes your writing stand out is difficult while trying to articulate a Q

^ this is a gif with parts 2 - 4, just FYI

Hmmm… this is a bit of a brain buster. But I can answer it, and I think succinctly, maybe with a touch of that Spidey sense you mention:

Thank you for your inquiry, hope that helps! 

I kid. But this is a brain-turner. And a characteristic which, like you say, ain’t limited to me. I’d honestly throw comedians under this umbrella, too, not because I’m necessarily gunning for a laugh every time, but because it’s pretty much their job to take a “basic” (a tenet or fact of life or present reality or whatever) and present the observation with a twist. I think of storyteller comedians specifically, your Patton Oswalt-s, Maria Bamford-s, Kathy Griffin-s, and John Mulaney-s.

So if I can sum up, assuming I’m tracking with you, what you’re more or less driving at with the “how” is this –> Is there anything beyond simply personality, or an auto-pilot thought cascade (for lack of better terminology) that contributes? Are there things someone could do/be proactive about, to perhaps cause this same sort of reaction to happen in their brain?

I think there just might be.

Folks reading this, let me ask you a question, and you cannot look it up:

What was the name of the Sherpa guide who led Sir Edmund Hillary up Mount Everest?

.

.

.

His name was Tenzing Norgay.

Nash, what in the name of the frozen corpse of George Mallory does this have to do with Lion’s question?

I shall tell you.

My father told me that fact when I was quite young, so young I legit couldn’t even ballpark my age for you. The context was that having little facts tucked away in your brain may come in handy. Not in a Jeopardy kind of way, more in a conversational way. I’ve no idea why the man thought the Sherpa guide who led Hillary up Mt. Everest would ever come up during a conversation with enough regularity to justify my knowing that fact (aside from him randomly quizzing me throughout my life) but hey, I guess it just did.

But speaking of Lil’ Nash, the situation for her was that she was the eldest of all the Nash litter by miles… like seven or eight years, I’m not bothering to check. So I had a lot of alone time, and my grandmother was my chief babysitter, so prior to kindergarten and then til I was in about second grade (so: all day long during the week, then every weekday after she picked me up from school), I was pretty much always at her house. Yeah, there were toys, but not a lot to do. And I’d read. I’d been reading on my own for a decent while, not because I was some prodigy but because my dad read to me *constantly* when Lil’ Nash was Itty-Bitty Nash, and it “took”. My mom also, every time she went to the grocery store always - and I mean always - brought back a book for me. It might’ve been an Archie comic—-

Mandatory #fuck the CW’s Riverdale tag

—-or a Babysitter’s Club, or Sweet Valley High, Judy Blume, Madeleine L’Engle, Zilpha Keatley Snyder, you get my point. Some small paperback. It would piss Dad off because he’s a cheap bastard and two buck books once or twice a month were really gonna cut into the savings [eyeroll] but also, in a way, because I’d kill it in a half day/a day. Wouldn’t put it down. After awhile, I started writing my own silly little kid stories, then - and this is where the creative writing love came about -  I started writing soap operas for my Barbies. (When I was older - like, 5th grade? 6th grade, maybe? - none of my peers were still playing with Barbies, and I got made fun of when, at a sleepover, they saw my stash. And I was like - No, no, no. Those aren’t for playing. That’s my cast.)

Time went on, and when I was bored at post-church lunch/dinners, I would also read the old encyclopedias at my grandmother’s, the ones from the late ‘60s/early ‘70s that she had for my mom and my aunt. As I got even older and became fascinated with rooting through the boxes in gran’s basement, looking at all the cool old clothes, I stumbled upon my aunt’s collection of Whoa-Hooooo Shit There’s No Way My Grandparents Knew You Read These books. Those kinda Harlequin-esque ones, except my aunt’s tastes run close to mine, none were the same shtick with different covers, shmultzy-sappy romance, there was always some sort of intrigue along with the sexy times, and she also had, like, every legit V. C. Andrews (meaning: not the ones from the ghostwriter, this was way before her death) book.

What is my point? I read a LOT. Now-a-days, other than fanfic (which… straight up: I don’t read a lot of that, either. I peace out on probs 80% of it before the third-to-fifth paragraph. It’s gotta sell me fast, yo) I haven’t read fiction in probably, oh…. 12 years? I think the last ones were the first couple Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. Wait, no! I lie! I read the 50 Shades books when I was traveling 2x/wk for a job about 4 years ago, and I needed the laughs. It worked. Oh my days, that woman can’t write. The screenplay might’ve been worse, it goes her, then Buckleming, then everyone else. It’s bad. In any event, past decade or so, it’s more historical stuff and true crime and science stuff and all that old fart jazz.

