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razrbladekiss · 3 years ago

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TYRANTS | Chapter Eight - Angels Or Devils

WORD COUNT: 6.3k

WARNINGS: mentions of death, grief, tig, usual SOA shit

MASTERLIST

Irked, Chibs stuffed his cellphone into the pocket of his cut with a prolonged fuck to accompany the squelch of glass against leather.

He couldn’t get a firm grip on anything this morning.

Jax was at large, Isla and Tig had rolled onto the lot together looking much, much too comfortable, and Gemma was chewing every goddamn soul’s ear off about her son.

To say that he wanted the day to be over—before it had even commenced—was the understatement of the fucking year.

“Where the hell is he?” Clay barked from the front of the garage, turning to eye Isla directly. “You sure you haven’t seen him?”

“If I knew where he was, I would’ve told you by now.” Her retort was just as curt, prompting Tig to tense in his spot beside her.

He twined his hand around her bicep in order to calm her, but it was no use.

“Well somebody must know where he is—“

“You tried callin’ Tara?” Chibs cut the president off, hoping he’d be able to take some of the heat off of his daughter—the one that seemed to get all of Clay’s Jax-fueled frustrations launched atop her these days.

He just glared at the Scot.

“I can swing by his place? Make sure he ain’t there?” Tig offered.

“He isn’t. Wendy would’ve said.”

“Alright,” the sergeant smacked his lips together. “We’re gonna have to go without him, then.”

Isla hummed, agreeing with Tig.

That forced a vexed snarl from Clay, and she wanted to throttle him for being so fucking haughty today.

“What? He has a point. If we wait around for him, then we’re gonna be late and the other Sons will get to the cemetery before us. Jax knows where we’re going, and what time this fucking funeral starts, so just trust that he’ll be there!”

Her outburst was completely uncharacteristic. It was brash and loud, and Clay realized that her emotions were running a hell of a lot higher today than what they usually would have, so he allowed it to pass.

He cut her some slack because that was what she needed. Isla needed to blow off some steam, to raise her voice and yell out her frustrations because she would’ve let them bubble over, otherwise.

Plus, unbeknownst to him, she had started to take the Mirtazapine that had been prescribed to her, and she still didn’t know how to feel about it.

It was odd. Everything about today, was just fucking odd.

“Kids right.” The rasped acknowledgment came from Happy this time, nodding in her direction with that signature stoic expression he was known to host. “Jax wouldn’t miss this.”

“Alright.” Clay waved a hand tersely before gesturing to the sea of Harley-Davidsons parked side-by-side. “You heard ‘em. Let’s go.”

Tig grabbed at her hand as she went to slip away—exactly like she did to him last night—and pulled her toward him.

The moment didn’t go unnoticed by Clay and her father as they mounted their bikes, sharing the same look that’d been meshed with confusion and concern.

“You good now?”

She nodded, using her pointer finger to twist the crucifix that was sat against her neck, feeling a foreign heat prickle against her cheeks because all eyes were on them.

After turning up together today, people had their suspicions, too.

And those suspicions were mostly held by Chibs and the pres, but it was partly unrest because they both knew what Tig had done—though, Chibs wasn’t officially privy to Clay pulling the strings.

He would be, though. In time, he would find out for himself.

“Gemma and Wendy are heading out in the SUV. Are you going too?” He squinted underneath the sun, pulling his sunglasses from the neck of his shirt.

“I am.” Isla smiled, squeezing Tig’s hand. “Ride safe.”

She stood straight—not having to shift onto her toes because her heels provided some more height—and pressed a dulcet kiss to his cheek.

“Please don’t get into another fight today.” She expressed sadly, lightly ghosting her fingertips over the bruise sitting uncomfortably against his cheekbone. “I don’t think I have it in me to take care of you again.”

“I can’t make any promises.” Her lips curled upward, expressing some sort of smile—though, what with the forthcoming event, she didn’t feel too good about it.

But she remained silent, after that.

Isla got into the car without saying a single word.

The lull was of course grim, but stillness was what the three women needed. It was good for them to sit in complete silence—the only sound coming from the din of the car engine and outside of the vehicle—because it allowed them space to think.

She needed to collect her thoughts this morning, especially after what she had learned last night. Isla didn’t want to think that Jax would have flipped on Tig like that, but it was Jax.

He was unpredictable.

Never once had she felt a sense of outrage that she wasn’t sure how to quell whenever thinking of her best friend, but she was beginning to understand just why Clay was so pissed at his rashness lately.

Even if he was acting on instinct—using his conscience to rule his decisions—Jax was still acting recklessly. His desire to do the morally sound thing outweighed the need that his club had for him to carry out the act that would result in the greater good.

And he was right to stop Tig from pulling the trigger on that girl, but Isla was wary of how he had decided to handle it.

“You didn’t call me last night.” Gemma whispered as the car pulled up to the cemetery gates. “You said that you’d call me.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Genuinely, she told her. “When I got in I just went straight to bed, but then Tig turned up at my place and he needed my help, and then—“

“You let him stay.” She finished Isla’s sentence with a hum, providing her with an unusually somber glance. “If there’s anything going on between the two of you, then it’s okay—“

“There isn’t.” Isla shot her down, impatiently waiting for the all-clear to leave the vehicle. “He got hurt last night, needed patching up and didn’t wanna go to the clubhouse in case he saw Jax again, and so he came to me. And, because I’m nice, I let him stay the night.”

“Why wouldn’t he wanna see Jax?”

Wendy’s qualm came unexpectedly. She hadn’t thought that the blonde was listening to the little back and forth.

“Because he was the reason that Tig needed his face fixed.” She spat bitterly when Wendy just blinked at her, hoping to God that they’d be able to get outside soon.

Her irritation with the VP was palpable, and Gemma couldn’t help wondering whether Jax’s stunt had a part to play in why she was so galled when his name was brought up before they left the garage.

Regardless, Isla was getting along with it today. For the sake of Opie and his kids, she was putting her hostility aside and paying her respects to Donna the way that she had always been taught to.

“Woah, what a turn out.” Her admiration for the Sons grew with every single member—every Nomad—that she saw riding along the winding road.

Isla moved between Chibs and Tig, holding tightly onto her father’s hand as they walked toward Donna’s casket.

“Still no Jax.” Almost relieved, Tig noted. “Wonder if he’s gonna ride over with Tacoma.”

“Doubt it.” The Scot added. “He woulda followed us. Dunno where the fuck he’s gotten to.”

“He’ll be here.” She promised hopefully, breaking away from the two men—shaking Chibs off when he held on a little bit tighter, not wanting to let her go.

The black dress she’d thrown on was hardly funeral attire, but the tights hugging her legs underneath the cotton made it a bit better.

Tig watched her pad across the grass and toward Opie, trying to sniff back his own tears at the sight of her taking a long-stemmed blue flower, kissing the petals, and placing it atop the coffin.

It was horrible.

“I’m sorry, Ope.” Isla pressed a kiss to her fingers and ghosted it over the wood, feeling her eyes dampen. “Anything you need—anything at all that you can think of for yourself or your mom or the kids—I’m here. Always.”

He couldn’t quite find the words to thank her, but she knew that he was grateful. Opie didn’t have to say anything for Isla to recognize his appreciation for her, for his family, and for everybody that turned out today.

Jax wasn’t there, though. Not yet.

And, perhaps, Isla being at his side during a time of such harrowing distress was her way of trying to comfort him because his best friend was nowhere to be seen. But she would’ve done it for anybody.

She just wished that it wasn’t Opie.

“I love you…So much.” She whispered through a smile when more people began to filter in, backing away to sit beside Gemma and in front of Tig.

The cool metal of his rings were against her shoulder in an instant, anchoring her back to earth after floating much, much too high above the ground.

She was in a distorted haze, so to speak. Isla’s head wasn’t particularly in the right place today, and it could’ve been down to a multitude of things—but she wanted to simply pin it on her grief.

Chibs saw the way she gnawed into her bottom lip, the way she continually pulled Diane’s crucifix across the golden chain as means of comfort—or, maybe, it was just out of remorse.

He noticed that his daughter—his little girl—peered at Opie’s children sitting beside their grandmother as they said goodbye to the woman that brought them into the world.

He wondered if they understood the weight of it all. They were so young, so impressionable, so innocent, and he saw a lot of Isla in those two kids.

The dull throb of Isla’s heart almost slowed to a halt when the funeral commenced, and Jax was still completely out of sight. Juice held his cut while he stood beside Tara, feeling his chest tighten.

It was difficult to understand just why Jackson Teller didn’t show for such an important moment in Opie’s life.

“I can’t believe him.” Tig hissed out in a whisper, completely ruffled. Isla looked up at the man behind her, holding a dainty hand on top of his. “I can’t fucking believe him.”

He didn’t know what to say. Clay didn’t, either. As he stood beside his Sgt. At Arms and peered down at the disheveled blonde, Clay Morrow struggled to find the words to elucidate his disdain for the lack of action from his step-son.

Donna was family. Opie was family. Family was meant to be there for one another, not purposely ignoring such a pivotal event.

“He’ll be here.” Isla repeated her promise, melting into her space as Tig leant over to kiss the top of her head.

Her eyes glazed over instantaneously, coercing her to turn away before she broke down.

But she leaned backward into his embrace, and watched the ceremony commence.

And it only took a handful of moments for her mood to perk up—as much as it could have under the circumstances—but she was conceivably happier at the sight before her.

“I told you.” She mumbled. She refused to let up her grip on Tig, though, holding onto him firmer now.

It was comfortable. He was comfortable.

“What the fuck…”

Jax looked like hell. Still wearing last night’s clothes—still bloodied and bruised from his scuffle—he sauntered over the grass and made a beeline for Tara.

Isla’s throat hitched.

“Did you do that to him?” She mumbled in reference to the slit in his lip, craning her neck to eye the blue-eyed man.

“Yeah, probably.”

She just shook her head with a tiny smirk, shifting her focus back to the asshole that was taking his sweet fucking time.

It didn’t upset her as much as she thought that it would’ve, watching him go back to her like that. If anything, she was glad that they had managed to reconcile because she made him happy.

But, for a reason unbeknownst to herself, she felt bad for Wendy.

To watch the father of her newborn take his cut from a woman that’d only been back in his life for five minutes, to hold and kiss her in front of everyone, was something she shouldn’t have had to witness today.

They weren’t together, but she knew how that was bound to hurt—to sting and incapacitate her because it was all still so fucking raw.

Poor Wendy.

He took one of the flowers away from the sparse pile, holding it to his lips, and placed it atop Donna’s casket.

Jax glared over his shoulder, shooting the two guilt-ridden men a look that read fury. He made sure that Isla wasn’t looking at him when he did that, though.

He refused to look at her.

And he didn’t stay, either. He paid his respects for all of thirty seconds before stalking away, and leaving the most egregious of tastes on the tip of each tongue.

The funeral flew by, after that.

Before Isla knew it, she was dismounting Tig’s bike outside of T M—again—and stumbling over her heels when she couldn’t quite find her footing. She’d been in a world of her own for the last fifteen minutes.

“You want me to get you a beer?” She asked, handing him her helmet. “Or did you want some of that wine you like?”

He snorted at her taunt, taking it from her. “Beer—but none of that shit Bobby drinks.”

Isla chuckled, backing away from the bike and Tig.

“You want a drink, too?” She asked Clay when he strode over, hands in his pockets.

He nodded, waiting for her to slip out of sight before turning his attention to his Sergeant.

“What’s going on with you two?” Clay asked him accusingly, snatching Tig’s attention from the blonde who was ambling into the clubhouse.

He waved the pres off, lighting a cigarette. “Nothing, man. She’s just been helpin’ me out—“

“That’s what you’re calling it now, huh?”

“That’s what it is.” Tig shrugged, exhaling the smoke from his nostrils. “Y’know what she’s like. She sees someone that needs patchin’ up, and she does it. That’s all.”

Unconvinced, Clay leaned closer to him—striving for the little moment to go unnoticed by those that shrouded the lot. Jax and Tara, for one.

“That’s Chibs’s kid. You be careful.”

“Ain’t nothing to be careful about, brother.” Tig ground his lips together, squinting upward as he rested against his bike. “We’re just friends.”

“You stayed the night with her.”

“Yeah—“

“Twice.”

“Clay—“

“In the same fucking bed!” He snapped, running a hand over his face.

His desire to protect the women in his life—to assert the dominance he had, or his authority—was remarkably overbearing at the best of times.

Isla and Gemma didn’t particularly need to be coddled the way that they’d always been at the hands of Clay Morrow and his club, but they were.

And the thought of his sleaziest, loathsome, savage brother getting closer and closer to that woman churned his stomach. Because he knew what Tig was capable of—what he did—and would be damned if anything were to happen to her at the hands of Tig fucking Trager.

Chibs would kill him, too.

“Nothing happened, nothing’s currently happening, and nothing will happen.” He guaranteed. “Clay, I swear.”

“Alright.” Dubious, the older man responded. “But, if there is, then you be careful. Jax is onto us, and it’s only a matter of time before Isla puts two and two together—‘cuz she ain’t stupid.”

Be careful. Be careful. Be careful.

How about you shut the fuck up?

“I know she isn’t.” Almost irked that Clay would assume he thought that, he retorted. “But she’s got shit going on too, man, I don’t think she’s gonna be focusing on this right now so you don’t gotta worry.”

“Alright.” Clay repeated himself.

He didn’t think that his right-hand was telling him the truth, but he couldn’t exactly do anything about that until an issue arose.

What he did know, though, was that Tig Trager would’ve had some serious hell to pay if he had ignited something with Isla right now.

Or ever, really.

“Keep Jax away from her.” He told Clay, flicking his cigarette to the ground. “She’s pissed at him for what he did to me last night.”

“What’d he do?”

Tig pointed at the cuts on his cheek, grimacing. “She’s fucked off, and if they talk she’s probably gonna throw something at him.”

“Eh. Let her.” Clay waved him off, hastily shutting himself up when he heeded her heels clicking across the gravel toward them. “He needs to be humbled sometimes.”

The rivalry between the two had only intensified since Abel was born and Jax’s priorities shifted from the club.

His family came first. His biological family came first.

And maybe Clay didn’t understand the implications and responsibilities that came along with fatherhood because he’d never had that bestowed upon him, but Jax did.

He knew that he had to provide for his kid, for the one being that was solely dependent on him, and he would never compromise or jeopardize that.

Things weren’t going to be made easy for the man, however.

“Budweiser for you.” Isla smiled, handing a bottle to Tig. She passed one to Clay, holding onto it a little firmer as she offered it to him. “And one for you—but you need to take this, and go see your wife.”

“Why?” Hesitantly, he accepted the alcohol.

Isla shrugged. “She just wants to see you. Seems important.”

“Shit.” Clay hissed, taking a long swig before striding away.

She watched him stamp toward the clubhouse, heeding the change in his mood, and wondered why Gemma was so determined to talk to him at that specific moment.

It could’ve been anything with that woman, really. It could’ve been something so minor, completely insignificant, that Gemma had to get off her chest.

Or it could’ve been something along the lines of elucidating the bone-crushing lament that she held for both her husband and Tig.

Whatever it was, however, Clay wasn’t excited to face her.

“What’d he chew your ear off about?” Isla asked, struggling to open her beer. She sighed, suddenly remembering why she loved her screw-top bottles of wine so much.

“Pass it to me.” Tig took it from her, using his own bottle cap to pop hers off. He chuckled at her grimace, handing it back.

“Thanks.” She groaned, lifting it upward. “So…What did Clay want?”

Budweiser blanketed Tig’s tongue and lips as he pulled the drink away from his mouth, using the back of his hand to rub at the excess.

Quickly, he wondered whether lying to Isla—fabricating the truth and downplaying his superior’s concern—was in his best interest.

But she was perceptive. There was no doubt that she’d realize he was lying to her.

“He thinks that something is going on between us.”

She rolled her eyes, taking a pull.

“What?” A little nervous—on edge, perhaps—Tig asked her. “Did you already know that he felt that way?”

“No.” Instantly, she retorted. “I didn’t know about Clay, but Gemma feels the same. D’ya think they’ve talked?”

“Oh, definitely.” With a small glower, he told her.

They absolutely talked about the two, and that was what worried Tig.

There was nothing wrong with them colluding against the pair, as a rule. He wasn’t offended at the thought, he felt quite honored actually.

But it was the connotation that came alongside those conspiracies. The idea that Tig was only so friendly—so supportive and loving—toward Isla because he wanted one thing from her.

And, really, Tig hadn’t pondered that thought before. Well, not before last night, anyway.

For the first time—possibly ever—sex wasn’t on Tig’s agenda with Isla. Enticing her, breaking her heart, and sending her on her way was not something he wanted.

But Tig was renowned for that, wasn’t he? He was known for being a hapless bachelor. A man whose priorities were neither here nor there.

Everyone just expected that. They saw him with her, and came to that one conclusion.

Maybe Isla expected it a little bit, too. Because she’d known him long enough to understand the kind of man that he was—or had the propensity to be—and she could hardly lie and say that this version of Tig didn’t confuse her.

He’d always been the same with her, though. Perhaps that’d been the difference between every woman that entered and left his life, and Isla Telford.

He wasn’t interested in her. Like that.

“Does that bother you?” With an almost undetectable twinge of hurt, Isla asked.

As if it was a basic instinct, Tig shook his head. “Nah. They talk shit all the time. Stuff like that don’t bother me.”

She nodded, refusing to add anything else. Isla sipped her beer, hoping that the ground would open up and swallow her fucking whole.

There wasn’t a single word in the English language that’d ascribe her feeling at that precise time, but ashamed was possibly the closest she could’ve gotten.

And, still, that was a little bit further off the mark than what she would’ve liked. Because she wasn’t entirely ashamed for reacting the way that she had, more so the way that she fucking felt.

Isla’s heart took a blow when Tig told her that.

For why, though? She wasn’t sure.

It might’ve been the nonchalant expression. The complete colorless response that stirred a foreign emotion within her—striking hard against her chest.

Or, it might’ve been what he had said. It was such a casual proclamation. Something that didn’t mean anything, but everything simultaneously.

She didn’t feel anything for Tig. She didn’t particularly want to feel anything for him, either, but that hurt. A lot.

“Same, to be honest.” She lied, forcing her lips upward in a smile. “Gemma is always on my case about this sorta thing. But I just let it go over my head.”

“Always?”

“Yup. Always.” Isla mentioned around the protruding lump in her throat. “If she’s not talking about me and you—like there is a me and you—she’s talking about me and Jax. And if it isn’t that, she’s bitching about Wendy, or Tara, or just anything she can think of.”

Like there is a me and you.

Tig sniffed a little, nodding. He didn’t want Isla to think that bothered him, but it did. A bit, anyway.

“She’s so overbearing, sometimes.” Genuinely slumped, she stated. Isla leaned against the railing beside Tig’s bike, finally looking at him. “Don’t tell her I said that?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He chuckled, taking another swig. “I’d never purposely get you into shit with your mother—“

“She’s not my mother.” Her eyes rolled. “She acts like it, and I love her like one, but she is not my mother.”

Tig knew. He knew all too well just how Isla felt about that, and he wasn’t exactly sure why he said that to her, today.

Gemma was the best woman she knew and the one that, strangely, brought her all of the comfort and prosperity that she’d craved.

But she wasn’t her mother. She wasn’t close to being Diane, and maybe the comparison between the pair hurt a little. Because Gemma Teller-Morrow was nothing like Diane Telford—and the sooner everybody knew that, the sooner Isla could rest.

“I feel bad talking shit about her. All she’s done is help me.”

“And parent you.” He reminded her, tipping his bottle upward. “She parents all of us, but what I mean is she treats you like a kid sometimes. Jax, too.”

“Yeah. I know.” Peeved, she conceded. “But, what can I do? if I wanna keep her around—keep having her so close to me—then, I guess I’ve gotta make a few sacrifices. And, I mean, it’s not all bad.”

“No?”

“Absolutely not. I’m glad that she’s the woman that took a shine to me. If Luann ended up being the one…”

Tig smirked, sizing her up. “You’d probably be doing porn right now.”

“Exactly.” Without shame—not even feeling slightly bashful at the glance she was receiving—she said. “I don’t think I’d hate doing porn, but I don’t think SAMCRO would be thrilled.”

“Absolutely not. Chibs would kill you, for one.”

“And Gemma.”

“Clay, too.” Tig added, withering at the thought.

“What about you?” A little too bold, she asked.

Though their relationship was of the lighthearted nature, Isla wasn’t certain that the habitual riposte was a thing as of late. His response would probably jar her, she thought.

“I wouldn’t hate it.”

She halted, blushing at his words. Her ears prickled with heat, too.

“It’d be hot.” He shrugged, putting his empty bottle against the ground. “I’m sure Juice would love it, too—“

“Oh, get fucked.” She snorted a laugh, throwing the red cap at his chest as he got to his feet. It bounced off the fabric of his shirt, coercing a chuckle from Tig.

“It was only one time.” He taunted, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “That’s still one more time than most chicks ‘round here.”

“He wasn’t awful.” Isla shrugged. “He knew what he was doing, and I had fun. But, like, he hasn’t got any hair…”

“Hair?” Tig began to gesture downward, chuckling when she grabbed his hands to stop him.