Okay, so that’s #1: Read. And not just anything, be well-read, and that doesn’t mean developing some level of expertise, by “well” I’m saying to cover the spread. You’re building your tool kit, is all. You won’t use most of it, but it’s nice to have options. You also don’t always have to get this stuff from reading now-a-days, because podcasts. Cover the spread there, too. Lemme look at my bookmarks…. 

[Spongebob narrator voice: A few moments later]

I’m back. Science - Skeptic’s Guide to the Universe; General current stuff without being news - CGP Grey’s Hello Internet; current events with shittons of pop culture, past and present - Greg Proops’ Smartest Man in the World; fun history stuff - The Dollop; entertainment stuff - How Did This Get Made.

#2: Keep a notebook with you and jot down turns-of-phrase that spark something in your brain - things you read on websites, on twitter, in articles, things you hear people say (real life, TV, movies, podcasts), and write it. Don’t snap a pic with your phone or make a note in your phone. There are studies behind this, I’m not hunting them down, you’ll just have to trust me, but there are, and it goes to being reflexive, a brain “muscle memory” thing, if you will. You’re not doing it to plagiarize, you’re doing it to dissect it, kind’ve like you did with the example you gave on me —> went from punch action to punch spiked with booze to a punch with a spiked gauntlet.

Which leads to #3: Mental dictionary. I have a large vocab repository, and it stems from the tons of reading - I stop and look up stuff if I either don’t know it, or it’s used in such a way that I think they’ve got it wrong and want to double-check that maybe there’s another usage I don’t know - and also stems from a drive to combat the (still fairly thick) deep South drawl I can’t kick, and not for lack of trying. But see, I couldn’t have whipped out that progression if I weren’t aware that one definition of “spike” is “to add alcohol to”, or of the common shtick in stories of spiked punch like at high school proms typically, or knew about the existence of spiked gauntlets / old school armor. 

And I guarantee you that a good chunk of people didn’t really “get it”, and just thought “Nash Be Nashin’, that nutty gal”. So they “get it” on that level, but don’t Get. It., if you see what I’m saying. And that’s fine. Maybe it got something cranking in the back of their mind and it’ll hit ‘em in the middle of the night, or they’ll be watching Game of Thrones or something, see a gauntlet and be like “Oh goddamnit, I just got a throw-a-way one-liner from three years ago” and have a chuckle.

Related, re: looking stuff up and things that people “get”? I didn’t know fuck-all about Twilight, but it seemed of import to the folks around 5 years younger than me, the Nashlings wouldn’t shut up about it, so I got a good working knowledge of it. Same with Harry Potter, and through it I got to “know” J.K. Rowling, who I find to be an exceptional writer, so that was great, and I’ve watched the movies for the most part over the years at Christmastime, and I don’t give the first shit about what “house” I’m in, nor do I care about what Patronus I’d fart, but I have a working knowledge of what those are, and horcruxes and who Snape and Voldie are, you get my point. I can keep up. But to do it, I had to take the time to look it up. One thing I would not trade for gold is Michael Sheen chewing the goddamn scenery in that battle segment from the last Twilight movie. Have I watched the movie? No. But that scene is the shit. And that baby CGI is horrific on several subtle levels. And not-so-subtle. I’ve digressed.

Back to those notes: So if you’ve got these notes jotted, you might see something else and think “I feel like that could’ve been snappier…. why do I think that….” And you’ve got a resource at your disposal, that little notebook. Hell, jot that thing down - things you think could be done better. I have in many documents a highlight around chunks of scenes for my big dog story where it says in bold above or below “DO BETTER”. Meaning: there’s a better way to get from A to B, but I’m just not quite there yet. I’m pretty quick on the uptake and can crank out something snappy on the fly (like say, in CASPN chat or when banging out a short reply or thank you note) but there’s definitely times I gotta slap a DO BETTER on it and walk away til that snappy something-or-other light bulb goes off. 

Here’s a recent one where I backtracked, matter of fact - that noir spoof thing I wrote? Along with my co-writer, Moscato? There was a line that I couldn’t hit with a good zinger, so I just said moments were going by like a fat hamster on a wheel, which is cute, but not really grooving with the setting/the vibe. Less tipsy, when I was correcting some inelegant formatting and a misspelling [sigh], I went “Oh! Why didn’t this occur to me last night? Right. Wine.” So the line is now about moments dragging like a rolling donut with a copper on its tail. Get it? The cop’s a fat ass. The donut-cop stereotype.