“I don’t mean that. I mean hair on his head, Tig.” She calmed her laughter, letting go of him. “I like to tug on it, I guess.”

It felt somewhat illegal, obtaining this information from her.

He already knew that she was a sex fiend, that she liked it rough, and now that she had some kind of hair-pulling kink.

Tig’s chest tightened. So did his pants.

“Duly noted.” Like usual, he quipped. Tig motioned for Isla to head inside with him when he heeded things heating up between Jax and Tara.

She, as always, made a mental note to grill her friend later. Or, maybe, her friends. Because she and Tara were on that level, now, and she felt that things could’ve sailed smoothly between herself and the doctor.

Isla just hoped that she’d open up to her.

“Are you gonna talk to him?” He asked, reading her fucking mind. “I know that you two talk a lot.”

“Probably.” Her shrug was insouciant. “But I’ll leave it a while, I think. Leave the dust to settle over before I approach either one of them.”

Tig’s heart began to thrash. It battered viciously within the constraints of his chest, thumping at an unsteady rhythm the more Isla babbled on as they neared the clubhouse.

It was maiming him, having to keep this to himself.

He knew that concealing it—the weight of it all—was for the best. It’d guarantee peace and conformity within the club and Isla’s life, but it was also a crippling guilt that not even Tig was sure he’d be able to hold forever.

Clay was heartless, though. The nefarious leader hadn’t a single problem with lying through his fucking teeth, and Tig was more than aware that Clay would continue the charade if and when he decided that he could no longer.

He supposed he could thank him for that.

But, then again, he was also the reason that Tig Trager had found himself tangled within yet another web of lethal falsehoods. Thanking Clay was the very last thing that he wanted to do.

“Oh, shit.” Isla stated through partially gritted teeth. She gestured to her father and Happy’s scorned glares. “Why do I keep getting this fucking look from everyone?”

“It’s not you. It’s me.” He snorted another laugh, taking her hand and walking her further into the room after she stopped completely dead.

Really, Donna’s wake was as vibrant as it could’ve been and nobody—aside from Isla’s old man and the Tacoma Nomad—had their sights set on the Sergeant and Chibs’s daughter.

The atmosphere was strangely spirited, hearty and animated as everybody came together to celebrate the life of Opie’s wife…The way that they always had.

But Isla was still on tenterhooks. She loathed the thought of her dad disapproving of her, today, but she didn’t desire the castigation that would’ve come hand in hand with her need to talk to him.

“Tequila?”

“I’ll get back to you on that one.” She smiled at Tig, making a beeline for the bar when she saw Kip. He followed her.

“You’re turning down free alcohol?”

Isla scoffed. “It might be free, but the effects of it would cost me my fucking reputation here.”

Tig’s eyebrows raised. “How so? You don’t not drink, Isla.”

“I know.” Her lips pursed, watching Kip pop the caps off of six beers. “But I never drink tequila. It makes me…uh…it makes me feel a little hot—“

“Tequila turns you on, is what you’re saying.”

“Well, yeah.” A crimson blush bled over her cheeks, her nose, and even across her forehead as her entire face burned red. “It’s no big deal. Just something I discovered after getting black-out drunk when I’d barely turned twenty-one.”

If Tig wasn’t feeling aroused before, then he definitely was at her admission. He had to think of anything to throw his brain off of that mental image.

“I don’t tend to drink the strong stuff.”

“Unless it’s whiskey.”

She pointed with a smile, nodding her head. “That’s right—“

“Hey, what did you want?” Kip interrupted sheepishly, gesturing to the half-empty bottle she had between her fingertips. “Another Bud?”

“Yes, please.” Again, she smiled.

“Same for you?”

Tig nodded.

“Kip,” she began, “and you take something, too. You’ve dealt with these assholes for long enough, now. Take a break. I’ll man the bar if you’d like.”

“Oh, no, I can’t do that—Gemma’ll kill me—“

“With all due respect, fuck Gemma.” She heard Tig chuckle beside her, shrugging when the prospect glanced at the pair nervously. “She won’t say anything if I tell her that I’m the one that told you to take ten minutes away from the bar.”

“Yeah.” He backed her up, grinning. “She never gets mad at Isla.”

It was completely uncharacteristic of him. But she brought something out from the very chasms of Tig Trager’s cold, black heart, and he lauded that.

Not many people had managed to scrape beneath the surface that way, not even Colleen.

God.

Tig shook himself out of the daze he’d slipped into, watching Isla and Kip trade places as she stepped behind the bar, and he made a beeline for a stool.

He’d been standing for a while, now.

“Are you gonna join me behind here?” She asked, drawing Tig’s attention back to her. Isla held up another bottle for him, twinkling underneath the yellowed light above the liquor shelves.

She looked, almost, angelic.

“Sack—“ Tig grabbed at his arm when he tried to leave his seat, feeling the prospect go rigid under his grip.

Isla’s eyebrows bunched together.

“Take two beers for Hap and Chibs.” He released the grey shirt, grinning as he saw the man sweat—clearly anticipating something more than just doing a simple favor.

“Oh, sure.” Kip breathed a sigh of relief, taking the two bottles that Isla had slid toward him. “That all?”

“Yep.” She added, gesturing for him to get on his way and enjoy the break that he’d been appointed.

He headed toward the two men beside the pool table, handing them their beers and pointing toward Tig. He waved with a small smile—hoping to come off as genuine, rather than scheming.

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Giving the two men a couple of beers to throw them off the scent—or, at least, to distract them from making a fuss—was just a ploy to defer attention from the two nestled amongst the alcohol.

And it seemed to work, too.

As Tig walked around the bar to join her on the other side, Isla popped a few bottle caps, mixed a few drinks, and talked to every person that stopped off in front of the oak, without being so much as glanced at by her father.

Gemma hadn’t noticed the change, either.

“You want anything?” She asked Tig, mindlessly pouring a glass of whiskey for one of the Tacoma guys. “Some tequila?”

Indifferently, he shrugged.

“Okay, well that was helpful.”

“Alright,” he chuckled, grabbing two shot glasses, “I’ll take one, if you do, too.”

“Tig.”

“Isla.” His tone was deriding, though she couldn’t help but smile.

She pushed the whiskey toward the unfamiliar Son, thanking him for showing his face today, and turned her attention back to Tig.

In the thirty seconds in which her focus had been diverted, he’d poured two shots, grabbed some salt, and two lime wedges from underneath the counter.

She swallowed thickly, hoping to god she’d be able to play off the effects of that liquor.

Because it was only the one, wasn’t it? She was only going to have one single shot of tequila and, surely, that wasn’t enough to intoxicate her…

Right?

“Aw, fuck.” She slurred, pushing the empty bottle aside. “I really—“ she hiccuped. “I really need to stop drinking.”

“Why?” Just as garbled, he responded.

“‘Cuz I feel like I’m gonna puke.” She snorted a laugh, pushing all of the limes strewn across the redwood into the bin. “And my breath stinks of tequila.”

He waved her off, looking at his chest as he wiped the alcohol from his leathers. “Tequila don’t smell that bad.”

Isla blushed, though she fished around her purse for some gum, regardless.

And her heart fucking plummeted to the pit of her stomach when she noticed the bottle of antidepressants in the smaller compartment, suddenly realizing that her excessive alcohol consumption tonight was for sure going to mess with her.

Shit.

“Water?” He asked, holding two empty glasses. He heeded the dread in her expression, how she looked like she’d seen a fucking ghost.

“Please.”

Tig handed her one of the glasses, slinging his free arm over her shoulder—mainly in an attempt to stabilize her—and padded over to the kitchen.

The clubhouse was a little more sparse, now. Jax and Tara sat alongside Juice, Chibs, and Happy, meanwhile Gemma and Clay were meters apart from one another.

But nobody seemed to notice the lack of manpower behind that bar, which was a wonderful thing. Because Isla feared that she might’ve collapsed had she not hydrated herself.

She feared that she might’ve said, or done, something that she might’ve regretted, too.

Tequila did make her feel “hot”, after all.

“God, I need this so bad.” She practically moaned, twisting the cold water tap, haphazardly holding her glass underneath it.

Isla didn’t even shut the water off, she just chugged that slightly lukewarm—strangely beautiful—liquid like her life depended on it.

“Fuck.” She gasped for air, putting her glass atop the draining board. “Oh my god, that was so fucking good.”

Tig watched in awe.

As droplets of water trickled from her lips, and chin, to her chest, Tig subtly groaned to himself. He stifled a reaction, however.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, hell yeah.” She nodded.

Tig held her glass underneath the tap again, filling it half way. “You want some more?”

Isla took it from him, cocking her head a little when he didn’t let go of the glass. “What?”

“How’d that tequila make you feel?”

“What?” She repeated herself, forgetting about what she told him earlier. “Oh…”

“How’d it make you feel?” He pressed, releasing his grip though lifting his hand to brush his thumb underneath her glossy lips.

“Good.” Isla stumbled over her words, watching his eyes flick over her features. She gulped, though she put the glass straight back down. “Really, really good.”

Tig jolted, though relaxed when she let her hands rest against his shoulders. He hadn’t expected this today. Or ever, really.

“How good is really really good?” He asked, twisting a couple of ringed fingers through long, loose curls.

Her heart was no longer sinking to the pit of her stomach, but fluttering wildly within her palpitating chest.

“Pretty good.”

“Right.” He caught her bluff, nodding. “I could think of something that’d make you feel really, really, really good, y’know?”

“You think?” Isla leaned into him when a hand pressed into the small of her back, and the other holding onto the nape of her neck. She shivered. “Because I think you could.”

Confidently, he bobbed his head. “Oh, I could.”

She was a bundle of nerves, frankly. Tig was so nonchalant, so breezy, and she was just so fucking fraught.

But he didn’t seem to notice—or care—while he surveyed her face, grinding his lips together in anticipation. He lowered his head a little to meet her height, though she still stood on her toes.

“Make me feel really good, Tig.” She whispered, the citrusy scent of tequila permeating his senses, quickening the rate of his pulse.

Isla’s sweet, soft lips ghosted over his own as she exuded a satisfied sigh, loosening up at the feeling of their noses brushing over one another.

It was so gentle. She hasn’t expected a man of such stature, such hunger and animosity, to be capable of something so soothing.

An unmistakable burst of desire started to seep through her, humming against his lips as she opted to wrap both arms around his neck while he backed her up against the sink.

With the support against her lower back, Isla wound a leg around his waist as the kiss amplified and Tig began to grind his hips into her whilst simultaneously moaning.

She didn’t know how badly she needed this tonight.

Pink nails wound into his unruly curls, mindlessly nudging through the hair—pushing him to hasten. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, then. Lauding the flavor of tequila and cigarettes.

But Isla promptly froze at the sound of footsteps—heels, precisely—clicking across the tile.

“Tig, wait.” She jerked her head a little, urging him to stop. “I can hear Gemma—“

“You can see her, too.” The matriarch stated, rounding the corner and immediately coming into Isla’s line of sight.

Both Tig and the blonde shifted to look at her.

“Am I interrupting something?”

#tig trager #tig trager x oc #tig trager fic #tig trager fanfiction #sons of anarchy fic #sons of anarchy fanfiction #sons of anarchy fandom #sons of anarchy #jax teller #jax teller fanfiction #jax teller x oc

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rpbetter · 3 years ago

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what's the nicest possible way to tell a close friend their roleplay blogs suck and if they want followers and interaction like they keep complaining about they have to actually put effort into it instead of just making blog after blog and slapping a character on it like that's they need to do. I've tried to suggest this to her before by comparing other blogs that play her muse but she just feels inadequate instead of inspired to emulate them which I understand but it's very frustrating when I suggest a million ways to make her blog better and she brushes them all off for one reason or another and I don't want to say anything because she's like a sister to me. sigh.

Unfortunately, the short answer to this is that there really isn't any way you can make her see this unless she's ready to see it.

But, I don't like giving those sorts of answers, they feel hopeless and shitty, so, let's try this...

Understanding what the problem with your friend and her connecting with this information is, is important. It might help in talking to her about the issue.

What I find in these instances, and a lot of similar ones, is that the mun is unhappy about the results but quite happy with the process. She's enjoying some part of this, it's just not the lack of interaction, obviously. It's the very things she's doing to turn people off of her muses.

I think a lot of people get kind of addicted to new muses. I mean, the entire process of having a new muse:

interest to outright fixation, no matter how short-lived, in a new, inspiring muse

who is almost certainly in a new fandom, and probably, one that is very busy and popular at the moment

"someone stop me" phase, even though they've already decided

picking the perfect URL, creating the new blog, making the graphics and batches of icons

reblogging All The Content about the new muse, at least, the visual content and maybe, a couple of "oof, right in the feels" style short meta posts

plugging the new muse on the old blogs, through friends, etc.

mass follows

new mutuals! Shiny new meme asks in the inbox! New threads!

It's about the newness, the excitement, and the irrationally promising feeling that damn it, this time, the blog and muse is going to be successful, popular even, beloved, the actual favorite iteration of the character in the RPC. Like anything exciting, it's addicting for people. And like anything addicting, it can take hitting rock bottom and going several more feet down, a few times, before they're over it and want to change.

Which is, of course, where you come in with your as-yet failed RP interventions.

What makes what you're trying to do here very difficult is that there isn't a total bottoming out she's going to reach. There will always be something new and exciting coming out with a new and exciting muse that'll fix the problem, in her mind. There will always be the option and availability to create another blog, slap another muse on it, rinse and repeat. With shampoo and conditioner that never runs out.

You definitely had the right idea by trying to get her to contrast between why what she is doing isn't working the way she wants and why what someone else is doing is working out that way. It's just, as you found out, often not the best idea, no matter how well-intentioned it is. With her blogs constantly failing for reasons she refuses to believe, it's incredibly likely she's already done some comparison in all the wrong ways, ultimately going back and forth between blaming the other iterations, finding nothing but errors in the way they write the character and set up their blogs, and feeling depressed that she's not good enough, but they are.

So, you might have unintentionally inflamed all of this! She could be in a place where she's even more likely to believe that what she's doing is great as a defense mechanism for being hard on herself.

I'd also like to say that I'm aware the "right" advice here is, "there's nothing you can do, you'll just make her feel bad, people have a right to RP however they want." But, you're also her friend, and you have to be around the complaining and upset when this just keeps happening.

Furthermore, when we have very close friends like this, we automatically keep trying to fill in the gaps for them at cost to ourselves - every time they make another blog/muse, we get roped into writing things we know are just going to be dropped, making them things we know are going to left on a deserted blog, and so on. Eventually, it makes you feel bad about yourself because your efforts aren't good enough, either. It can really ruin the hobby for you, sucking away enjoyment and creativity you could be spending elsewhere.

I don't think you're wrong in trying to help both her and yourself.

Keep being honest with her. When she complains, be honest about why this is happening. And you can, indeed, be kind and honest!

Let's say that she says something about how she wrote all these opens and no one is going for them.

You could say something like, "that sucks. I liked this one, it's the one that feels and sounds like the character to me. What were you doing when you wrote that? You should rewrite the others to be a little more like that, I think people are looking for more of the character like we saw them in the series."

You're acknowledging that she's right, it does suck, it's a shitty feeling no matter how at fault for it she is. While pointing out something she did good (and, okay, maybe she didn't, maybe they all categorically sucked lol but find one that was even a tiny bit better/that has elements you can use to both boost her confidence and show her what is right, not just wrong). Then, giving her an idea - whatever she was thinking, watching, listening to at that time, she tapped into something more like the actual character, and she could do it again. And telling her what the problem is, at least with this, that people don't want a cardboard cutout muse, they want the one they like from the fandom book/show/movie.

No need to actually compare with another active mun and muse, or tell her that it's because what she's doing is terribly and driving you nuts. Even if both are true.

If she's the one that compares herself to another blog this time, seize the opportunity!

"Well, people like that the muse is developed and like the character they know. When you interact with another canon, don't you want them to be like the character you liked? You liked -current muse- for a reason. When I've felt like that, I reminded myself of why I was drawn to the character and worked harder on writing them accurately and getting their voice down. I think this other blog has done that and you haven't yet."

It's a little harsher, but she may very well only be looking for validation from you that this other blog actually sucks and she's doing great. A lot of complaints on tumblr are that - seeking validation, not help. The entire culture of that shit is not at all helpful. You don't want to try to sort of shock her out of it by being too harsh, but you do want to make it clear that you're not going to just give ass pats and tell her what she wants to hear.

You're telling her why this other blog is more successful, that the muse comes off as the character and is enjoyable to write with. Because the mun put in the effort to make them both accurate to the character and a muse that's fun/interesting/engaging to write with in RP.*

*Not all characters transfer over well to RP, either, and this might also be some of her problem. For whatever reason, some people are deeply drawn to the worst possible choices for them. They will find the least applicable character in a whole series, one with a billion characters that spans decades of material, plenty of viable options all around, but no, it's got to be this one. The one that's impossible for them to pull off, boring or disliked by the fandom, is incredibly difficult to interact with (think manic pixie bullshit, villains that are extreme loners, incredibly quiet and reserved characters, or those who are only ever seen in their canon to be bantering with friends and enemies - people they have established relationships with, unlike someone else's muse, even if that muse is a canonical friend or enemy), or is an active turn off in RP, like an outrageously overpowered character whose entire existence is based on being OP as fuck. That's going to be what they go for. Every. Damn. Time.

If you notice she's doing this, she could be compensating without even realizing it by turning the string of muses into identical and empty clichés she thinks people want to interact with, but that she can still handle writing. And unfortunately, your job is even harder, OP, because everyone has a character type...and your bestie's is Fucking Impossible to RP for 90% of the RPC Population Type lmao I'm...I'm so sorry.

Maybe if this is the case, you can get her to try out a different character that has some of the traits you've noticed she seems to always be drawn to, but without the complications. Work smarter, not harder, though! Propose this as you desperately wanting your muse to interact with x. Some people react very badly to being told "you'd write a great -muse name," others are flattered by it. If you don't know for certain that she'd be flattered, or at least not offended, that she doesn't hate this character or anything, do not say this. Just tell her that you love this character, you think she could handle them as a NPC in a thread, could she please try?

And make that the single most interesting thread in the history of threads. Specifically, for her. Give her tons of engagement with this NPC of the sort she tends to want the most. It might stick and reset some of her perspective on the types of characters she keeps choosing.

You're reminding her that she's a RPer, too, which sounds like a crazy thing to have to remind a RPer, but we do weirdly lose track of this. We get very invested in what we're putting out more than what we've successfully been given, especially when we're not being given much of what we want. So, you're prodding her to recall that there are two parts of this equation, she's been on the side of it - she's wanted to interact specifically with a canon muse because she loved the character/ship with hers/whatever, and has, as we all have, experienced both the disappointment of running through a ton of them who just are not that character and also finding the version that very much is.

This helps to put other people back into perspective in a way that isn't just "interactions." (Read as "desired attention." Which isn't a slam, it's true. It's also not a problem, we all are here to interact, we all enjoy having devoted mutuals and such. It's only a problem when we stop seeing them as anything other than a means to an end for ourselves.) She might be able to relate to them, thus, why they don't like her muses, if she can put herself back into their shoes.

You stick with that and transition it into why she picked the current muse. It's the same deal, there was something about the muse that sparked interest, creativity, etc. What was it? Something that isn't there, or there enough, in her writing. In all the excitement of muse-creation, she's probably let whatever it was slide right out the door. If you can get her to recall that feeling of interest and identify for herself what all triggered it, she might be able to stick with it.

And you've encouraged her again to give people what they want if she wants interactions by developing her muses. You've also done so, if it all applicable and true, by using yourself here, making it feel like not just a common problem, but one experienced and overcome by someone she cares about and trusts.

She might have an issue with needing a lot of high-interest, high-reward scenarios, too.

This is a high-effort, minimum reward situation for her. A lot of us in the RPC have shit like ADHD that can really make this difficult once we're experiencing it in this way, but even those who don't absolutely fall into it as well. So, you'll need ways to make it fun, but...I think if you can sort of kindly trick her into experiencing the effort as its own reward, it'd go a long, long way.

I can't really say what I do, having this problem with high-effort, minimal reward because I don't tend to experience that in RP. The writing is the reward for me, as much as I lose it utterly with happiness every time a writing partner is loving what I've given them. My reward system is set up around the writing and exploring characters. Hers seems to be set up around the reaction to it and amount of engagement with it. You need to try to use the latter to give her some of the former.

If she likes Halloween or Christmas, Fall or Winter, this could be your way into doing it!

Get her hyped about a seasonal prompt list you're doing. This does, yeah, mean you will have to do it, too lol but in the end, any time you aren't able to produce something daily like these lists usually are set up for, you're showing her that it isn't a job she's got to fulfill - the rules are only as strict as she wants to make them for herself. And if you keep yours short and fun, she'll feel like it's perfectly fine and good to do it this way as well. That it doesn't need to be a damn masterpiece or anything, just fun, something different to show off her muse.

While what she's actually doing, in addition to that, is getting in touch with and developing her muse. Importantly, when we write in a way that is just for ourselves like this, we tend to kind of...bond, for lack of a less weird sounding way of putting it, with a muse. It makes them stick with us longer, raising their importance and easier availability to us.

Let her know you're doing this, pick one out you genuinely like, and don't expect her to be down with it immediately. It's work with no foreseeable reward. Except, it's very hard to listen to our friends be excited, proud of themselves, enjoying themselves without wanting to join in. It'll be especially helpful, though, if you think people you interact with will like the posts and comment on them, or even try to turn them into threads if you include their muses (with their consent, of course, and no pressure). If she sees that, it might make it even more interesting to her. You might also have to pose this as her helping you out, that you don't think you'll get more than two done if she isn't doing it as well, as a sort of a challenge she can hold you to.

Whatever you think might work best for engaging her, you know her well, you can do it!

Be there to help her out with ideas if she goes for it. Throw out some easy, fun suggestions you think she might like, that even give her some opportunity to write something with her muse that she doesn't get a chance to. Pull from the muse's canon, is there something in their canon that goes with the prompt word "snow," for instance? Is it something she enjoyed about the canon story? Suggest it. Thinking about both the muse and your friend, is there something else that came to mind about that prompt you could suggest? Do it!

Again, whatever she's most into, it's an angle. Humor? Her serious muse is forced into a ridiculous, funny situation that involves the snow. Angst? A sad memory associated with the snow. Shipping? A romantic, fluffy scene (or steamy one). And so on.

Be there to express interest and encouragement while she's doing it. Don't do things that are going to come off as pressuring or helicopter moming her, of course! Like, asking how much she's gotten done, did she start working on it yet? That's a bad idea, unless she enjoys that sort of thing. Instead, tell her how much you can't wait to see this, ask about how it's going, tell her about yours to encourage her to talk about it.

And be there to be her audience when she posts it. This really seems to be her highest reward, so give it to her. Like the post, comment on the post, tell her in messages. Not individually, all of those things. If you can find a way to that doesn't mess up what you've got going on with your blog, mutuals, other friends, etc., mention it on your blog.

At this point, people might be both aware of her RP habits and wary of engaging with her, but someone might bite if you're enthused and go like the post. If it's applicable, make some jokes about it on the dash, turn it into a moment of inside joke-like crack for people to see. Mention that she wrote this and you loved it, link it or outright reblog her post. Hell, mention that you and her are doing such and such prompts for whatever holiday or season before the fact, that way, it doesn't come out of nowhere to your mutuals, either. Again, if applicable, you can ask to turn it into a thread.

The point, at this juncture, isn't to attract people to her blog and posts, it's to demonstrate to her that this is fun and rewarding. If you can get people to go like the posts, great, but you can only count on yourself to do it at first.

Most people enjoy those sorts of prompts on their dash from mutuals, though. You're always going to have some who feel like it's annoying because it wasn't strictly a RP reply, but whatever, they're not the majority in most fandoms anymore, thankfully. Point is, it's literally showing her mutuals that she's capable of thinking as her muse and working on her muse. It's showing off good things and making her muse more interesting and uniquely hers in a good way. And it's totally possible that she's going to organically generate likes, people wanting to use this as a plot with her for RP, and mutuals who are increasingly following along with every post made.

The hope is that she experiences the beginnings of more interest in the muse than she does making muses, gain some confidence in doing this with the enjoyment of it, and stick with a muse longer than five seconds so that she can actually end up with the interactions she wants.

There are definitely other ways of doing this, the prompt thing just came to mind because it's major prompt season. You've got a prompt list floating around for literally every popular point of interest right now, from whump to extreme fluff to horror to humor. And it's going to keep going until January. It's also something that can be as short as a paragraph or as long as several thousand words, and that a hell of a lot of people don't do all of. So, it's easy, so long as she's got a reason to find it interesting and stay on course with it even a little bit.

You could also try getting her into doing something like moodboards for her muse but with little additions of writing that go along with them. Nothing major, just things like a quote from her muse or a sentence from a starter, thread, whatever.

So long as you can get her to start refocusing on RP being enjoyable from the inside and not just the outside, it's valid as hell to try it! She seems to be experiencing RP as instant gratification and basing that gratification on things she can't control, like popularity.

Right now, even giving her the sober truth that one can write the best version of a canon muse there is to be found, be someone enjoyable and interesting in OOC interactions, and be an amazing writer without that being enough to garner popularity, or even the plots that are wanted. That being a very popular RPer and having more interactions than you know what to do with (honestly sucks ass) isn't a set of absolute values, but rather, variables that are always in flux and often, totally mysterious. It's usually a mixture of total luck, visual appeal, and both mun being on point with what people want to see right this second and muse being the mixture of fanon that is desirable, also, right at this exact second. It is seriously not within anyone's control, no matter how much effort, quality, or even outright bullshit they have to put out there.

If she's ever going to stick to a muse and not find herself envious, upset, and bored it's absolutely got to come from herself. She's got to be popular with herself, enjoying herself regardless of what others are seemingly achieving or want to give her. It's not going to be recognized no matter how harsh or sweet you are about the problem, unless she's capable of really looking at those problems as problems, and I don't think she's going to get to that point through negatively bottoming out. She might get there through the opposite, though!

It's...just going to take a lot of effort and patience from you, with no expectation of reward yourself.

Because it's still likely as hell it's just not going to happen. And while it seems like you are the kind of friend who would find the effort worth it because you care and are invested in her, please know that there's no shame in merely contemplating this and noping right out.

You've got a life and are trying to enjoy the hobby as well! And if it seems like something that could sour your friendship? It's not worth it. You're better off just accepting that she'll inevitably tire of doing this and move on to another hobby, maybe decide to do fandom blogs or something instead that you can support her in.

It's definitely an unenviable and frustrating position you're in. All you can really do is try not to let this negatively impact the friendship, to keep refraining from just outright telling her things she'd find hurtful, and try your best to show her that it's rewarding to develop the muse and stick with it, not a task. That there are improvements she can make to her blog, and that it isn't a negative reflection on her that they can be made. You can try all the compassionate trickery in the world to lead her there, but it's ultimately up to her whether she brushes this off as well, don't let it hurt your feelings or exasperate you too much!

Also, it's totally possible that even if you met through RP and/or it has been a big part of the friendship, you might have grown in different directions in the hobby.

Growing within the hobby is inherent to any hobby you stick to for long enough, especially if you started out in it young. Some people seamlessly just keep growing to things that make them happy, others experience a lot of growing pains along the way as they're maybe ready for change, but only in select areas they have to discover for themselves. Still others grow in a way that doesn't make them very happy, but they're both not ready (or willing) to approach why and what they can do, and also still too attached to the good times they had to reassess whether it's still something they want to do, or if it's something better moved away from into something else.

That's always very difficult as a friend. Difficult in watching your friends not go the same directions as you anymore, even in something as comparatively silly as a hobby, in seeing them not enjoying themselves, and in the possibility that it could signal the end of enjoying the hobby with them. It's sad and frustrating, and can feel lonely, but if you're close enough friends, you've got so many other things to still be good friends over, so keep that in mind!

She might need to keep doing this with her blog and muse situation until she comes not to the realization that she needs to change how she's RPing to get what she wants, but rather, that she wants to stop RPing. That could be the burnout that happens here eventually, but again, not only can you still be great friends, if it makes her happier, it's good.

#answered #anonymous #rp problems #rp advice

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nearlymanaged · 5 years ago

Text

12. Silver Hoops and Black Cat

Sirius had been acting strange, Remus thought. It wasn’t his sudden desire to get his ears pierced - that bit was normal. That was exactly the kind of thing that he would do. It was something else, something Remus couldn’t fully verbalise. Overall, Sirius seemed fine, it’s just that there were little looks and sighs and words that told Remus there was something bothering his friend. He seemed vaguely irritated and distant, somehow, and Remus couldn’t figure out why.

He had spent one afternoon wondering if maybe Vincent had caught Sirius’ eye, since his odd mood swing seemed to have been released into action right after that meeting. But that theory didn’t hold much water, seeing as Sirius categorically refused to go back to the record shop. He insisted that once was enough, for whatever that meant.

“Remus!” Someone hollered and he turned around to see the French boy on the opposite side of the street. He told Sirius he would be right back and hurried over to Vincent.

Remus felt a mixture of excitement and unease in the pit of his stomach. In fact, he had hoped to run into the enigmatic stranger, he had pictured that meeting in his mind... But there was a tiny voice in his head that was onto him, that whispered about the unpleasant truth of it, the ugly little hope - maybe this could make Sirius jealous, make him understand that he was deeply and madly in love with Remus?

“You told me you were not ‘ere with your boyfriend?” Vincent spoke again once Remus reached him.

“Er… Pardon me?” His eyebrows dipped in polite confusion momentarily, his head tilting to the side.

“That boy, is ‘e not your boyfriend?”

Following Vincent’s gaze, Remus glanced back over his shoulder to see Sirius walking into the tattoo parlour. “No...” he uttered and, after a moment’s hesitation, added, “Why do you ask?”

“‘E looked at me like my mother looks at my father’s mistress,” Vincent shrugged, an expression of utmost nonchalance etched into his face, as if he hadn’t just said anything peculiar at all.

“How very French… No, no, that’s just how Sirius looks sometimes; he got into this edgy phase a couple of years ago and...I digress...” Remus trailed off and his mind wandered to what Lily had said a couple of weeks ago. How she too thought that there was something going on, that Sirius harboured a secret crush on him.

As much as it gave Remus an excited fluttering feeling in his stomach, he couldn’t keep mild annoyance at bay. Why did people not understand that him and Sirius had been friends for years? Of course, Vincent didn’t know that, but still… They were really close, all of the Marauders were. Naturally, Sirius was going to care and look out for him. But maybe even more than that, Remus found it annoying that it still gave him a rush of hope...

“You never came back to the record shop.”

“Yeah… I’m sorry, I’ve been preoccupied, I suppose. Has your imprisonment in the boring English countryside gotten any easier to bear?”

“Not really. Unfortunately, I ‘ave learnt that English girls are very...what is the word...assertive?”

“Assertive? How so?”

“They ask me out every day and every day I tell them that I do not like girls. They think they can convince me, maybe?”

“Well, please do accept my condolences. It must be really hard, being so attractive,” Remus teased him with an amused chuckle.

“Oui! I cannot bear it…” Vincent rolled his eyes and laughed.

“Can I ask you… How did you know that...that I like boys?” Remus smiled abashedly.

“I ‘ad a feeling, perhaps. I didn’t know but I ‘oped. I was right then?”

“Yeah… You were.”

“You look very nice today,” Vincent stated bluntly as if it were a fact, causing Remus to chuckle.

“A little scuffed up but not too shabby overall, I suppose?”

“Is that ‘ow you always take a compliment?”

“I don’t know, I don’t get complimented that often, I guess.”

“I do not believe it,” Vincent folded his arms over his chest.

“Shocking, I know.”

“Well next time you should just say ‘thank you’.”

“Thank you. I think you look very nice, too.”

“Would you like to ‘ave a cup of coffee with me?”

“Er, yes, sure,” Remus felt his ears get hot. For the past few days, he kept going between being sure that Vincent had flirted with him and then convincing himself that he had merely imagined that, or remembered it wrong. But there was no denying it now - Vincent was asking him out on a coffee date and it felt exhilarating.

“‘Ow about now?”

“Er…” Remus cast a glance back at the tattoo parlour; he really just wanted to be in there, with Sirius, he realised. As thrilling as it was to have Vincent stand in front of him and say all the things he was saying...he just wasn’t Sirius. There was no other way to put it.

“Not a good time?”

“Not really. I’m sorry.”

“You apologise a lot,” Vincent let out a melodious laugh.

“I can’t help feeling a bit inadequate in front of you…” Remus echoed it.

“Don’t. I am so glad to see you again,” Vincent’s face relaxed into a bright smile. “I ‘ave been thinking about ever since you left that day.”

“You have?”

“Yes. There is something special about you, I knew it the moment I saw you,” Vincent peered up into his eyes with a glint of eagerness or curiosity, Remus couldn’t tell. “Is that too, euh...direct?”

“No…” Remus beamed without realising; he almost laughed at the thought of that ‘something special’ being his lycanthropy. And then he smiled wider because Vincent didn’t know and would never know about it. To him, Remus was just a normal boy. Not only that - a boy that he thought was special and interesting enough for him to be standing there in that moment, offering up his thoughts and feelings for his consideration. And yet...

“Did I make you uncomfortable?” For the first time, there was an ounce of shyness in Vincent’s smile.

“No… I just...” What? He just what? He wasn’t sure what he was going to say but before he could figure it out, Vincent spoke instead.

“If you are not interested, you can just say it. I can’t lie, I would be disappointed, but I would rather know anyway.”

Remus knit his eyebrows together, inhaling a lungful of air as his mind settled into place. “It’s not that I’m not interested...in you. You are lovely, I’m sure. But I suppose I can’t truthfully lead you on to think that--” His breath caught. How could he explain to this charming Frenchman that even in his presence, all Remus could think about was how he wished that it was Sirius telling him these things? “There’s someone else. I’m not with anyone, but there’s someone that I can’t seem to get out of my head. And I don’t think it would be fair to you if I were to pretend that that’s not the case.”

“But… Why are you not with this person then?” Vincent’s expression was that of utter bewilderment.

“I don’t think,” Remus was choosing his words slowly, deliberately, “he is interested in being with me, I suppose.”

“Oh pour l'amour de baiser! The person who does not see how special you are does not deserve you, don’t you know?”

“I’m very flattered, Vincent. You have no idea how flattered, really,” Remus offered him a pleading smile, as if to make him understand what he was saying better.

“I will give you my address and my phone number. Maybe you will change your mind about this person who does not notice you.”

“Maybe…”

“I think you should. If this person you speak of was worth your time, they would show it. You should not ‘ave a doubt about someone who truly sees you.”

“I-- I can’t argue with that, I guess,” Remus let out a weary chuckle. “You’re very nice.”

“Please remember that you do not need to waste your time on someone who does not care. And send me a postcard. ‘Ere,” Vincent glanced behind Remus and pulled out a little notebook and a pen. He quickly jotted something down, ripped a page out, and started folding it in half twice.

“I did it!” Remus’ vision was suddenly obscured by a mass of black windswept waves that was Sirius’ hair. “What do you think?” He was leaning in so close to show off his new piercings that Remus needed a second to catch his breath before answering.

“I do.”

In fact, that was a gross understatement - Remus couldn’t comprehend why or how, but these new accessories made Sirius even more outrageously attractive than he normally was.

And then Sirius put his arm around him - which wasn’t anything out of the norm - and Remus felt like he really was the most special person in the world. He knew it was silly, he knew that Vincent was probably right - that he was wasting his time pining after someone he could never have… But in moments like this, it was hard to maintain a firm grip on reality and far easier to slip into a daydream.

* * *

The Marauders had come back to Hogwarts a couple of days before most of the other kids. Whenever possible, they would always make sure they could spend the full moon in the Shrieking Shack, since it felt like a much safer environment than any other place.

It wasn’t as bad this time around; none of the boys sustained any significant injuries and, more importantly, Remus told Sirius the following morning that he could remember almost the entire night - albeit through thick fog, but still remember it more than most full moon nights. However, Madam Pomfrey still wanted to keep him in the hospital wing for a couple of days.

Sirius had borrowed James’ invisibility cloak to sneak out of the Gryffindor tower and into the hospital dormitory the night after the full moon. He wanted to make sure that Remus was okay, that he wasn’t lying wide awake and bored or that he wasn’t hungry or in pain… Both James and Peter were eager to check in on their friend, but there was a sense of solidarity between them that meant they didn’t even have to say it out loud to know that Sirius had to be the one to go see Moony.

When Sirius got there, Remus was fast asleep. Again, it was a very good sign, but Sirius still lingered for about half an hour before making his way back.

He pulled the invisibility cloak off himself the moment the portrait door swung shut behind him. There was no one else in the common room - except for someone’s drowsy black cat. The feline lifted its head lazily to glance at Sirius and he smiled at it as though greeting a familiar face. He went over to one of the armchairs and slumped down in it; sleep just didn’t feel like a realistic possibility that night.

He sat in silence for a while, wondering if Remus had already written a letter to the French git and if so, then what had he said in it? The more he thought about it, the more bitterness bubbled in the pit of his stomach. He felt that the French guy didn’t deserve Moony; that he was too plain and too clueless and too...everything that he was. He wondered if Moony actually, truly liked him, if he had written a love letter to him… Without even realising, Sirius snorted, causing the cat to flinch.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just that...oh, you wouldn’t understand.”

The cat narrowed its eyes at him.

“You’re not McGonagall, are you? No, she’s not a black cat...” He sunk deeper into the armchair, as if physically weighed down by gloomy thoughts. “You see, Wormtail and Prongs think I should tell Remus that I fancy him, but I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea…” Sirius started speaking quietly, slowly, as if raking through the mess that was his mind. “I’ve been flirting with him day and night, and he hasn’t reacted to it at all. I’d say he’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic not to have noticed, but Moony’s pretty smart, actually… In fact, he’s possibly the most intelligent person I know. Of course, he would never admit to it…” Sirius sprang up to his feet all of a sudden and started pacing back and forth, the cat following him with its shining eyes. “He has all these ridiculous ideas in his head about how he’s not enough of this and too much of that…” Sirius flailed his arms and gave the cat an exasperated look; the feline hissed. “Exactly! There’s a fine line between being humble and dimming your own light. It’s a bit absurd, innit? And he’s the most attractive boy in this entire goddamn castle…” Sirius paused and then dramatically slumped down into the empty armchair, still looking at the cat. “He’s so gorgeous… He has such nice hands too, have you ever noticed?” At these words, the cat meowed at him. “Well, no,” Sirius frowned at it momentarily. “It’s not just his devilishly good looks that I’m attracted to, obviously. I mean, he is just so dreamy… But also incredibly kind - the kindest one out of the four of us, no doubt. He genuinely cares about people, a lot. Hey! Do you think maybe he was just trying to be nice to that French berk? No?.. Yeah, I don’t know…” He trailed off and now it looked like the cat was watching him intently.

“Remus he can seem a bit reserved,” Sirius opened his mouth again, “you know, but that’s just the facade. He’s actually fucking hilarious. And, while we’re at it, have you ever met anyone else who could be turning into a werewolf every month, always have time for his friends, and somehow still remain at the top of every class? Didn’t think so. I’m just so happy when I’m around him, you know? You ever feel that with your kitty pals? It’s the kind of happiness that I never really thought I could experience-- not to get too personal with you, but my parents? Horrible people. I remember, when I was little I thought, well if this is love, then fuck this rubbish. It just kind of gave me really low expectations, you know? So long as I’m not completely miserable, I wouldn’t be fussed about anything. But Remus makes me feel so...” He trailed off, staring into the fireplace for a moment while the cat started grooming itself. Then Sirius perked up again, scooting to the very edge of his seat, leaning towards the feline who froze with its leg up in the air and stared back at him. “Maybe I don’t deserve him? Maybe that’s what it is? He’s too good for me. I mean, I think I could make him happy if he let me, but maybe--”

“Who are you talking to?” A yawning voice asked from the top of the stairs to the dormitories and, startled by it, Sirius turned into a big black dog, causing the cat to do a double take.

“Bloody hell, you scared the shit out of me…” Sirius glared at James once he returned to his human form.

“Why aren’t you in bed? I woke up and you weren’t there...I wondered if you’d gotten caught.”

“Come on, Prongs, would I ever get caught?”

“You’re right…” James nodded with another yawn bursting out of him. “How is he?”

“Asleep.”

“Good. I’m going back to bed then…”

“You do that, Prongs.”

“Night, Pads…”

“Night.” Sirius watched James disappear behind their dormitory door and then looked back at the cat again. “Sorry about that, he’s always been pretty tactless, that boy has… Where was I?”

While Sirius was trying to retrieve his train of thought, the cat got up and leapt over from the sofa into his lap. He started petting it absent-mindedly. “But if he likes Vincent then can I really do anything about it?” The room was enveloped in complete silence for a moment before the cat started purring. “I don’t know what you mean but I feel like you’re right…”

#wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #marauders #hogwarts #fanfic

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ejzah · 4 years ago

Text

A/N: The next chapter of the Agent and the Lawyer. Loosely based off of Absolution. I’m trying something a little different with the structure and not following the episodes so closely.

***

The Agent and the Lawyer, Part 18

“We should run together every morning,” Deeks said as he and Kensi rounded a bend in his favorite beach side path. “There’s this great little convenience store where we can grab coffee and a mostly fresh donut. The coffee’s not great, but the owner is super nice.”

Beside him, Kensi was matching him stride for stride, her breath even despite the pace. She smiled at his description, shaking her head.

“It’s not a good idea to follow a particular routine. It’s too easy for your movements, habits, and location to be tracked,” she explained. He knew how important it was for the team to maintain relative anonymity, but sometimes he thought they all took it a little far.

“It’s just coffee Kens. I’m sure no one suspects me of being a big bad fed or cares where I go.”

“Don’t let Sam catch you saying that. He’ll rip you a new one.”