…….Fine, it ain’t my best, but it fits better. Moving on.

And this leads nicely into #4, and a specific tip I can impart - assuming you’ve got a passable-to-high level of vocabulary in your tool belt, practice messing around with making nouns into verbs, and twisting random stuff into descriptors and using bizarre words/things in metaphors/analogies. Like, I say “adulting” quite a bit. Ali - @littlegreenplasticsoldier - I thiiiink was writing recently about Sam being drunk, and he’s a tall wobbly Jenga tower on his last Jenga. Going back to the noir, pulpy detective style, try messing with the whole “S/he was like a ___ that ____”. Add on to stuff that’s well known - He was like a dog with a bone, if the bone was a ____ and he was a ____ and we were in a ____. (I have *nothing* in mind to fill those blanks, by the way, feel free to twist it into sumpin’)

What else…. okay, here’s a #5: In drafts, let yourself wander, and see what kicks out. It can be fueled by silliness or anger, but I don’t reckon you’re gonna get the “snappy” you’re aiming for if you’re down in the dumps and going full-court-press angst. The best stuff, IMO, comes from the space in between goofy and pissed, and that is The Land Of Snark. You can always re-style it to bend more dry or wistful should you need to, certainly, depending on the situation.

Have a sample of a primo Nash Digression that was fueled by ire in a recap from Season 12 (episode 19). I had said - RE: the random inclusion of the character Joshua, which still pisses me off because they burned a character that held massive potential for future stuff as he’d been shown to be the only angel with direct access to Chuck, so, y’know, that could never come in handy, like ever again in the series, right? - the following.

Mandatory pre-emptive #fuck Dabb

[Spongebob narrator voice] A few moments later —> 

On god, I have no idea where that came from, and here’s where we go back to ol’ Spidey up there, because end of the day?

All that other stuff’s the foundation, sure, but there’s always gonna be the weird iggy, the thing that can’t be learned or taught, whatever the quirky synapse is that fires off in my/our brains. In my experience, it’s an ADD-ish sort of jam mixed with the Nostradamus effect. Meaning, (A) we’re at Level 10, rapid fire thought processing >50% of the time, and (B) throw out enough stuff for long enough, some of it’s going to stick. And I whiff it plenty. Multiple times in CASPN chat I’ve been like “Whoo, tough room” when something falls flat.

A specific example: @mrswhozeewhatsis - and I think you saw this, but anyone else seeing this may not have - gave probably the most fantastic analogy I’ve seen regarding the whole “getting it” thing, and while it was on the topic of meaty plots that get too far into the weeds (my specialty) and how it can lessen appeal to a broader audience, it still applies here. 

She said “Sometimes, when I’m reading something of yours, I feel like there’s a joke I’m missing. It’s like watching Spaceballs without having seen Star Wars.” I say that to say - nobody’s gonna land references that cover the spread 100% of the time. And, y’know, fine. I figure maybe it’ll prompt someone to do a quick google for - well, let’s use Spaceballs. Most folks will no doubt get the Star Wars part, but maybe not Spaceballs. Maybe they’ll check it out, find something they enjoy. Or learn a new word. Or get a brainstorm for a story. Who knows?

Last tip: Don’t actively mimic anyone’s style. Much fail. And I don’t only mean because if they’re on a social Venn diagram with you, would likely recognize themselves in your stuff——

Takes a moment to wave to the peeps still trying with me! #bless your hearts

—–but because it’s fucking hard. I did it broadly on the noir thing, that’s not a hard thing, to homage generalities, but the way I’m messing with doing this on that silly Princess Bride series? Purposefully styling it like Goldman? It’s good  challenging and all, and it is making it feel more in the groove with the book/movie, but I have to be in the right frame of mind or it’s like fingernails on a chalkboard, and when I have pushed it, then gone back, it’s sloggy, soggy garbage.

I say all that to say: it’s an amalgam of brain-wiring/personality, and world/life perspective(s), and knowledge acquired over time. The first just is; the second will evolve in myriad ways, maybe for the better, maybe for the worse; the last is the one where you/we have control, we can fill bucket after bucket of information, and the well won’t ever run dry.

Sorry this took so long. I kept adding and subtracting. This is the edited version, if you can believe it. Welcome to Nash Brain. 😉