“So does that mean no coffee?” he asked. It was definitely a part of his routine and gave him the energy to run all the way back home. Kensi groaned and tossed her head back, but didn’t put up any further protest when he led them to Sandune Convenience store. “Hey Frank!” he greeted the owner, heading for the canisters of brewed coffee.

“Hi,” Kensi said, looking a little uncomfortable as she waited for Deeks to fill a paper cup for her. Frank shot them a curious look, but didn’t comment.

“I ran five miles today, Deeks told Frank. Kensi snorted at that and said,

“Uh, that’s a big fat lie, he ran three.”

“So rude,” he said, amused at how quickly Kensi had abandoned her reservations when given the chance to make fun of him.

“I thought you were buying me a donut,” she reminded him.

“Of course, my lady.” He grabbed two Boston Creams and an apple fritter because he knew from past experience that when Kensi finished hers, she’d likely try to steal part of his.

After chatting with Frank for a few more minutes-his oldest daughter would be graduating from high school soon-they headed back on to the path. Their pace was leisurely now as they munched on donuts and drank coffee. It was significantly more enjoyable with Kensi beside him.

“Hey Marty!” A woman called out as she ran by. Deeks waved back without thinking.

“You know, if I was the jealous type, I might be worried about all the women who know you, wherever you go,” she said, gesturing with her cup.

“What can I say, I’m a friendly guy,” he said with a shrug, grinning around the rim of his cup. It was adorable when she got jealous.

“Mm, be careful you don’t friendly yourself into singledom.” He rolled his eyes at her warning and nudged her with his shoulder.

“Oh, come on, Kensalina, you know I would never cheat on you.”

“I would hope not,” Kensi said, looking a little uncertain. “You would certainly regret it if you did.”

“I would never,” he repeated seriously. “You have my promise. I’m not that kind of guy.” He saw her cheeks flush a little and she glanced away as an awkward silence grew between them.

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and Kensi reached for hers, seeming grateful for the distraction.

“Hey Eric,” she said. “Uh-huh. Ok, we’ll be there in a bit.” Deeks heard the faint sound of Eric’s voice raise in a question. “Oh, yeah, I promised Deeks I’d pick him up.” She forced a laugh and hung up quickly.

“Smooth,” Deeks teased.

“Shut up. Hetty wants us in OPS. Something to do with a dead antiques dealer.” She tossed her trash in a nearby can and then bent down to tighten a shoelace. As she stood back up, she turned to face Deeks, her expression playful. “I’ll race you back.”

Not waiting for him to respond, she took off at a sprint, her delighted chuckle floating behind her.

“Man, you are so whipped,” he said with a smile as he tossed his own cup and followed after.

***

“Where’s Deeks?” Callen asked when Kensi walks into OPS about an hour later. After they got back to his house, they’d made out in Deeks’ garden for several long minutes. Kensi had been highly tempted to call off work and finish what they’d started a couple weeks ago. Common sense had prevailed and she’d reluctantly left before she took Deeks up on his offer to join him in the shower.

She didn’t mention that to Callen though and shrugged.

“He got called into the office for a last minute legal emergency,” she explained.

“What exactly qualifies as a legal emergency?” Sam asked.

“He mentioned something about a CPS case that isn’t going well. He’ll come as soon as he can.”

She found herself turning to make comments to Deeks more than once while Eric, Hetty, and Nell explained who Sebastian Renner was. It felt weirder than she expected without Deeks by her side. She’d grown used to his comments and, often, inappropriate jokes, as well as his unique insight into cases.

***

Kensi smiled involuntarily when she walked back into the bull pen a couple hours later and saw Deeks sitting at his desk.

“So what’d I miss? he asked.

“Our victim, Sebastian Renner, was an arms dealer, a bunch of spies from other countries are now vying for his black book, and Hetty has an ex-German Police officer named Branston Cole, who might have pertinent information,” she summed up. Deeks looked a little stunned for a second and then nodded.

“Wow, this is the last time I take a morning off. You guys bring out the fun cases when I’m gone.”

“Well, now you get to join the fun too,” she said with a smile, grabbing her gun and slipping it into her waistband. Deeks hadn’t passed his firearms training yet, so he just watched. “Callen and Sam got chased out of Renner’s home by his dogs earlier. Now that they’re gone, Hetty wants us to see if we can find anything else.”

“So did you make it here on time this morning?” he asked, smirking at her. “You seemed a little disorganized and, uh, distracted when you left my place.” She smiled sweetly, pretending she wasn’t currently remembering the feel of his chest, damp with sweat, pressing into hers.

“I made it just fine,” she answered. “How was your shower?” Her voice was innocent, but she let her eyes drop a bit lower than was strictly polite.

“It was cold. Very cold.” Kensi snickered at that as they walked out.

***

“M-O-U-S-E?” Kensi said scathingly as she finished cuffing the two men she and Deeks had just fought. She rifled through one’s suit pocket and found a DGSE ID.

“What was I supposed to say?” he asked. “I’m not and Agent and I’m not LAPD. You guys were shouting out your little acronyms and I felt left out. Which, reminds me, why the hell did you kick an NSA Agent in the groin?”

Kensi let out an irritated sigh and showed him the ID.

“He’s French Intelligence, Deeks. He was lying.”

“You couldn’t have possibly known that though.”

“I had a hunch,” she said with a shrug. Deeks made an outraged sound.

“A hunch. You don’t kick a guy in the nuts over a hunch!” He felt a little nauseous at the thought and resisted the urge to cover his crotch.

“I recognized his accent. It’s not American.”

“He didn’t have an accent,” Deeks said, horrified for the agent who was slowly gaining consciousness.

“I’m trained in linguistics, Deeks. I know the difference between French and English speech patterns,” she insisted.

“You’re insane.”

“Deeks, you’re acting ridiculous.” He ignored her, shaking his head.

“Sometimes it’s like I don’t even know you.”

***

Kensi watched Deeks from a few feet away. She couldn’t tell what he was saying, but his lips were split in a wide smile as he chatted with Sam and Callen several seats away.

They’d successfully apprehended a German spy named Matthias and the FBI and NSA were looking for the rest of the spies. They’d had to leave Deeks behind since he wasn’t authorized to carry a weapon.

Now they were at a nearby bar, per Deeks suggestions and on his dime. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. After a few drinks, Nell challenged Eric to a pool game and had even shed the little sweater she wore of her think strapped dress. There was definitely something going on there.

The combination of Deeks’ considerable charm, which he was working to it’s full limits, and large amounts of alcohol both had even Callen and Sam more at ease than she’d seen them in a while.

Deeks noticed her watching and headed her way. He looked ridiculously pleased with himself.

“Nicely done,” she complimented him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said innocently.

“You know that once they sober up, they’re still going to ride you.” He groaned, dragging out a stool to sit next to her.

“Yeah, well, unfortunately I can’t use the same methods I used with you,” he pointed out. Kensi rolled her eyes.

“Oh, you are way too full of yourself,” she said. He chuckled, resting his hand on the middle of her back. He probably did it without even thinking, but Kensi tensed immediately. She roughly pushed his hand away, glancing around to see if anyone had caught Deeks’ slip.

Fortunately they all were occupied and she let out a slow breath of relief. Beside her, Deeks had gone silent, making her belatedly regret her hasty actions.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. He scratched at jaw, not meeting her eyes, which always a bad sign. “I just didn’t-“

“No, it’s ok. I get it.”

“The team is here and we agreed not to...” she trailed off awkwardly as Deeks filled in.

“Yeah, no, we agreed to keep out relationship quiet. I just forget sometimes.” He sighed, the sound heavy. Kensi looked down for a second, pressing her lips together as she tried to think of some way to brighten the mood again.

“You want to come over tonight when we’re done here?” she asked as a form of peace offering. So far she hadn’t let him past her living room and that was only after she hastily straightened everything. Deeks allowed a tiny smile, clearly realizing her attempt to apologize without actually apologizing.

“I would, but I have to work on that pro bono case. It’s a mess,” he said. Kensi wasn’t sure if it was a convenient excuse, but she felt a small sinking in her stomach.

“Ok,” she said in a small voice.

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“Sure.” She tried to tell herself she was overreacting, but couldn’t help notice the distance Deeks kept between them for the rest of the night.

***

A/N: Ooh, unexpected drama. Don’t worry, I don’t plan to have anything terrible happen.

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #sam hanna #g Callen #au #the agent and the lawyer #part 18 #densi #absolution #ejzah fanfiction

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temperancejones · 3 years ago

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Some Kind of Curse- Chapter One

Upon Steve and Kris’ arrival at their base about half an hour later, they were both dragged to the medic, where they also got grilled by their Captain waiting for them there, who was red with anger that Anton Hesse was killed on the extraction mission. Steve and Kris tried to explain what had happened, and how their mission had somehow been compromised, but the Captain wouldn’t have any of it. Of course, they were immediately taken off the mission, as they were now emotionally compromised and a conflict of interest due to both of them and their father getting dragged into this mess and ordered to return to O’ahu for a family emergency. They were forbidden to investigate this case further and were told that if they were caught impeding on the Navy’s investigation and mission, they would be facing a court martial. And then, the Captain left as soon as he got there, mumbling something about how he was sorry for their loss.

Still unable to comprehend everything that had just happened, Steve and Kris let the medics look them over and patch up Kris’ bullet wound. Thankfully, the bullet ricocheted off of Kris’ TAC vest and lodged itself in her deltoid muscle. The bullet was easily removed, and by the looks of it, the wound should heal on its own in a few weeks, but unfortunately for her, her left arm is put in a sling and she is given direct orders to keep it as still as possible to allow the muscle to heal properly. Once the medics give them both approval to leave, they are escorted out of the med bay, where they are immediately taken to their quarters and given ten minutes to gather their things. Steve quickly fills both of their duffle bags, thanks to Kris only having one working arm right now. The twins are then quickly escorted to the Humvees and brought to the nearest airbase, where a cargo plane is being held for them to board so they can get home as soon as possible.

Steve and Kris keep their heads down and find themselves unable to find the right words to say to each other during their entire trip back home, so they were silent for pretty much the entire fifteen-hour trip. The trip took two separate planes to finally get them to Hickam airbase on the beautiful, sunny island of O’ahu, which was once their home many years ago. If the McGarretts’ visit back home for the first time in almost seventeen years was under better circumstances, they would almost feel relieved to be back on the island. But, of course, what they were feeling was quite the opposite- their visit to the island was to bury their father, and then take care of all of the legal issues before getting shipped back out overseas for their next mission, as if nothing had ever happened. Being ordered off the mission that resulted in their father’s death was definitely a low blow to both Steve and Kris, but they both knew that they couldn’t risk their careers for some petty revenge on Victor Hesse. So, like the good little soldiers they are, they will do what needs to be done here, and then get buried in another op as always. Hell, maybe they will even switch gears and go back to intelligence or something to make sure that their brains are constantly occupied so they can forget that they don’t have parents anymore.

Just as the plane touches down to the tarmac of the Air Force base and the pilot takes over control of the plane, the co-pilot turns around and looks at Kris. “Ma’am, I have an incoming call from the Governor of Hawaii. If you put on the spare headset, I will patch you in.” he says to her, gesturing to the headset dangling above Kris’ head. She tries to put on the headset herself, but with one hand, she has no luck. Steve reaches over and puts it on his sister’s head, chuckling a little bit at her frustration. Feeling a little angry at her inability to do such a simple task, Kris nods to the co-pilot to connect her to the call while the plane taxis around the airstrip. A woman’s voice patches through the headset, which Kris assumes is the governor. She hasn’t been keeping track of who is in office at home anymore, as her and Steve have been away for far too long to care at this point.

“Commander, this is Governor Pat Jameson. I just wanted to start by saying I’m so sorry for your loss.” The Governor says to Kris, which makes her heart speed up a little bit- she forgot how painful it was to hear people say I’m sorry for your loss to her. Its something she has detested since the day her mother died. Were people truly sorry for her loss? Or did they just want to make sure that Kris, Steve and their little sister Mary, who was only ten at the time of their mothers death, were getting enough attention, as all eyes were on the honorable John McGarrett, who was simply inconsolable… more than words could ever describe. Her father’s pained cry from the front door was a sound that was forever ingrained into Kris’ brain, and is something that will haunt her forever, along with the singular gunshot that murdered her father less than twenty-four hours ago.

Snapping out of her dreadful thoughts, Kris sits upright in her seat, putting on her Commander façade once again. She clears her throat and speaks into the microphone. “Thank you, Ma’am. What may I do for you?”

“I’d like to talk with you and your brother in person, can we meet at Pearl Harbour in two hours? That will be at about 1300.” Governor Jameson requests hopefully.

Kris takes a moment to wonder why on earth the Governor of Hawaii would want to talk in person with both her and Steve, especially when they have way too much stuff to do in preparation for their father’s funeral. But, A conversation with the governor should be relatively harmless, so Kris agrees to it, and ends the call with the governor. Kris immediately tells Steve about their meeting with the governor, which makes him scowl a little bit, silently wondering why the governor would want to see them as well.

The plane stops shortly after the call ends, and they quickly disembark, where they are met with Captain Twill, a short, stocky man who welcomes them home and shows them to their loaner car for their visit to the island, making sure that they can get around and take care of everything they need to. Thanking the Captain, Steve and Kris hop into the black SUV and head to Arizona hall, which is the lodging hotel for all Navy, Military and Air Force members on Hawaii. It takes them about half an hour to get to the hotel and get checked in, which leaves them an hour and a half to prepare for their meeting with the Governor.

Still not talking much, Kris and Steve take turns showering to wash off the grime on them from their mission in Korea and look presentable for the Governor. When Steve gets out of the shower, Kris is already putting on her dress blues, thankful that they didn’t get wrinkled from her abrupt trip home with them. Steve, who is already in his dress pants and has his shirt on, just unbuttoned, notices that Kris is struggling with the buttons, as they are impossible to do up one-handed, and chuckles at her from the door of the bathroom.

“Need a hand?” Steve asks, smirking a little bit.

“What I really need is a stiff drink, but yes, a hand please. I’m not going to meet the governor with a uniform that is half buttoned up.” Kris sighs. Steve does up his shirt and walks over to his sister, and does hers up for her, and fixes her collar. Kris thanks him, and sits down on the edge of the bed, sighing.

Steve sits next to her, fixing his own collar now, making sure it’s perfect. “This really isn’t how I wanted to come home for the first time since we left, y’know?” Kris confesses. Steve nods and rubs his eyes. “you and me both. I just can’t believe we never got to see him-“, Steve starts to say, but his voice breaks, and he chokes back a sob. He’s right, though. They haven’t really been on good terms with their father since he shipped them away to private school and the Naval Academy on the mainland when they were sixteen. Kris always wondered why their father had pushed all of his children away so much after the death of their mother- but that’s something she might never know now. Kris leans into her brother’s side and puts her head on his shoulder in a silent form of comfort. Steve wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her in tighter for a side hug. He places a kiss on the top of her head- something that he hasn’t done in years, as Kris hates it when they show emotion to one another around fellow troops or even on base, since people assume things about them, which piss her off to no extent. Kris has spent most of her career trying to stay out of Steve’s shadow, as most people in the Navy and Military think it’s outrageous to have a female such as herself on the front lines with the men, even though she is more qualified and trained than most of the soldiers she works with. Kris broke a lot of barriers during her career in the Navy- she became the United States’ first female SEAL and was one of the first women to be on the front lines in general while the States troops were stationed in the middle east. So, with a reputation like that, she definitely doesn’t want people to think that the only reason she got accepted to all of those high-profile posts and ops was because of her brother, who was on them as well. Kris worked just as hard in training to walk alongside Steve during her career so far.

The twins sit like that for a few minutes, just allowing each other to silently mourn their father, a man they felt like they barely knew, but still loved him very much, despite not seeing him for half of their lives. Steve is the first one to break their silence again.

“So, what needs to be done for the funeral?” He asks, which immediately ruins Kris’ rare calm state of mind she had maintained from hugging her brother.

Kris lets out a loud exhale and rubs her face, now sitting upright again, and off of Steve. “A lot. We need to call Duke and get an update on everything. I’m assuming HPD is investigating this as a homicide, which is going to fuck us over, probably. But we need to make funeral arrangements and try to get him buried either at punchbowl or with mom and grandma. Duke should be able to help, I think. Hopefully we can push the funeral to tomorrow and get it over with.” Kris begins to ramble, suddenly remembering everything that she helped dad with for her mother’s funeral all those years ago.

Steve sighs. “Okay, so after we meet the Governor, we can swing by HPD and talk to Duke and get this shit over with… which leads me to my next question… what do you want to do about Hesse?” Steve explains, and then asks his sister seriously, with a little glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Kris furrows her brows and looks back at Steve, trying to read his face to understand what he means, hoping that he isn’t talking about risking his career with this. They both know that if they go down this road, there will be no turning back; they will either get away with disobeying a direct order or get court martialed for doing such an absurd thing, and then get dishonorably discharged. “Please don’t tell me that you’re seriously thinking about doing this, are you?” Kris asks, already knowing the answer. Steve is going to be a stubborn McGarrett about finding Hesse- of course he’s thinking about doing this.

Steve nods. “I was thinking about it the entire trip home, and in the shower. Some things just don’t add up to me. Dad called us Tiger and Champ. I think it means something, but I don’t know what. I want to find out, and I want Hesse to pay for what he did. That son of a bitch needs to go down.” Steve explains, which immediately makes Kris’ mind race.

Kris thinks about it for a few moments, wondering why these oddities never occurred to her; She was probably too busy being anxious about the upcoming funeral for her father. She has always hated funerals- they offered no closure whatsoever and were very upsetting to attend. “Tiger and Champ… Champ as in that old toolbox we got him for Father’s Day when we were little to work on the Marquis? And that stupid tiger I made him in grade six art class?” Kris speculates, just throwing her first thoughts out there to Steve.

“The one he kept on his desk, in the den, right? And the toolbox! Yes, it was in the garage, but I don’t ever remember grabbing tools from it?” Steve then adds on, snapping his fingers for dramatic effect, which ignites a spark of sheer curiosity between the twins. Now they both know that they have to follow up on these breadcrumbs their father left for them, even if it means their careers in the Navy will end because of it. They need the closure and answers as to why anyone, especially Hesse, would target an innocent man and murder him in cold blood. Damn it, Kris thinks to herself. This is going to change a lot of things in their lives if they go through with the investigation on the toolbox and the tiger, but she genuinely believes that it will be completely worth it.

Kris looks at the wall and nods, trying to anticipate everything that’s going to happen in the next few days. Kris can’t help but think that if her and Steve hadn’t been hunting down the Hesse brothers, then maybe, just maybe, their father might still be alive right now, and they could still have a longer career in the Navy. But everything happens for a reason, Kris decides, and says “fuck it, let’s get this bastard”, to Steve, which make him grin at his sister.

For the next hour, Steve and Kris grab a bite to eat at the restaurant connected to their hotel, and head over to pearl harbour, where they wait to meet with Governor Jameson. They arrive half an hour early, and decide to head to the edge of the pier to pay respects to their grandfather, as well as the other lives lost at the pearl harbour attack, who are still entombed in the ocean, only a few hundred feet away from where Steve and Kris stand now. Knowing that their grandfather, the original Steve McGarrett, was an honourable man who fought until the very last moment of his life to protect this country, is something that Steve and Kris hold dear to their hearts; they both have his service number tattooed on their forearms, reminding them constantly of his sacrifice. Maybe now they will have to get something for their father tattooed on them too as a reminder.

Once they are both finished paying their respects, Steve and Kris continue to stand at the pier and begin to devise an action plan to continue their investigation and start to track down Victor Hesse again. They talk in hushed voices, to make sure that they can’t be heard, and ultimately decide that they will go to the house tomorrow once HPD leaves the scene to recover the tiger and the champ toolbox and see where it goes from there. What matters most right now is arranging the funeral for their father, which should hopefully be tomorrow morning if they can pull the right strings with HPD today. Steve and Kris get so caught up in their plans that they almost forget that they’re supposed to be meeting the Governor any minute now, so when she gets their attention by saying “Commanders?” loudly over the wind, they almost jump in surprise. Thankfully, they keep their cool and turn around to face the voice that called them.

Governor Pat Jameson is a tall, blonde, older woman, who immediately gives off the impression that she will not be messed with. Kris likes that. Steve doesn’t really look impressed.

“Governor,” Steve says flatly, now facing the woman, who is approaching them still. Governor Jameson’s short blonde hair is blowing in the wind from the ocean, as is her business skirt and fitted suit jacket, but she doesn’t let that phase her. She walks up to the two Commanders and outstretches her hand for them to shake. Once greetings are passed around, Governor Jameson thanks Steve and Kris for meeting with her and invites them to walk along the pier with her. Still wondering what the Governor could possibly want, Steve and Kris look at each other, and then agree, following Governor Jameson’s lead.

This should be an interesting conversation, Kris thinks to herself as she slides off her hat, which is about to blow off in the wind. Here goes nothing.

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/233640136-some-kind-of-curse-hawaii-five-0

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25176232/chapters/61334512

#Hawaii Five-O #Hawaii Five-0 #Steve McGarrett #H50 #H50 fic #some kind of curse #wattpad #archive of our own #Danny Williams #kris mcgarrett

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koiwata · 4 years ago

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Someone asked me about Novel Law, unfortunately I can't tell you where I read it due to copyright issues (the full text was scanlated into Chinese anyway), but I can fill in some details that are missing from the chapter summaries on OP Wiki. Be sure to read those summaries before you continue with this post, I won't be repeating any plot points already mentioned there.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ONE PIECE OR ITS SPIN OFF MEDIA INCLUDING NOVEL LAW. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST THIS, EVER. AND PLEASE SUPPORT THE AUTHOR(S) BY PURCHASING THE BOOK FROM OFFICIAL PUBLISHERS, I'M SURE THEY HAVE PLAN TO RELEASE IT IN ENGLISH (MOST LIKE THROUGH VIZ) AND A FEW OTHER LANGUAGES.

Since the post gets too long, I'm breaking it up into several parts. So here we go.

Chapter 1 of 5 (4 chapters + epilogue):

1. novel Law is written in Law's first person POV so we get to see a lot of his inner thoughts;

2. Law was sad about his inability to trust people again at the beginning of the story;

3. Law activated "Room" subconsciously when he was in extreme pain from the illness. He immediately understood how it works. He managed to operate on himself without analgesic and cured himself.

4. the inventor that took Law in, Wolf, is an old man around his sixties. When Law first met him, his white hair was combed back, and he was wearing some red sunhat, a Hawaiian shirt, shorts and sandals, while it was snowing outside. Basically a weird guy all around. And he easily disarmed Law when Law attacked him at first due to distrust.

5. Wolf makes a lot of inventions that sound good on paper but all have some fatal defects, but he's also made some genuinely good inventions like a greenhouse that can grow veggies all year round on a cold island. Law calls him "trash hoarder" anyway. Wolf thinks it's even worse than directly calling him "old man".

6. Law felt sorry for suspecting Wolf at the beginning when the old man only rescued him out of pure kindness.

7. Wolf insists that life is all "Give & Take", so he'll work Law to the bone and Law gets a stable life in return. Law finds his way of showing kindness amusing.

8. Wolf doesn't treat Law like a little kid. They are friendly with each other, but also keep some distance, and Law feels comfortable about it.

9. After activating Room and dropping Shachi and Penguin on the ground to knock them out, Law still checks up on them to make sure they're not actually dead or injured. BTW Law has been practicing his ability when Wolf isn't around so he's getting good with it.

10. when Bepo tells Law that he came to the North Blue by mistake, Law laughs at the bear, and Bepo is so depressed that he picks up a rope on the floor and wants to end his life. Law is very surprised that the bear is so easily frustrated.

11. Wolf is actually happy to have another... boy? person? bear? around despite his complaints of "another troublesome kid".

12. When Law realizes that he helped Bepo because he started to trust people again due to Cora-san's then Wolf's kindness, he wonders whether he'll be able to love again.

13. Law absolutely hates pickled plums. You probably already know that.

14. When Law, Bepo, and Wolf rescued Shachi and Penguin, Law didn't use his fruit ability for the operations. Shachi's wound was easy to fix, but Penguin's severed arm took him much more effort to reattach. Law's techniques as a surgeon were already very refined at that point. In his inner monologue, Law states that he's pushing himself to do such a complicated operation not because he wants to be thanked or out of any emotional attachment, and he's not a kind person anyway; he's only doing this because of his pride as a doctor.

15. After the operation, Wolf was very happy about the kids being saved.

16. When Law finds out that Penguin's arm can move again after the reattachment operation, he feels he starts to understand the "joy as a doctor" that his parents used to teach him. When Shachi and Penguin thank him, he turns around as he smiles, too embarrassed to be seen.

17. when Wolf and Law question the two boys about their story, Wolf is very gentle with the kids, and Law feels outraged about what Shachi's uncle did to them. Shachi and Penguin also apologize to Bepo for bullying him before.

#One Piece #One Piece Spoilers #One Piece Spoiler #One Piece Novel Law #Trafalgar Law #Trafalgar D. Water Law #Bepo #Shachi #Penguin

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kyogre-blue · 4 years ago

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Naruto Shippuden, ep475-479

So this is the end of the main storyline. I have a lot of half-formed thoughts, but let me say plainly:

I can’t believe they screwed up a very simple ending this badly.

475:

Speaking for the entire thing, this entire section is about 3 episodes too long. It drags insanely.

Most sections of the fight are quite dull, and the more... metaphorical parts are also bad.

Moving on. Son Goku wanted to go back to “Suirendo.” Kokuou, to a forest.

Naruto says it’s like Kaguya didn’t have a heart... Even though we got an entire flashback about her feelings and motivations. Even though she cried in front of him. Naruto, wtf.

Hagoromo blames eating the chakra fruit. Again with a very stupid and selective choosing of which powers are bad and why.

Sasuke decides to walk over to the Valley of the End for no reason except to be dramatic. They seems to have moved fairly close during the fighting.

I shit on Hagomoro a lot, but his reasons are fairly clear and he actively changes his approach because of past experiences. I can appreciate that.

476:

Sasuke thinks that Itachi was a true Hokage because he tried to take on protecting the entire village and country on his own, unacknowledged by anyone. This is the opposite definition of Naruto’s, that the Hokage is the one who is acknowledged by everyone. Like almost everything about their confrontation, this is stupid as fuck. You can say that Itachi was a true shinobi, but a Hokage is a leader. You obviously need to actually... y’know.... lead people, which Itachi never did.

Sasuke’s stated plan is incredibly vague. It’s fairly obvious that Kishimoto just randomly threw something together to excuse him and Naruto fighting. The fact that it’s STILL so bad is amazing. If you exclude the Hokage nonsense, Sasuke sounds like he wants to pull a Lelouch scheme of becoming the enemy that unifies the world against him (”bearing all hatred”). Except of course, Sasuke wants to be Hokage, which is the face of an entire village. What does he think is going to happen to the village if he’s in charge....

I do like how Sasuke just outright told Hagoromo what he’s going to do, and Hagoromo stuck to his guns about letting both of them have his power. It’s stupid on its own, but it makes sense in light of Indra.

There’s this one animator (team?) who do really specific detailed hand to hand fights, and I always feel bad about finding them super boring. Clearly effort went in! And yet, they’re so disinteresting and janky looking.

Naruto here still has the fleshy bit chakra mode, even though he’s supposed to have used up Hagoromo’s power when sealing Kaguya. He doesn’t have it at any later point though.

The Susanoo spits out fireballs... I guess it can do giant jutsus now?

Naruto does try to object to Sasuke’s.... “plan” by saying there’s no guarantee that whatever new system he creates won’t be just as bad. But like.... BRO, there’s no guarantee YOUR changes will do better?? He has no other concrete arguments either.

The only thing Naruto concretely objects to is that he doesn’t want Sasuke to be alone. There are two issues with this. One, the correct follow up to this is “I’ll go with you,” not to make someone stop everything they’re doing. Twelve year old Sakura knew this. Two, Sasuke’s obsession with killing Naruto and doing this all alone makes no sense at all. It’s directly opposite what Itachi told him, and also Itachi’s issue was never letting Sasuke live. That didn’t cause him to fail in any way at all, so why does Sasuke fixate on changing that one point to make sure he has no one left?

The answer, because Kishimoto needed to bullshit something out.

477:

Sasuke can Amaterasu with the Rinne-Sharingan.

You can see how much the animators ran out of steam because they start using the exact same tricks they already pulled with Kakashi v Obito, like interposing the child selves with the present ones.

The OP ninjutsu fight is... aggressively OK, the taijutsu afterwards is the best part of the fight, the powerless whacking on each other is very dull and overdrawn.

Kurama goes to sleep if he gives away all his chakra.

The ghosts hands forming the Rasengan was just pretentious. It doesn’t thematically make sense either, btw.

478:

I forgot where the unison sign comes from and I still don’t buy into it as some big symbolic thing.

Trying to add these deep emotions to a couple eight year olds sparring at school is not working.

Sasuke parallels both of them being ostracized.

Sasuke thinks Sakura and Kakashi would figure out how to shut down Infinite Tsukuyomi even if these two died. I wish they had.

The near death experience is trippy, redundant and dull.

Sasuke says that everyone else turned their backs on him and cut their connection at some point. I don’t remember Juugo doing that. All of Team Taka came out to the war to help Sasuke. Even Sakura was still deeply invested in her bond with him. Naruto is just the one with magic powers to fight him as an equal.

As a kid, Sasuke felt upset at watching Naruto get scolded.

Still the pain obsession...

Sasuke was jealous of Naruto’s.... I’m not clear what. You would think it would be his ability to form bonds, but he connects Naruto to Itachi, which doesn’t really make sense. At most, you could say that it’s their broader view, rather than focusing on personal stuff, but that is not really at all the case, since Naruto chased him due to personal reasons. Like many things in this longass ending, it doesn’t make sense.

They use the exact same montage about how great Naruto is as with Obito. Not only is it redundant, it doesn’t even make sense here, since it’s all about becoming Hokage. What does not having shortcuts have to do with Sasuke?

“Punching a sulking friend to make him snap out of it” WOW

Why would Sasuke dying stop Indra’s cycle....

479:

We get another “here is Team 7″ moment, even though Sakura and Kakashi were clearly and repeatedly shown to be irrelevant in Sasuke’s journey.

I seriously need to look up why B is alive.

Kakashi becoming Hokage is still dumb on multiple levels. But also, when was he “acknowledged by everyone?” He’s a good jounin, but we have no indication he’s that standout. Also, Tsunade was made a candidate and received at least some of the support due to her bloodline, so was she really acknowledged by everyone?

They put Sasuke in a straightjacket and a blindfold. OK

Kakashi keeps covering one eye for no reason.

Naruto is made jounin directly... after some studying. What is he studying tho??

Supposedly, Sasuke should be in prison. OK, but why? Gaara killed multiple comrades and caused all kinds of shit, but he just kept going as normal. There’s ZERO mention of Orochimaru. Is he in prison?

Sakura is growing her hair out again? Wow.

I’m sorry for every doubting everyone’s outrage. This ending is in fact That Bad.

#now playing #watching naruto

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c-atm · 4 years ago

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“So,” Heartberry started, “anyone has an idea of how to take this thing down cause I’m not crazy about being resprayed.” she leaned back with her legs crossed, sitting on Mister’s lap.

“We can’t ambush it, the thing always on guard, despite having one eye, ” Mister commented as he slumped in their recliner a little, “resilient thing too, just bounce everything off of that plum-colored skin of theirs.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. Never faced anything so docile but, oh so annoying.” Witchy groaned, throwing her hands up in agitation, before folding her arms over her breast, pouting with puffed blush crossed cheeks and steady brows.

The subject, how to take care of a demon who, despite being non-violent, leaves its victims comatose and foul-smelling.

So very foul-smelling.

They didn't know what it wanted. What's its purpose was, or if it even had one? Furthermore, it wouldn't tell them what it wanted...That or it couldn't.

There wasn't a mouth on its balloon-like, limbless single-eyed body, an eye that changes colors and showed a whole lot of expression based on its emotions.

It should have been an easy kill, but it did have a high payout for its defeat, for a good reason too.

It has escaped the six of them three times so far. Leaving them all unconscious and reeking. Not even Amy was a fan of the smell. So much so that she chose to abandon the hunt.

Three nights of undertaking this task.

Three nights of failing the task.

Three nights of smelling like literal defeat.

Defeat took a ninety-minute bath and shower to scrub off and put everyone on edge, even after a night of sleep.

None more than the resident witch.

She woke with her eyes glowed with prideful anger, even as Dapper pampered her a bit, massaging her shoulders and fixing his lady her favorite breakfast, which she did appreciate but was too in her pride to convey it. Still, for the sake of the morning, he let it be.

The afternoon though, things hit their boiling point when they began to plan for their next attempt.

"I think I might have an answer," Dapper came in with a book in his hand. He laid it open to a page with the despicable eggplant looking demon. "Our target defense is related to its focus. The more alert it is, the more invulnerable it is, and believe it or not, it's a bit of a punk...so it's always on alert. Though, you can't really blame it. It's a rare demon and a big payday."

"Ok, so how do we take care of it," Witchy asked with a glare.

"We have to distract it," Dapper announced with a smirk. "And what is its weakness, you ask." with a smirk, he pointed at a simple two-line description, which the three read.

"AHHH HAHAHA!" Mister threw his head back. "Ohh, well girls, looks like this is a job for you two."

Heartberry shook her head, "I knew it was looking at me strangely...Stop laughing." Her nostrils flared. "So...That's its weakness, so how do we exploit it."

"Photoshoot? Modeling? Music video!?" Mister chuckled, getting a headlock from his Connie.

"You know what? Fine." Witchy said coolly, getting off the couch and taking HB's hand and leading her out the room. "Going to pick up Amy, and we'll see you two in a couple of hours at that demon's base."

"My lady?"

He was answered with a slam of the front door, leaving the 'brothers' looking worried.

Two hours later, Dapper and Mister were waiting in the now abandoned apartment complex, waiting for their team.

"So what'd you think they came up with?" Mister asked, leaning back on a wall, eyes closed and hand in his pockets.

Dapper shrugged, looking a bit crushed." My lady is so damn prideful. Just hope she's not going to do something..Foolish for a win."

"She wouldn't be a 'Connie' if she took it on the chin, definitely if she feels she could win."

"Sis, stubborn as well, hmm?"

"Her most alluring trait." Mister smirked, opening his eyes and turning his head left, "speaking of alluring...Stars and Diamonds." He swooned.

Dapper looked over the same direction as Mister and arched an eye.

Heartberry, Amethyst, and the duo of Sarah and Biddy strutting towards them.

Dressed in flashy, flirty idol outfits.

Mister whistled as they walked up.

"Keep your eyes and tongue in your head, Mister," Heartberry teased as Mister playfully wrapped her loose plaid tie over his finger. "Schoolgirl style?"

"Yup, figured since it has a thing for the female form, we decided we'd appease its base emotions."

"I see devious." Mister flirted, "So..are you naughty or nice?"

"I'll show you later alone." She grinned, giving him a peck.

"Ummm-"

"Yes...Always." The purple demoness answered Sarah's and Biddy's question before they could ask.

"Quite the plan you came up with, ladies," Dapper smirked.

"It was actually trailblazer's suggestion." Sarah started." Alicia would have joined, but she was needed at the church."

"How did you guys get roped into this?" The demon Steven questioned.

"I was promised a piece of the reward and amusement." Biddy announced, plainly, " so far, I am amused."

"Same." Sarah nodded affirmatively.

"Dapper." HB called, getting the demon's attention, "around the corner."

Dapper didn't need any more than that as she morphed into a shadow, rushing to his lady's side.

He found her standing behind the corner, a cloak over her.

"My lady?"

Witchy leaped, red-face as Dapper formed himself from the darkness. "The hell, Steven. Give me a heart attack, why don't you?"

"Sorry." The half-demon offered, looking at his lady, " So? What are you doing over here?"

"Attempting to preserve my pride." She mumbled, "this is so stupid." She rubbed her temples with a groan before slamming her first to the wall.

"I really don't get why you are so angry, My lady?"

"I don't like to lose."

"I know." He chuckled

"This demon beat me four times."

"Four? We only confronted it three times."

"I'm not talking just in battle!" She growled." I mean …" Witchy clenched her fist. " You know what, trash the plan."

"This was your idea!" Shocks evident in Dapper's voice.

"I'm retracting it then!"

"Why? It's a good plan!"

"Why? I'm not some...Cosplaying, dallying, cutesy, pop-idol, centerfold!!" The fiery witch roared upwards,

"I'm a demon hunter! A witch! A warrior! A CONNIE MAHESWARAN!!" She continued, a flare of outrage literally coming from her mouth.

"Spitting fire, My lady."

He received a smoke conjuring snort as a response before she turned her back to him, her cheeky face pout returning, even as he interlaced his fingers around her stomach and pulled her to his chest, though it slipped a bit when she felt the rumble of his best from him chuckle on her back.

"Don't you think you're a bit too proud?"

"No! not at all!" She argued. "This thing has made a mockery of us. I mean, come on. Look what we've been subjected to." She groaned, leaning back into him. "Three nights of foul-smelling defeats from this one-eyed demon eggplant that won the genetic lottery in terms of defense and attentiveness, whose weakness is the 'allure of the fairer sex.' How am I supposed to feel knowing that this was the thing that beat me...Beat us."

"It hasn't beaten us," Dapper looked at his flame. "We're still here, ready to do what we do best."

"But what we do best won't work, as long as it's on guard, we can't kill it, and all we have to do is get sprayed and humiliated again." Witchy retorted, "even against the likes of Stevonnie and Steven squared. It just repels everything before blowing us away in a noxious fume." The witch sighed in chagrin." And to cater to its taste...A demon's taste...How disgraceful."

"That's kind of offensive, Connie," Dapper stated, slightly crossed. "I'm half-demon, you know."

The witch's face flushed, shamed at her callousness. "Sorry, my dapper devil. I didn't mean it like that." She gave him a quick peck. "It's just this whole 'honeypot' plan. It's humiliating."

Sometimes it's a requirement." Dapper joked yet spoke truthfully, "you've been at this job long enough to know that, and you used you womanly wiles before, so why is this so different?"

"Because it might not work, and I don't want to look bad in front of you again, " Witchy admitted looking down. "Especially against this do nothing demon, who can't attack more than letting out a nauseating gas."

Dapper kissed her crown gently, "My beautiful, prideful flame. You really let this plant sink its roots into you." Dapper laughed a bit before kissing her temple.

"How are you laughing? How can you find even the most smidge of humor out of this situation?"

"The fact that this plant isn't threatening the populace helps." The demon admitted, "Annoying them to the point of abandoning their home for the time, but at least they're unharmed."

"True, it's more menace than monster, but that makes it all the more shameful." The witch complained, "we've battled true nightmares and won without breaking a sweat, and yet the thing that gave us trouble can't even speak! It's frustrating!"

"Irony at its finest." Dapper jest.

"I want to win." Witchy declared. " I want to prevail over this creature; I have to..."determination in her voice.

"Well, then. We should join the others. We're holding the op-"

Dapper words fell short as Witchy's lips met his in an appreciative kiss. He was only slightly shocked for a moment before reciprocating. It all lasted a tongue-twisting, cheek caressing, hip holding, lip popping seven seconds before breaking off with a gentle -Chu-.

Dapper, a bit dizzy, turned upwards and breathed out a small heart-shaped fume. "Talk about your hot kisses."

"Pfft!" Witchy snorted before laughing into his chest. Holding him by the shoulder blades as he did. "Thank you," She whispered, adoring.

"For what?"

"Letting me vent, without judgment." She reached up, kissing his left cheek, "For making my favorite breakfast and massaging my shoulders." She kissed his right, "for dealing with my attitude in stride.

"It's no problem, My lady." He soothed, "I know your irritation comes from your convictions, your need never to let your people down." He kissed her forehead, "one of your most attractive qualities."

"Still."

"Still nothing. You are fine, not like you did anything insulting." He grinned, "You were just a sulky little witch."

"And impulsive." She sighed, " whatever. It is what it is." Witchy surrendered as she walked out of his grasp, peeling off her cloak and making Dapper jaw drop.

She was wearing a dark blue collared crop top with purple plaid trim around the hem and collared with a loose-fitting blue and purple stripe tie, a pair of high thighs navy suspender shorts, some dark purple knee-highs, and black collared booties. Every curve that she hid was on full display, and Dapper was burning the visage in his mind forever.

Reaching to her back left pocket, she pulled out a hair clip shaped like one of Dapper's broaches as well as a tube lip gloss.

"Mind helping me?" She tossed him the tube before clipping her hair in a left side ponytail. Dapper nodded before taking Witchy chin in his left hand and slowly stroked the gloss across pressed the lips, giving them a shimmer. "Hmm, might have given you too much."

Before the witch could complain, her partner gave her a tingling, suckling upon the brims of her mouth.

It was sweet, swift, and soothing, precisely what his lady needed as he felt her relax under his kiss.

"Better?" He asked, reapplying the gloss again, getting a breath of calmness and appreciation.

"Yeah." She felt herself grinning, " you could have asked for a kiss, though."

"True, but kissing 'a idol' off guard was too good to pass." He gave her a playful and wolfish grin, making her blush and push him away.

"Gods no. I'm no idol."

"You're my idol." He whispered, pressing his head to hers.

Witchy pursed her mouth, pouting a bit." Well. I guess that's fine…" she gave him a quick peck. "but only yours."

"Does that mean there is a chance I'd get to see you in this outfit again?"

"I'm more than likely going to end up burning this attire once we are done." She shrugged, teasing before backing away, turning, and walking towards the corner. "Come on, I'm sure the others are impatient and probably starting to head up to the roof."

"Of course," Dapper said, staring at his lady's confident stride before following behind her; idolizing the prideful fiery witch and all her perfect imperfection, as he always did.

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real-jaune-isms · 5 years ago

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Volume 7 Chapter 4 Review

First of all, a really nice episode with many good moments and scenes. However... it overall left me feeling kind of down. Like some of the air had been let out of my sails. It put some more back in, but it took a lot. Let me explain...

The whole thing starts positive enough, if a little foreboding. The sun is setting quite beautifully, though it makes you wonder what time the mission started and how long RWBY and the Ace Ops were down there. A convoy of armored trucks drive up the path to the SDC Mine’s entrance, flanked by the looming shadow of Amity Coliseum being brought to its new temporary home until the proper launch. Some Faunus seem to be watching from a distance, and by the look of a pin one is wearing these are two of the Happy Huntresses. Wonder what they’re doing here?...

As the trucks stop, our adult professional huntsmen and huntresses strut confidently out of the mine entrance, though some are trying a little harder to look serious than others. Very cute Marrow, we can definitely tell you’re the rookie of the group. But we don’t have time to dwell on that, because the real heroes are out of the cave too, and most of them are trying to just behave and stand at attention. Not Ruby, Nora, and Jaune though. They’re going gaga over the Ace Ops. Jaune is super impressed with the superior leadership and strategizing of Clover, and how the whole team’s synergy is so flawless it barely requires communication, to which Clover responds with some wisdom about knowing and covering for one another’s liabilities. This of course leads to some nice banter within the Ace Ops at Marrow’s expense, the poor pup. Meanwhile Nora wants to make fellow hammer user and bruiser Elm her new best friend, complete with Street Fighter text graphic for their pairing.

Thunder Thighs!

And Ruby is just wowed that Harriet is so quick and reliable to come in clutch and have her team’s back so well, something she aspired to do too. But she apparently makes a mistake in calling the Ace Ops “friends”. Harriet keeps this purely professional. It’s a matter of trust and teamwork, but they’re still just coworkers. Clearly a difference in teaching style between Beacon and Atlas, because I definitely got the feeling from Volumes 1-3 that Ozpin wanted everyone to form meaningful bonds in order for their teamwork to be at its best. But this really shakes our girls. They just saw the most impressive huntsman work they’ve ever seen, and they’re being told that was from people who aren’t friends? Makes them feel like they’re doing things the wrong way, or worse that they won’t be able to stay as close if they want to get serious about their work. And it’s especially hard to hear now. Blake and Yang just killed a man the other day, they all stole Atlas property, Weiss put her faith in her team to stay by her side in order to go back to Atlas when she had just escaped from there a few volumes ago. They risked everything to find each other again and stay together... and that’s apparently a naïve way to look at being a Huntress? I don’t know about the rest of you, but I felt like that stuck with them for the rest of the episode and I really hope they all have a talk about it soon. This is a crisis of confidence like nothing they’ve encountered, and I love it.

While the Ops go check in with Ironwood, Ruby tries to drum up enthusiasm for a team activity such as exploration of the city, probably as a direct response to Harriet’s claim they won’t stay friends if they want to be Huntresses. She wants to strengthen their bonds through quality team time. A noble aspiration, if only they weren’t tired after a busy day of the mission, and they seem to still be worn out by the Argus escape stuff and sick of city stuff after Argus and Mantle. A shame, I’m sure Atlas has plenty of wonderful sights to see. But they need time to rest and recuperate. Sorry Ruby... But there’s no time to dwell on that either, because Ironwood wants to talk with Jaune, Ruby, and Qrow. They barely catch the end of his conversation with Clover, something to the effect of keeping a low profile in Mantle while doing recon on a recent problem... and that Marrow can’t come because low profile isn’t his strong suit. That’s when they get the worst news yet. New Best Boy Forest has been murdered, the third killing of someone speaking out against Ironwood in a week. This revelation of course devastates our young heroes. Qrow points out the obvious, the connecting thread of all the dead being anti-Ironwood makes a pretty damning case against him. The General’s not egotistical enough to prioritize the damage that does to his reputation, instead worrying it’ll worsen civil unrest. He can tell he and the rest of Atlas are being framed for such brutal blows to the truth seeking lower class, and the frame fits the current painting rather nicely. Jaune claps back that the unrest got so bad to begin with because of Ironwood’s Dust embargo so he has no one but himself to blame. Savage. But even Ironwood admits he’s right, that the issues of Mantle are going unanswered while he has to deal with the grand designs. So that’s where RWBY and JNR come in, good people to help make a difference in Mantle. How thoughtful.

But all noble thoughts go out the window as a new ship enters the area, one that practically screams wealth and privilege. Papa Schnee has come to trade verbal jabs~ And he starts firing off with indignant blustering the moment the doors open, saying the repossession of his old mine is an outrage the Council will not stand for. But Jimmy thought of that already, and he’s already told them he was commandeering this private property, AND since this is a military operation of top priority and confidentiality he doesn’t need Council approval. The very idea baffles Jacques, and James advises him to learn a thing or two about how the Council works before he has to watch the seat on it he wants so dearly slip through his fingers. Jacques only got to land here because the General let him, and he won’t be doing so again. Any blathering about the disrespect Ironwood is showing him goes out the window as he notices what’s been keeping us all tense this entire time; Weiss is just a few feet away. Papa Schnee of course gets fired up all over again that Weiss is working with Ironwood now, as if she was nothing more than another piece of property Jacques was swindled out of and had no agency of her own where she chose to go. Weiss stands up for herself at least that much, saying it was her own decision to come to Atlas and work with the General, the same way she decided to get the fuck out when he put her under house arrest, lest he forget that cruel move. He gets quite ruffled that she would talk back to him about his own recollection of his decisions, that he has not been shown the respect he should as her father. But she makes it clear he’s getting exactly how much respect he deserves, if not more than his kind is worth.

Jacques looks about ready to wind up for a swing at her and tries to let her know as much, but he forgot the man running the military and police is standing right behind him and already not his biggest fan. So he does something just as bad if not even worse. He guilt trips and gaslights her by saying that Mama Schnee’s condition has gotten even worse BECAUSE Weiss left, that it’s all her fault her mother has been made to suffer like this. I truly wish he could be on the receiving end of a sniper bullet or several blades and punches. But no, he cracks her confident defiance and upsets her, mission accomplished, and he gives an infuriating little villainous smirk. Feeling a little better about himself because he got to emotionally manipulate his daughter, Jacques claims Ironwood’s recent actions will be the noose that hangs the dear General. More importantly though, Weiss is lifted from her anguish and self-pity by Blake taking her hand in a show of support. She knows exactly what is happening here, because she was in Weiss’ shoes for years with Adam. She can and will help her friend get out of this. The whole team will, they’re all standing with her and for her.

And maybe with a little help from her friends, Weiss’ abuser can go the way of Blake’s. Publicly humiliated and reduced to a petty shell of their former self concerned only with revenge, before dying to those they sough to control. Yeah I still have some thoughts about Adam and how glad I am he died how he did...

Regardless of our hatred for the thankfully deceased, when Jacques gets done indirectly threatening James he turns back to see Weiss feeling a little better and flanked by her team. So he tries to insult them and make Weiss feel guilty that she left her life of luxury and influence for a few friends. Too bad she knows now they’re more of a family to her than he is, and she lets him know. He doesn’t like that very much, she’s got confidence and emotional support, she might actually try and get out from under his thumb. So he leaves with a grumble, and as soon as he’s gone Weiss lets out the breath she was holding and relaxes a bit. And hey, Winter shows up! Almost as if she didn’t want to be there while her Father was and waited until he had left to come any closer. Guess she’s afraid of his domineering influence too. In much better news, Penny lands in the middle of the scene quite suddenly and knocks our girls away comically. Seems she’s here to celebrate... something that has yet to happen. But we find out what that is quite soon.

Next thing we know everyone is center stage in the Amity Arena, and Ironwood is making a speech about how much RWBY and JNR have grown since the last time they were here. And that growth deserves recognition, so they are given an impromptu graduation ceremony and awarded their licenses as Official Huntresses and Huntsmen by Penny... because she’s the one with the Scroll hitting the check mark on each of them to finalize the process. It’s everything they ever wanted back in the first few Volumes... but he’s right. Everything has changed since the Vytal Festival, including what they all seem to want in life. They... think they’re still happy to have this, but it doesn’t feel like it means much of anything anymore. Still, it is a big moment and he reminds them that they will all be working together on equal footing to get the satellite launched and communication restored. And whatever happens with Salem will be faced all together. He can’t think of a much better way to end the speech so he leaves them to enjoy some cake. Nora is very enthusiastic about eating a lot of that cake. While everyone else gathers around to watch Penny cut the cake with her swords, Ruby sits on her own in the bleachers and watches. Nora gets a stack of about 5 pieces of cake much to Ren and Weiss’ amusement, Yang shows off her detaching arm trick to Penny which earns a laugh, then goes to take a burst of selfies with a humorously unprepared Blake. How adorable.

Less adorable and more meaningful is Ruby and Qrow having a talk about all the tough choices she’s had to make recently and how much things have been changing around her without giving her any time to stop and adjust. This is what it means to be a leader, and her secrecy about Salem and Jinn is apparently less egregious than what Ozpin did according to Qrow. While Oz never trusted anyone with the whole truth, Ruby is planning to once Ironwood proves himself trustworthy. That’s a point in the win column. Ruby feels like she hasn’t earned her Huntress title, that she doesn’t feel any different than she did at Beacon, any more skilled or special. That feeling apparently never goes away. Qrow assures his niece that her mom would be very proud of the woman she has become and the choices she has made. But that raises the question, was the mission Summer disappeared on another Oz secret? Apparently not, even Ozpin had no idea where she had gone or why. Summer kept a few secrets all her own I guess, I just hope we learn more about all that and about her herself soon. For now, Ruby wants to know if Summer would have done the same thing about Salem if she were in her daughter’s shoes, and the best answer he can give is she would press on. She was the best of the lot, if not a little bratty, which he claims he doesn’t mind from her or Ruby~

That sweet moment ends as the group is shown a mission board of jobs they can sign up for around the Kingdom, much to Ruby’s glee. She has many ideas about what she wants to do for her first official mission~ Marrow, Elm, and Vine show up to guide the young’uns through the process for their first time around, though Vine and Ren seem to miss the point of Marrow’s metaphor about fresh meat. Elm is just amused the kids are so gung-ho to get right into huntsman work. The first job sounds like promising enough volunteer work to get most hands in the air, but when it’s revealed to be escorting preschoolers along their walk to pre-K Jaune is the only one with his hand still up so he gets stuck with it, and unfortunately Marrow doesn’t know how to pronounce his name... Meanwhile the others are all too eager to sign up when Elm tells them about a mission to take down a massive Sabyr loose in the Mantle sewers. They all have a good laugh that Jaune missed his chance to be a part of that since he said yes to the preschool escort. But hey, helping out the kids is sure to get the attention of some

Real.

Thirsty.

Moms.

But we can’t end on a positive note, so we cut to Jacques drinking in his study when Whitley makes his return, hooray hooray. He reports that a guest has let himself in and wants to speak with the patriarch... and oh what a delightful surprise! It’s Watts, and whatever words will be exchanged between them are not for the young lad to hear. Those words being that dear Arthur was thought by the masses to be dead, and that’s just how he likes it. So that explains why he’s not a suspect in the Black Queen virus stuff in Volume 3. But now he has a mutually beneficial proposition to deal with Jacques’ Ironwood problem~ How foreboding.

Sadly, or not depending how you view it, that’s all she wrote.

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thekraziesreside · 4 years ago

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A Potential Solution where Emzawa can be the Endgame we deserve

(if it’s nonsensical and full is mistakes, forgive me, it’s 4am and I tried to compile all the info about bnha em that i could find)

ALT TITLE: Let Em Be Loved, I Want Her to Feel Wanted

Aizawa doesn’t like recklessness in other people, I won’t contest that. I might suggest that he’s especially harsh on Em because he’s fond of her - a complicated relationship for him as a mentor (feeling personally responsible for her growth and safety) and potential love interest (admiring her independence and aware that she’s an adult). She isn’t something he’s had to deal with before, so he is cautious, but given the way he lets some of the kids (Midoriya et al) get away with easy punishments for what are usually very serious and life threatening situations, I can’t imagine him being too upset that in emergency situations (like the USJ attack) Em uses her quirk in the harsh near suicidal way that she must. He himself took outrageous damage to save the kids.

I asked my hubby about his interpretation of Aizawa’s character and how he might react to a situation like that, just to make sure I wasn’t getting too off base, and he thinks that Aizawa, as a prohero, married to his two careers, if he didn’t feel responsible for Em, would probably have a sense of pride that she did her job as a hero and put herself in grave danger to save someone else. That’s their job, after all. He would do it. All Might would do it. Mic and Midnight and Thirteen would do it. So he might be scared for her well being, and wish that she could have fought more safely with her quirk(s), but at the end of the day (and perhaps with some sitdown prompting from the other teachers and/or Nedzu) he has to realize that not only was he doing the same thing, rewarding the same behavior in the other students, and might have died a painful death without the assist, that it was a brave, heroic call to make, and was the right thing for a hero to do.

I think it’s just as likely that he might double down his efforts to help Em learn to fight without mutilation because he would shoulder some responsibility himself that she had to resort to those old tools. If he’s disappointed in her for reverting to old ways, he is disappointed in himself for not making sure she had better alternatives. I think this dynamic would leave their future relationship more open to the eventuality that she will “rejoin” the villains to protect Bakugo, but I’ll get to that in a minute.

With Em’s true identity now revealed to the LoV and staff at UA, there’s no way someone (Nedzu) wouldn’t find out everything about her past, if he didn’t already know. Along this vein, Aizawa might be suspicious of her for hiding her identity, but like you said before, had seen her intentions and motivations laid bare in a moment of desperation. He knows she’s not evil. Anything about her abusive family and tenuous relationship with AFO that he’s briefed on would only fix that further in his mind, that she was a troubled child in a troubled world, trying to make herself into the hero she wants to be. He knows it takes a lot of work and sacrifice, and while he may doubt that she has the guts to put in the hard work to turn over a new leaf, even when she abandons them, he would know, through any betrayal that he felt, that she still wasn’t evil.

Perhaps he’ll think evil is the easier choice for her. Or, more harshly, that she isn’t cut out for hero work, too weak to face her own evil and keep pushing on (not when her first instinct is to martyr herself, die, and escape the immediate consequences of whatever killed her, pain or not).

This is all assuming they have minimal contact during this time, banking on Aizawa’s observational skills and his connections within UA. If, as I’m sure both of us want, their relationship has changed with the revelation that Em is an entire adult lady, with a complex story and lifetime career in the industry. He isn’t responsible for her. She isn’t a child. He helps her continue learning and working at first because it’s his job, and he’s as fond of her as he is any other student, but moving forward things are allowed to change. He’s allowed to be charmed by her good graces and laughs. He’s allowed to share his lunch, take her out for coffee, and have the kind of friendship among colleagues that can develop a flutter in his stomach, and pretty blue eyes filling his daydreams.

With that, maybe Em explains her plan before she runs off. Maybe they’re both heartbroken for each other and worried as she sits with the League, watching over Bakugo, as it aches Aizawa’s heart to denounce her publicly. If that jives with your ideas for both of them, it replaces Em’s imposter syndrome with Aizawa at her bedside when she wakes up in the ICU. AFO’s gaslighting of her (and All Might), while harsh and painful, has the opportunity to be soothed by scratchy beards and calloused hands, as Em puts in the work to be the kind of hero she wants to be.

*falls to my knees and cries in gay*

TBH Em is the definition of dumb bitch with her quirk sometimes because she’ll just do it by instinct, and then realize “Oh fuck I know how to fight 🙃 “ She’s not doing it to make people feel bad for her, in fact she often forgets that “hey you know when you get hurt like that- you get blood all over your team mates? Right? It’s kinda tramatic Em.” Em is dummy, maybe dummy thicc, but mostly dummy.

tbh she’s real good at hand to hand combat, like my other Em’s but like- I had to give her a flaw, and that flaw being she forgets to think and just acts, and that usually involves her running infront of danger to human sheild the attack from hitting whoever it was originally intended for. Though if she does get appathetic- she stops caring, and then if you fight state with a sword or something you’re fucked. She’s going to let you stab her and she’s going to hold the blade there so you can’t pull away and attack again, but also now you’re stuck and she’s going to round house kick your skull into the groud so hard you better hope your skull doesn’t shatter. (But that’s OP so I don’t usually talk about how she can actually kick asshahahaha OOF)

Also I would love for Aizawa to be the one who tries to help her learn to use her head and not her heart in battle. Like- she knows how to fight, she just needs to over ride her instincts, it’s silly because one simple counter attack to block harm from someone is a lot smarter than her just standing there and taking the initial attack. I feel like she couldn’t bring herself to actually battle with Aizawa, she just dodges and blocks his hits, and will only use a small amount of force when she counter attacks him because she doesn’t want to hurt him. (Not cause he’s fragile but because she doesn’t want to hurt someone she cares about. She won’t even really hit Tomura, in battle, unless he’s risking someone else. But her main way to fight people she cares about is to tackle hug them, they can’t fight if they can’t move. She also can use acupressure like Ty Lee from Avatar, but that is kinda painful so she wouldn’t use it on Aizawa in training either. 😔

But you’re super right with that analysis, it might be easier for Em to be a villain. >:3 //slaps self But if she had a reason to be good she would, like Aizawa, but tbh in the back of her mind she wonders if the heroes are keeping her around to keep her at bay. And that hurts, but she’s not good talking about her feelings. Hell if anyone brought up her childhood she’d be like “ahahik haihd whha- noo. No it’s not as bad as it seems.” Just totally blowing it off, she doesn’t like talking about it to anyone.

BUT HGGOD THAT SOUNDS SO NICE. Em waking up in ICU but she’s there and WDHIHWDIEH COMFORT STUFF KILLS ME *knees buckle, and cries into the ground* Like- jebus- y e s. God between you and Darthsuki yall have helped me develop a story line much more plausable with Em. Like maybe I can make use of that Overhaul Em drawing 😏 maybe after the redemption Fanfic Suki wrote, maybe Em learns to discuss her plans and she goes undercover for the Overhaul case, that way it’s not a part 2 (part 3?) betrayl to the heroes.

EHIhiwhfdi All in all, THanK YOU ??!! FDheiFFEJH I’m sorry I can’t shut up about Em stuff.

#submission #Nice things for Krazie #Boku no Em

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prorevenge · 6 years ago

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Sergeant DGAF 'Bout Your Emergency

So this started more than a decade ago, but I remember (most of) it like yesterday. It is my own story, and I tell this from my perspective. This is a long story, but I promise you will be staring at the screen, thinking “dafuq?” by midway through.

Background

Early 2000s. I was in the military, mid 20s, stationed somewhere in Europe. Rank E-4. It’s a bit different when you’re stationed overseas, and your squadron basically becomes your extended family. The Mission is always priority #1, but everyone tries to go the extra mile to make sure their people are taken care of. This was my second assignment, and my second overseas assignment.

I had just gotten married when I was on an extended leave back in the States, during my PCS (Permanent Change of Station; officially changing your assigned base) to this new location. I became an instant father overnight, now having a wife and a 3-year-old (step) daughter when I had none before. My wife became pregnant with our son about 5 months later.

My new supervisor was a Master Sergeant, who I will call Bastar(d) Sergeant [sic], or BS, for the rest of this. Bastar-Sergeant the Master Sergeant.

BS was a family man, married for a while (about ~15 years or so) and had two kids with his wife, as well as two kids of his own from a previous marriage, with his wife ALSO having two kids from a previous marriage. This is relevant because BS, being a family man with six kids ages 4 to 17, often would have stuff going on with his family and need to cut out early, miss morning briefings, and so on.

It was no big deal if we weren’t working on mission critical stuff. It’s rough when the nearest military hospital is 30-45 mins away at another military facility and you can only depend on your own immediate family and fellow military members. Just about everyone, BS especially with his larger family, had to cut in and out of work fairly frequently when we didn’t have big things going on. But hey, take care of your people, they’ll take care of the mission.

Now, BS and I got along really well at first. He and his wife were both quite the “socialites” and would constantly – damn near every weekend – have parties at their house and invite people over. It was fun at first, but it really grew tiresome. Being a new family man myself, and really just starting to figuring it all out (translated: how to keep your wife happy and not both be miserable, while still trying to be a functional adult in the military), and I just could NOT keep up with the party-every-weekend lifestyle.

BS and Mrs. BS drank a lot at those parties, too. You could tell it took a toll on their health. I guess that might be tempting with that many kids, and a 17-turning-18 daughter that had just gotten pregnant with her foreign boyfriend, but I digress…

Like I said, I just couldn’t keep up, not every weekend. I slowly fell out of favor with BS and his “Good ol’ Boys Club.” He wasn’t hostile per-se, but there were times he would just get mean, and with increasing frequency. He would call me into his office for tiny things, like thinking I had shown up to work late, when I could prove that I had been logged in on my terminal 10 minutes before start time – meaning I was at least 15-20 mins early due to walking times, putting my coat and stuff in lockers, etc. But my terminal’s clock, synched with the atomic clock, didn’t matter compared to his clock on the wall.

I was also called out for attending big medical appointments for my wife’s pregnancy, like being there when they determined my son was a boy – I was called out specifically when everyone else was doing the same thing.

The assignment was slowly turning into hell. Meanwhile, the members of the Good ol’ Boys Club would often be very late (without phoning), constantly going to appointments, and so on. There was definitely some favoritism going on. But in such a small unit, overseas, what can you do? The guy was even buddy-buddy with the First Sergeant, and they had been friends since bootcamp.

Anyway, enough background. Onward!

The Main Event

This is where things got crazy. My son had just been born, healthy and at a good weight, not even two weeks earlier. I came home from work after a very long day, about 13 hours on a normal 8 hour shift, due to some stuff breaking.

My wife was exhausted because she was still healing from the birth, and our son had gotten really, really cranky and irritable through the day. He was non-stop fussing and feeling slightly warmer, but not quite running a fever.

I let her go to sleep, and to give her peace, I tried to sleep in the chair downstairs with the kiddo bundled up on me. He got worse and worse through the night, and at about 0300 hrs, I noticed that his diaper smelt really strange (sorry to gross you out), with just pee. It was a sickly smell, not at all what anything from a human body should ever smell like. He seemed hot, so I went to take his temperature. He had risen to 103.5 F – VERY dangerous for an infant.

Fuck.

I immediately wake up my wife and rush him to the hospital. She stays behind at home with our daughter, since the ER is no place to keep a young kid and we didn’t know anyone that could watch her at that late of an hour.

Since it would have taken longer to wait on an ambulance out in the countryside, I sped to get him to the military hospital’s ER in about 20 mins. They immediately put him on fluids and call in the on-call pediatrician. They move him to the ICU, and after a few long hours, I get told that they believe he has a urinary tract and kidney infection, and while they had gotten his temperature down to a safer spot, we weren’t out of the woods yet.

While waiting, knowing that my regular work day was coming up, I tried calling everyone’s phone number I had, but nobody answered. At the gym probably. After leaving some voicemails, I gave up and decided to wait until people roll in at 0700 hrs. I kept trying to call the unit phone number, but no one answered until 0720. I get asked by one of the guys where I was, I let him know I’m at the hospital due to an emergency with my newborn, and he gets BS over to the phone.

BS: OP, where you at?

Me: I’m at the hospital. My son is in the ICU, had a fever of 104 and a serious infection. I’ve been up all night and haven’t slept.

BS: Well you should be at work. You missed PT, and you’re late.

Me: *pausing, because, WTF?* … I need to come into work? My son had to go to the ER, he’s in the ICU…

BS: I don’t want to hear it. You’ve already been late multiple times. [but not really, as I mention above] *angrily* Get your ass down here!

Me: … Uh, well I’m not in uniform. I will have to stop by my house. One parent is required to be here, so I need to see if one of my neighbors can give my wife a ride to the hospital, and our daughter has to be dropped off at school because children can’t be in the ICU.

BS: Just get here. *hangs up*

I was completely floored. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

At no point in my entire military career, before and since then, have I EVER heard of anyone being forced to come in to work when an immediate family member was in the hospital for an emergency. I was half confused, half outraged, and wholly beside myself.

My wife shows up, I take the car home after updating her and making plans to take care of our daughter while we rotate shifts at the hospital. I did a very quick SSS – shit, shower, shave – and drive over to the shop.

BS ignored me when I arrive, other than a sidelong disapproving look. I start my usual routine, but I am exhausted, worried sick, and pretty fucking angry all at once. Some of my coworkers heard what happen and are concerned, but BS the tyrant seems to be angry himself and no one wants to approach him.

Revenge, Part 1

A few hours went by, with me keeping in touch with my wife on the status of our son. I tried approaching BS a few times, but he was having none of it.

One of the other Master Sergeants in the squadron, part of a different unit, but whom I had worked with before, came by and noticed me probably looking distraught. We’ll call her Hero Sergeant, or HS. She pulls me aside to one of the quiet corners of the shop.

HS: OP, are you okay? You look terrible?! Is something wrong?

Me: [I tell her about my son being sick and in the ICU – I was barely able to hold my composure in at this point, I was so angry yet so worried and downtrodden about my son, and I’m fighting to keep it together through the exhaustion and lack of sleep.]

HS: WHAT?! Why the hell are you here?!

Me: I’m not sure. BS ordered me to come in when I tried to explain. He won’t talk to me.

HS: Fuck that. Hang tight.

HS then quickly walks off. Now, our unit is on the other side of the base from the main squadron: about 15 minutes later, just enough time to drive to the squadron and back, HS appears – along with our unit Captain, and the squadron’s Major (XO to our Lt. Colonel CO).

The Major storms toward the unit office section, pauses and looks right at me, and says in an obviously angry but soft voice…

Major: OP, get out of here. Your place of duty is the hospital until your son is discharged. Don’t step foot in one of these buildings until then, I don’t care how long it takes. Take care of your family. Are we clear?

Me: *as I start to scramble* Yes, sir.

Major: *yelling* BS, GET YOUR ASS IN THIS OFFICE RIGHT NOW!

I proceed to quickly gather my shit together, all while seeing BS head toward that same office door and he gives me a glowering look on his way in.

As I leave, there is no possible way to doubt that everyone in the area, probably the whole building, could hear BS get absolutely reamed and raked over the coals by the Major as I departed. The Major was always a quiet and fair man, I had never seen him anywhere even approaching angry, so it was absolutely terrifying to behold.

I have to admit, it felt good to know that he was getting some of what he deserved.

My son did clear up eventually and was discharged from the hospital 5 days later, healthy and no harm done, thank God!

I know this first part’s “revenge” isn’t quite revenge, but it was sweet, sweet karma to see that asshole put in his place. Still, as good as it was, it made things worse between BS and I much, much worse.

Fallout

Well after all that, BS hated my guts. Obviously, it would be career suicide to openly retaliate against me, so he found little ways to do so at every opportunity. That wasn’t to say I didn’t have my faults, I certainly did, and I made mistakes no doubt, but what he did was particularly underhanded.

You see, it wasn’t until he PCS’ed to his new assignment that I learned what he had done. My new Sergeant (NS) was awesome, highly relatable, and knew BS from previous deployments together - he indicated on more than a few occasions that he wasn’t exactly fond of BS.

In the meantime, I had gone to training to become a Sergeant myself and graduated at the top of my class with honors. I then went on to another deployment to the “sandbox” and came back with some major kudos from leadership there, working my butt off every day wanting to prove I was more than what BS tried to paint me as. It was after my return to home station that I learned what BS had been up to - completely behind the scenes.

Remember how even the First Sergeant was buddy-buddy with BS? Well the FS had also PCS’ed while I was deployed. Our new FS went through everyone’s Personnel Information Files (PIFs) and discovered that I had a massive - and I mean massive - stack of Letters of Counseling (basically, you got a “talking to,” and the LOC is documentation proving it) and even a Letter of Admonishment (LOA), a more serious version just under a Reprimand.

I found out from NS that when he and his boss were talking with FS, he was wondering how the hell I hadn’t been kicked out of the service with such a track record. But then he also noted how suspicious it was that every single one of the LOCs and the LOA lacked my signature - something that is required by regulations, acknowledging your reception of it (though not admitting guilt).

I had never been shown these, nor had any idea they existed. The majority of them were very minor infractions, almost none of which I had committed in any fashion. Even more strange, NS caught onto details that there were four of them dated for the same time I was in training (at a different base / different country), and one during a short deployment I had gone on earlier. It didn’t add up, and all three sergeants found it rather confusing and shady.

Thankfully, my performance once I was out of the shadow of BS was more than enough to convince all three sergeants that I was not the dirtbag that BS was trying to paint me as. I don’t know the details, but I do know that his pseudo-forgeries (he could just claim they were “incomplete” and not meant to be filed) caught up to him and he caught some flak for it. He retired not long later, and I hope that it was a black mark on his record.

Revenge, Part Two

So this is where it gets interesting again. Fast forward about four more years. I had gotten out of the service by then, finishing my second enlistment, and I moved back to the States to take advantage of the GI Bill.

It’s also worth mentioning that I’m an IT guy, and I’ve always got at least a dozen boxes of parts, tools, and hard drives. It’s also what I was in college for at the time.

I’m going through a stack of old ATA hard drives to see what I could salvage for a lab projects (we basically needed a bunch of “victim” machines to test against, and a few of us had old ATA motherboards hanging around). I’m checking them before I scramble/wipe the drives to make sure they’re working fine, and to make sure I’m not deleting wanted files/archives.

I’m flipping through this drive’s old files, nothing much beyond typical Windows folders, until I hit a buried directory with a bunch of images in it. I can tell they’re of the X-rated kind from thumbnails - not surprising, I’m a guy, and who didn’t have a sizeable porn stash in their single days, right?

But then I realized… these weren’t porn shots. These were homemade. It definitely wasn’t anything I had ever done. But I recognized something almost immediately - a unique lower back “tramp stamp” on the woman in the photos (faces were never shown). A tattoo I remember clearly: one of the wives of a guy in my old unit was showing it off after she had gotten it.

And the guy she’s on top of? Far, far too pasty of a skin tone to be her husband. It was then that I realized that this was one of the drives I had salvaged from a broken old PC that BS had given me for parts, back when we were still on good terms.

BS had been cheating on his wife with one of his subordinate's wife. Looking at the background of the photos, it was obvious that this was in the home of BS, too - if you remember, we had all been there many times.

Time to extract some revenge. I would like to tell you that I did some cool scene out of Mr. Computer or some crap like that, but really, simple efficiency won out here.

I knew BS, Mrs. BS, and the other couple were all on Facebook (they’d often come up as recommended friends-of-friends). I created an account that vaguely sounded like someone we could all know, and had military work history to match the assignment, in order to protect my own privacy/identity. I sent a few messages each to Mrs. BS and the husband of the tattooed wife. Once I got responses asking, basically, “Who is this?” I just pasted a number of select photos from the private photo shoot.

Mrs. BS, obviously recognizing her husband’s body and their old home in Europe, kept saying “WHAT THE FUCK?” - I said I was just the messenger, and to do with the photos what she pleased.

The husband of the tattooed wife first thought my new identity was the man in the photos and started to threaten me, until I told him to pay special attention to the background. He realized who the man in the photos was, having also been in that house countless times, and thanked me for telling him the truth. While we weren’t close, I do feel really bad for him. :(

(I didn’t feel too bad for Mrs. BS because she turned into a snob when BS got mean.)

I heard through my buddies from the unit that both couples were divorced, roughly a year later. All the old crew knew exactly who had cheated with who. I also heard that the divorce of BS and Mrs. BS was particularly bad. Nobody knows who leaked the photos, though.

Closing

This is the first time I have admitted to what I did, just for the sake of revenge and getting back at the bastard who did so much to personally attack me, even in a time of need, and who very nearly ruined my military career. Part of the reason I decided to get out of the service was because of him - I never wanted one person to have that much control over my life again.

I hope you enjoyed my story, sorry it was so long, but there was just so much that happened. I could add even more crap that he did, too.

And to Bastar-Sergeant, if you ever read this someday, I’m sure you will have realized who I am. I only have one thing to say to you: Fuck you - you deserved it.

(source) story by (/u/Celesae)

#prorevenge #by /u/Celesae #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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queen-swagzilla · 5 years ago

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Ruthlessly Alive, Chapter 8

Read it on Ao3

The rest of the day went well, at least from the Grounders’ standpoint. Everyone made it through training with no more than bumps and bruises. Raven and Monty had started planning how they were going to take apart the Dropship, and Wells had been coming and going to chat about materials collection. Miller had been listening to the Trikru contingent’s concerns regarding their weaknesses against the Mountain Men all day, and Syl had started her disgusting fecal purification project with Jasper.

To Clarke’s chagrin, her ‘council’ had also plotted with Octavia and Murphy to give her some alone time with Bellamy. Now they were eating dinner alone in the Dropship with fucking candles (where had they even found those?) and Clarke didn’t know what to say.

“Are you ready for the first courtship ritual?” He asked, breaking their silence. She blushed and nodded.

“Octavia said that I should harm you as severely as I could, as long as I knew that I could fix you.” She uttered. He looked surprised, but nodded.

“Yes, that’s ideal. I didn’t want you to worry about it too much. That’s why I suggested the cuts across the palm.” He replied slowly. “Did you have something else in mind?”

She swallowed nervously. “I did. I wanted to run it by Octavia first. I want them to know I’m taking this seriously, but I don’t want your people to think that I’m actually trying to kill you.”

“You can run it by me, if you’d like.” He offered. “That way I’ll know what to expect and I won’t panic.”

“There isn’t a rule about that?”

“There isn’t. And people will be impressed that you’re committed to doing things our way.” He smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, so Clarke figured he was anxious to hear what she had planned.

“Okay…I was going to poison you, stab you, then suffocate you.” She grimaced. It felt like a strange sentence to say without malice. His eyes widened.

“I would leave the suffocation out.” He suggested after a pregnant pause. “It’s one of those things that you can’t help but react too. If you’re being strangled, suffocated, or drowned, you struggle.”

Clarke nodded quickly. “But the other two are fine?”

He nodded hesitantly. “I’ll be uncomfortable for a while, but ideally this will prevent any immediate wars, so I don’t need to be my best.” He shot her a somewhat pained smile. “Not that I’m excited by the idea of being stabbed, but it’ll certainly show your skill and commitment.”

She exhaled gratefully. “I’m not exactly thrilled by the idea either.” She admitted. “Stabbing you after everything you’ve done for us seems rude.”

“Well at least you’re stabbing me in the name of partnership.” He replied wryly. She let out a surprised laugh. “I’ll be fine. I’ve been stabbed before. Just pick a spot that won’t cause lasting damage.” She nodded, but was a little stuck on—

“You’ve been stabbed before?” She asked, worry creasing her brow.

He grimaced and nodded, pulling up his shirt to reveal a puckered scar on his abdomen. Of course, it was surrounded by other scars that were clearly from slashes, hacking and a multitude of other skin-breaking events, but the stab was distinct. “Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim.” He reminded her quietly. “It hurt, but it healed and I kept going.”

“What happened?” She couldn’t help the curiosity. Slashes and hacks were common in battle—she’d healed a number of them herself. But stabbing…you had to get close to stab someone. They were less common from what she’d seen of Grounder warfare. He pursed his lips and looked pained, and she backtracked. “Of course, you don’t have to tell me. That was invasive, I’m—“ He held up a hand to cut her off.

“I hope we’ll be the type of partnership that is comfortable with sharing more than just political aspirations, but personal information as well. This was…it was a betrayal, and the result of my refusal to see past my own hope.” The set of his mouth was grim. “A while ago…was it four years? I loved someone. She was from the Yujleda clan, and had come to Baltim to trade. Well, she told us she’d come to Baltim to trade. We invited them to stay in our home when they visited, first as a diplomatic gesture. Eventually, we’d warmed to them, and I looked forward to their visits. She brought me things she knew I’d like—books, fine furs, unique weapons. Her stays grew longer and I fell for her. I was planning to ask her to marry me.” He looked down at his hands. Clarke reached over, and laced her fingers with his. He remained hunched, but she could see the rigid lines relaxing.

“Murphy discovered what was happening. Our relationship was not always…well, we used to hate each other.” Clarke’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I kept him at arms length when he first came to my service. But then he overheard a conversation outside the city gates while he was patrolling. It was Ilena, speaking with a messenger from her clan. She was telling them that she needed more time—that she hadn’t secured my interest. That their army couldn’t make a move until she was in a seat of power.” His voice was gaining bitterness as he spoke, and Clarke drew her thumb in circles on his hand to soothe him. “He’s usually quite good at staying silent, but it’s hard to mask footsteps in the dead of night. He ran, deciding to bring the news as close to me as possible. Tried to tell me, or at the very least Octavia what he’d heard. But she heard him and went after him. She was quite skilled and very fast.”

“Once he noticed that he was being followed, he started bellowing for Octavia. He knew I was asleep all the way across Baltim, but Octavia’s home was close so he ran for it. He didn’t get to her—she tripped him up and stabbed him. Then she came for me. Luckily, one of the guards had heard the ruckus, and found Murphy, who told him to get Octavia and tell her what Ilena was planning. He did, and Octavia made it to me just minutes after I’d let her into my room. She told me what the guard told her and what had happened to Murphy, insisting that Ilena was some sort of spy for her people. I wouldn’t hear it. I loved her. I didn’t want to think she would betray me like that, but then Ilena turned and stabbed me. Octavia slashed her throat before she could escape.”

“Bellamy…” Clarke murmured, heartbroken and outraged for him. “I’m so sorry.” She honestly didn’t know what else to say. How do you respond to something like that?

He smiled softly, tinged with sadness. “It was difficult. But I had Octavia, and I gained Murphy. I survived, I healed and I learned.”

She continued to stroke his hand with her thumb, lip caught between her teeth and an ugly mixture of sadness, concern and anxiety welling up inside her. He’d told her something so personal and so devastating, and it didn’t seem like enough to offer shallow comfort. He wanted to share personal information? She could do that.

“You know how I said that I didn’t belong to anyone?” She asked hesitantly. He immediately stiffened, grip tightening around her fingers and eyes hardening. “No, that’s not what…no.” She huffed frustrated, squeezing his hand gently. “I don’t belong to anyone, that’s still true. But a week after we landed, I thought I might end up with one of my people.” She admitted. He relaxed, but still eyed her warily. “Finn.” He didn’t tense again, but he did frown.

“Finn is with Raven. That’s what you said.” He reminded her, a soft warning making it’s way into his voice. She nodded, dropping her eyes.

“He was so fascinated by everything he found and helpful when everyone else was being useless. He stood up for me and told me when he was scared and let me do the same. When our wristbands failed he felt helpless and alone, and I told him he wasn’t. He had taken me to this small bunker where we’d scavenged supplies before, and in the heat of the moment we just…latched onto each other. For three days we were all soft smiles and long talks and steady trust. Then Raven, the most amazing, intelligent, and devoted woman in the universe, built herself a dropship from the shittiest materials on the Ark, risked being blown up on re-entry, and threw herself through space in a tin can to get to him. Because she had been with him for years on the Ark.” She swallowed, voice wavering.

“He hadn’t mentioned her to me once, and she was so thrilled to see him alive. And then she was excited to meet me because my mom had helped her get the materials she needed to build her pod. And he went back to her—of course he went back to her, she’s amazing—but he didn’t say a word about what had happened, and I was shamed into keeping it from her. In the meantime, he kept on leaving me little gifts and following me around, trying to talk and make me feel better or get me back even when he was with her. He was unfaithful because he thought she was going to die, and I could have forgiven that. But then he withheld the truth and kept pursuing me and it made me feel filthy and ashamed. That one thing you only talk about in whispers because everyone would hate you if you said it out loud.”

It was his turn now, and he was softly stroking the back of Clarke’s hand. His hands were rough and warm, and they completely enveloped hers. “You couldn’t have known.” He murmured.

“But I could have told her when I found out.” She whispered. “I didn’t. She found out on her own. Found one of the gifts he left me and confronted me. I’m lucky, because she might be hot-headed and ruthless, but she doesn’t blame me. Somehow, she ended up as one of the people I trust the most. But now, because he’s close to Raven and what he’s done with me, he’s everywhere. And he’s smart, and he’s a pacifist, so sometimes his input is valid, but sometimes it’s like he has a claim on me and feels entitled to sway my decisions.”

“He doesn’t.” Bellamy replied confidently. “If he ever did, he doesn’t anymore. Anything you may feel guilty about, anything he feels you owe him? It was repaid in full when you agreed to this alliance. Beyond that, it’s not his society to influence anymore.” He reminded her.

Her eyes shot to his, suddenly anxious. “What do you mean?”

“Not that your people won’t be part of our peoples’ voices.” He assured her. “But we have a monarchy. We have a government. You and I will pick our advisors, and decide what we listen to. When there were just a hundred of you, his voice was far louder. In a month, you’ll be a queen to thousands, and take many more peoples’ needs into consideration. You’ve earned the right to not listen if you find his input invaluable. You can trust that whichever advisors you choose will tell you if you need to reconsider. Whatever power you think he took from you is back in your hands.” He smiled gently. She felt tension draining from her, and felt the need to be closer. He flashed her a confused look when she stood, but then she settled herself in his lap, his hand still clutched in hers. He brought his free hand to her hip to steady her.

“Thank you, Bellamy.” She placed her hand on his chest. “Thank you for giving us this chance. Thank you for being so good to me. Doing so much to make me feel comfortable.”

He let his eyes roam over her face. “You make it easy to care for you.” He admitted. She flushed under his gaze, and his eyes darkened in return. “Clarke.” Her eyes flicked down to his lips, then back to his eyes. He acquiesced, leaning up to brush his lips over hers. “I want to take this at your pace, Princess.” He whispered against her mouth. “You’re giving so much of yourself to this alliance, I want to at least have our relationship feel like it’s yours.” She melted, sealing her mouth to his firmly.

His answering groan was sinful. Suddenly, Clarke found herself surrounded by him, and utterly electrified. His hand gripped her hip harder, squeezing into the supple flesh. He sucked her bottom lip and nipped it—sharp flashes of teeth followed by soothing swipes of tongue.

Before long, their entwined hands separated so that she could thread her hands in his hair, and he could run his newly freed hand up her back, drawing her closer. She moaned into his mouth when he dropped his hand from her hip to squeeze her ass, and the sound seemed to ignite him. He repositioned her effortlessly, swinging her leg over his lap so that she was straddling him before pulling away from her searching mouth to drop his lips to her jaw; grazing his teeth over her mandible, then nipping her ear, then leaving hot, open mouthed kisses and blunted bites down her neck. He reveled in the sounds she made—low, sweet, and tremulous moans and whimpers that went straight to his cock. “So beautiful.” He murmured against her flushed throat. She shook in his hands as his deep, rumbling timbre vibrated across her skin. “And you taste,” he scraped his teeth across her skin. “Like sunshine.” The growled assessment was punctuated by another, sturdy bite—sucking the delicate skin at the junction of her shoulder and neck between his teeth. It would leave a mark, and the sensation had her hips rocketing into his with a delighted cry.

He reluctantly pulled away, and she whimpered at the loss. He let his eyes rake over her again, and arousal punched through him at the artfully ruined picture in his lap. Swollen lips, mussed hair, glazed eyes, bruised neck. She was grinding down on his leg—tiny, unconscious gyrations that begged him for more. “As much as I want to ravish you, Princess, we need to eat. You trained hard today. We have time.” He hated himself for saying it, but was impressed with his own even speech. He kissed her again, soft and coaxing. She sighed against him, and tried to pull him closer, but he pulled back.

Clarke knew she was pouting, but dutifully slipped from his lap and say back in her own seat. She nibbled her lip, gazing shyly at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep going?” She asked after a long, uncertain moment.

“Oh, I do.” He chuckled, shifting in his seat. Her eyes dropped to his lap, where it was clear that he wanted to keep going. “But coupled with your training, I have a feeling you’d hate me tomorrow if we did.”

She sighed a little wistfully. “Fine. But keep in mind that I’ll be stabbing you tomorrow. I can’t promise that my frustration won’t affect the outcome.”

He grinned, delighted at her cheek. “On the other hand, if you want me to fix it, you’ll have to keep me alive.” He purred.

She grinned back. “You make a good point. I guess we’ll see if I’m more swayed by frustration or anticipation.”

Finn loped up to the campfire, sliding in next to Raven where she was surrounded by their ragtag team. His eyes slid over the group. Their ragtag team, minus one. “Where’s Clarke?” He asked. Wells frowned as Raven stiffened, and Finn didn’t seem to notice.

“Getting to know her fiancé.” Syl smirked, holding her hand up to Miller who quickly high-fived her.

Wells chuckled at their antics before turning his eyes back to Finn, uncharacteristically cold. “They’re having dinner in the Dropship before their super intense Grounder courting ritual tomorrow. Why, did you need something?” There was an edge to his tone that Finn ignored.

“What ritual?”

“There are three rituals before the main ceremony.” Raven grumbled. “Do you listen when I talk to you?”

“It’s essentially proving to one another that they can take care of each other. There’s one about health, one about providing, and one about communication.” Syl told him before he could make a fuss. “Tomorrow’s the one about health. They harm each other, then they heal each other.”

“He’s going to harm her?” Finn snapped, getting to his feet. Even Jasper rolled his eyes. Raven grabbed his sleeve.

“Not as much as she’ll harm him. Now sit down and shut up before you piss someone off.” Raven snapped. Finn looked mutinous, and both Wells and Miller stirred uneasily. “Back to what we were actually discussing. Those training exercises were brutal.” She complained.

“We’re going to be sore as fuck tomorrow.” Syl agreed, flopping down. “I’m actually considering sleeping right here.”

“You could. It would get cold once the fire died down.” Miller grunted. She shot him a small wry smile. “Yeah, I know. Open spaces.” Syl didn’t like sleeping in the open. She also didn’t like to talk about it.

They chatted for a while, talking about their progress and plans. Eventually they got to Wells, by which time Murphy, Octavia and Lincoln had joined them. “So I was looking at the super shitty map we drew based on what dad showed us before comms cut out,” he began. “And there are some old supply depots nearby that we should check out.”

“What makes you think they haven’t been ransacked already?” Miller asked around a mouthful of rabbit.

“Government depots. Smaller than Mount Weather was, but hidden. They didn’t want to give the locations out to the public in case they were ransacked during a crisis.” He rolled his eyes. “But there’s one that’s supposed to have a ton of tac gear in it.” Miller perked up.

“Like what?”

“Armor, tech, rations, camp gear, guns—“

“We don’t use guns.” Octavia warned. “I know you’ve been using the ones you found, but once you’re integrated, you’ll probably be asked to stop. Until you take care of the Acid Fog, at least. They see guns on one of us, and they unleash it. And after, the other clans will be unsettled by our military advantage, and it’s in our best interest to keep the peace by getting rid of them.”

“So we’re supposed to fight Mount Weather without technology on their level?” Wells raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a good way to lose.”

“Perhaps. But until the fog is gone, we can’t risk it. We can’t use them until we’re sure, and after the Mountain is defeated, we’ll have to disarm.” She insisted. “Unless, of course, you want guns in the hands of every clan. That is the most likely compromise that Lexa will offer if we refuse to dispose of them.”

Nobody liked that idea. No. That seemed like an awful idea. “Well then we better learn quickly.” Syl muttered. “I don’t like the idea of us being defenseless or underprepared. Even for a minute.”

Octavia smiled and flicked her eyes to Murphy, who looked proud and pleased with her statement. Then her eyes drifted over the rest, and Miller and Raven were nodding along. Jasper and Monty looked hesitant, but seemed like they understood. They weren’t built for battle, though. Wells looked resigned, but resignation was a form of acceptance, so she was okay with that. But Finn—the pretty boy with the big dreams and sense of self-importance looked annoyed. “Do you disagree, Finn?”

He shot her a look that suggested dislike. “I thought the whole point of this alliance was to prevent violence.”

She offered him a condescending smirk in return. “Just because you have brokered peace with us, does not mean you have done so with the other eleven clans. Resources are precious, and territory is precious. We fight to protect our people and ourselves. And even if we weren’t at war, being able to defend yourself is always valuable. Especially if you’re a woman. Why don’t you ask your houmon how many time she’s been tempted to kill to protect herself?”

Raven shifted uncomfortably next to him. “Raven?”

She was silent, pondering through her response. “I don’t really want to kill anyone. But I would have loved to beat the shit out of Commander Davies when he’d kick me out of our room to exploit my mother, or Nigel for not cutting her off moonshine. And I’d have given my left leg to break Parson’s arm the next time he felt me up in the airlock chamber.” She admitted. His jaw dropped.

“You didn’t tell me he was harassing you!”

“I did. You told me to tell him to stop, or I’d file a complaint with Sinclair. That didn’t work because he threatened you. After that, I left it alone. You were in the SkyBox, I didn’t want to bother you with my less life-threatening problems.”

“Threatened me how?” He demanded.

“He worked on the heating and ventilation systems in the prison units. He could have suffocated you in your sleep or frozen you to death in under an hour.” She shrugged. “You saved my life, I save yours, right? But yeah, even having the knowledge that I could hurt him if I wanted to would have made it better. Made me feel like less of a victim.”

Octavia had a satisfied and knowing smirk plastered on her face. “The only thing that keeps you alive is your willingness to fight for each breath. If you are unwilling to fight, someone will take what’s yours because those who need more fight harder. And all people—men and women—are taught to fight in Trishanakru. Though we value peace, we will not be exploited. As my brother likes to say, we 'speak softly and carry a big stick.’ There is no shame in strength, only in needless violence. But it is sometimes necessary, so don’t undervalue its importance because of your ideals. You’ll only put yourself and your people in danger.”

Finn’s jaw clenched. “Maybe we deserve to die if we can’t solve our problems with words instead of weapons.”

Murphy spoke. “You’re being naive. You are assuming that just because you prefer to solve problems with words, everyone will. The Mountain Men are the perfect example. They didn’t tell us they had marked off territory. They started burning us alive and poisoning our water supply. We didn’t know what was happening until we saw one of them fleeing back to safety behind the Mountain’s steel doors. They come silently and keep us tame with their weapons, and we’ve never even seen their faces. No matter how many times we tried to make peace, they slaughtered.” Though his tone his soft, his words were sharp and intentional. They’d asked to be prepared and taught their ways, and he was merely fulfilling that promise.

He continued. "That might not be the way we do things, but that’s because Bellamy is honorable and always keeps the bigger picture in mind. Not everyone is like that, because the more you think you deserve, the less you are willing to share.” His eyes flicked meaningfully from Raven across the campfire to the Dropship where Clarke was hidden, then back to Finn’s face. He was pleased to note that his words had caused the foolish boy to go red in the face, the implication not lost and not appreciated. “Believe what you will, and learn what you want. But don’t impose your ideals upon others at the expense of their lives.”

He did his best not to notice that Syl was raking her heated gaze over his form, clearly pleased with his perspective and unsubtle venom. Or maybe, that he had supported her opinion so thoroughly.

Wells looked pleased with him, too. “Even if we’re not using those guns in the long term, it’s still a good idea to collect them.” He stated, bringing the conversation back to the center. Octavia raised an expectant eyebrow, waiting for him to explain. “We can use them once the acid fog is gone, but then when it’s time to disarm we can still repurpose the components. That’s a lot of scrap metal and chemical surplus, and it would be a shame to waste it.”

Syl nodded. “The chemicals in gunpowder can be repurposed, and the metal from the guns can be used in Raven and Monty’s engineering projects.”

“Gunpowder?” Lincoln asked.

“It’s the stuff in a bullet that makes it move so fast. Explosive material that forces the bullet out of the gun at an extremely high speed.” She explained quickly. “It’s mostly made from sulfur, potassium nitrate, and charcoal. Sulfur is used for killing bacteria, so it’s useful in a number of medications, and in farming. Potassium nitrate is a really important component of most fertilizers for crops, and charcoal can be used for purification, and can theoretically be used to prevent water damage and moisture decay. There are more uses, but those are the most obvious. It depends on how much of it we find, too.”

“I’m starting to understand why Bellamy agreed to this alliance so readily.” Lincoln murmured. “You’re all quite impressive. I should have known.” Octavia elbowed him.

“Known what?” Miller asked, suspicious. Murphy shot him an amused glance.

“Bellamy has been offered political alliances like this in the past. He’s declined them all, except for Trikru. That was only because Octavia wanted to bond with me, so the timing was convenient.” Lincoln replied, ignoring the elbow digging into his side. “No alliance was important enough for him to forget his desire to love and be loved by his houmon. But I can see why he thought this one was. Your people are very impressive. You have a lot of potential, and you’re resourceful. That’s valuable.”

While they were flattered by his appraisal and glad to know that their alliance was secure and valued, the reminder that Clarke might never be in love with a person she could have was a jarring and upsetting one. But when Finn opened his mouth to say as much, Raven dug her nails into his thigh.

“That’s kind of you to say, Lincoln.” Monty said, soft and measured. Monty would have made a good representative for Farm Station. If they’d stayed in space, that is. “It’s good to know that our skills are valued. I hope we can earn the relative peace you’ve given us.”

“I can’t wait to see what you accomplish.” He smiled, unaware of the shift in mood. It didn’t escape Octavia though. Luckily, she was a master of setting people at ease without them noticing. It’s what made her such a capable assassin.

“And then there’s Clarke.” She smirked over at Murphy, who couldn’t contain his amused grin. “You made the right decision when you sent her to TonDC instead of Wells.” The laughter in her voice was palpable.

“I thought he was going to choke when she sat next to him at the negotiation.” Murphy chuckled. “A brave, beautiful girl with a martyr streak to rival the saints of old? And her peoples’ leader.”

“And the eye-contact thing.” Octavia grinned. “We all knew she was terrified, but walking in there and staring him straight in the eye as though he wasn’t the king of a warrior nation? I’m surprised he managed to speak in complete sentences.”

“He likes her?” Miller asked.

Octavia snorted. “She’d already be pregnant with a leash around his balls if not for tradition. I don’t completely trust your people yet, but I’m honestly too amused to be annoyed. I’m just glad that he has a panel of advisors so that he doesn’t blindly agree with everything she says out of sheer lovestruck idiocy.”

“Clarke isn’t like that. She’ll always put her people before herself. She’s too rational.” Finn told them, barely suppressing a smug smile. Raven was tense next to him. Octavia’s stare hardened. She knew what Finn was trying to do.

Syl guffawed. “Shows how well you know her. Yeah, she’s not likely to back down from an opinion without extreme persuasion and her people come first, but it’s not because she’s too rational. It’s because she’s taken responsibility for every single one of us, and she cares too much to let herself be happy. She’s not a robot, she’s a martyr.”

“Personally, I’m glad she has Bellamy.” Wells drawled, learning back. “She’ll have someone to help her carry the weight of her decisions.”

“And,” Miller continued, giving Finn a nasty side-eye. “Now that we’re joining Trishanakru, she probably can probably relax into her personal life a bit. They’ll be her people too, so she won’t have to worry about us spontaneously dying as often and we’ll have the rest of the clan looking out for us, she can let herself get romanced a little.”

“I got a chance to talk to Bellamy today.” Monty offered. “They think a lot alike. I think he might be what she needs. To heal and move forward, I mean.”

“Like how?” Murphy asked.

“She needs a partner.” He shrugged. “Someone steady who she can lean on, and who can lean on her. Someone to respect her decisions and be a sounding board, and listen when she offers her opinion. Bellamy admires her and is genuinely interested in how she makes her decisions. He wouldn’t stop harassing me while I was trying to itemize. He asked about life on the Ark, our customs and laws. Beyond what Clarke had already told him. He wants to understand us. To understand her.”

Murphy frowned. “I told you at that would be the case. At the peace conference.”

“It’s one thing to say it, and another to see it.” He replied wryly. “As much as I hoped you were telling the truth, I was still worried. She does so much for us, so the idea that she’d give up falling in love—having a life, really—to keep us safe was daunting. We’d be grateful, but that’s a cold life to live. Especially after a year of solitary and losing both of her parents. I’m glad that there’s a chance for her to have a fulfilling and equitable relationship. One that won’t cause her more pain and loneliness.” His eyes cut to Finn before turning back to Murphy.

“I’m glad he decided to pursue this alliance.” Murphy admitted. “After his few romantic disasters and failed alliances, I wasn’t sure this would turn out well. He’d still attempt a peaceful resolution, but this amount of involvement was more than I predicted.”

“Romantic disasters?” Syl piped up, leaning in. “What romantic disasters?”

“Murphy.” Octavia warned. Murphy rolled his eyes. Everyone had leaned in a little—clearly interested and waiting for the story. Octavia clearly didn’t want it told.

“It was only one disaster.” He admitted, leaning back against his log. “He fell in love and she betrayed him. She stabbed him, and Octavia slit her throat. For a while, we thought he was turning down courtships because he didn’t trust anyone anymore, and we were worried about him.”

“Murphy, shof op.”

“Chil au.” He replied. “They deserve to know more about their future King. Especially since he’s marrying their friend. They’re worried. Can you blame them?”

“As a hai-seken, no. As his sister, absolutely.” She snapped. “I doubt Bellamy will want to hear that joka’s name ever again, and our people know that. They don’t.”

“Emo laik oson kru.” He scolded. “They need to know how the world works. It’s different than when their people left. You can tell just by the way—“ He looked up, gesturing, but was met with empty air. He blinked owlishly. “Where’s Finn?”

All eyes swiveled to the empty space that Finn had been occupying mere moments ago. “Oh crap.” Syl muttered. Raven’s eyes snapped to her, glaring and furious. “Oh, come on. What if he’s about to barge into our carefully crafted dinner date to tell Clarke that Trishanakru has a history of murdering their love interests? That doesn’t exactly scream ‘good diplomatic relations’ or ’successful marriage’. We gotta find him."

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la-fille-en-aiguilles · 6 years ago

Text

Half As Good As You (1 / 2)

Jax Teller x Female Reader

A/N: I know i’m late to the party, but I am finally catching up with Sons of Anarchy, also known as one of the greatest shows ever made. I absolutely adore it, for so many reasons (Charlie Hunnam obviously being one of them). Jax Teller is such a promising character, with such an enormous literary potential, I couldn’t resist.

This two-part story is loosely based on Tom Odell’s song “Half As Good As You”.

Please enjoy, feedback is appreciated if you feel like leaving something.

Warnings: a lil’ bit of angst and heartache.

What a spectacular day for murder, you thought, grabbing your Balenciaga bag from the passenger seat right next to you, your cold take-out coffee’s smell still hanging in the confines of your car.

Charming welcomed you back with cloudless, infinite azure and blinding yellow sun, an airplane chalking a line on the canvas of the sky above your head.

Swinging that bag over your shoulder, you let your gaze wander back to the house in front of you; the empty driveway, those colorless roses and the unwelcoming cold blue paint that you never thought you’d see again.

Your sister might have lived in that house now, but the vibe of it hadn’t changed much - it still stank of bleach, burned leather and filthy secrets.

And to think you were to spend a weekend in these walls, where every little detail, everything - reminded you of him.

It felt like it had been ages; all your memories were just some stories someone had told you at some point, with no beginning and no end, pages ripped from old dusty journals for which no one had a care in the world anymore.

You lied, of course, when you told your sister if you’d come down it’d strictly be out of the goodness of the heart. Over the phone, you insisted on not wanting to leave the house before the wedding - that fucking house you hated the most in the entire world, that gas chamber in which you knew you’d have trouble to breathe - because you’d only come to watch her kids, while she gets drunk & partially naked before she ties the knot.

The sound of a roaring engine a few blocks away interrupted your train of thought as shivers ran down your spine, your fingers gripping steering wheel so hard your skin turned white.

Coming to Charming was a mistake.

Leaving the city in the first place was a choice, with which you’d learned to live.

Or so you thought.

Dawns were always the worst.

The subtle shift of light at around five in the morning gave the shit in his room back its color: the deep navy of his crumpled sheets, striking whites, yellows and greens of his underwear, scattered around, and the soft amber of the dresser, with framed pictures on top.

Jax would look at these colors perfect themselves, come out in all of their intensive glory, yet this would never amount to anything - no change in his black-and-white routine.

The rising sun later chose the best angle for its mindful rays, whitening out the faces on those photos. Most of the time, if Jax would let his eyes slip over the paper’s polished surface - accidentally, he kept telling himself - all he saw was perfect squares of bright light, the sun doing the job his brain couldn’t - saving him all the heartache.

The morning would paint his misery a new, less lethargic color as he’d drink his coffee at the bar, surrounded by his brothers, all laughing and talking in hoarse, morning voices. That would shake him up a little, the claws of last night’s dreams letting go some. Those dreams died eventually, but the nightmare of reality went on, and sometimes it was difficult for Jax to tell one from the other.

He didn’t know it yet, but today was going to push his coping mechanisms to a whole new level.

Sitting at the bar, his long fingers wrapped around a big cup of coffee, Jax kept digging holes in the middle of a microwaved cherry pie with a table spoon. He wasn’t hungry, but he knew he had to get some food into him - the day promised to be busy and chaotic, he’d get lucky if he got a chance to eat before dinner.

“Aye, Jackie-boy, any news from Ope?” Jax slowly registered Chibs’ words as the Scot called for his attention, carefully sipping on his steamy tea.

It took a moment for Telford’s words to settle in; retrieving his phone from the side pocket of his sweats, Jax powered the display.

“Yeah, he’s...”

Words stuck in his throat, a lump he tried to push down, swallowing hard. He dropped the phone flat on the bar table, the sound deafening. Inhaling deeply, Jax brought one of his hands up to rub his eyes, his elbow knocking over the cup of lukewarm coffee.

The drops of brownish liquid landed on your face, smiling at him from his phone, with Opie’s kids on either side.

Y/N’s in town. I’m sorry, man, we didn’t think she’d actually show. I’m on my way.

‘He’s on his way.’

Wiping his phone with the white t-shirt he still wore from last night, Jax scrolled down to see if Opie sent more of that stunningly pretty, makeup-free face of yours.

Winston didn’t.

It didn’t really matter, because one look at you had already sent his imagination reeling, his heart twisting in regret while beating ten hundred miles a minute.

You were back in Charming. The idea seemed outrageous, his thoughts even more so.

Maybe, it was a sign. Maybe, this was his past coming around to give him another shot to do this different. Better.

Maybe you two could work the shit out in the end of the day, maybe... maybe you came back for him.

“Hey Prospect, clean this shit up, will you?”

Grabbing his phone from the table, Jax motioned towards the black puddle on the floor once he got Half-Sack’s attention.

Running his fingers through the dirty-blond mane of hair, Teller headed to his room to take a shower, wash those bullshit thoughts away.

That’s all they were. Bullshit.

Your arrival lit a match in his mind, anger consuming him quicker than fire licking at dry paper.

And to what end?

The anger would come and go, leaving not even a fucking hint of solace behind.

So would you.

You never got around to babysitting that evening.

Dua Lipa’s voice blaring from the speakers, you could feel your chest rumble to the rhythm. The place was swarming with people; the bar welcomed a big crowd tonight, and under flickering lights you zeroed in on a face now and again, pacing your evening by the number of people you managed to make out from the human drunken mass.

Donna was having the time of her life as she swayed her hips to the beat. Her cheeks a lovely shade of pink, she laughed at something your friend Chloe said, wrinkles in the corners of her eyes, silent witnesses of her happiness.

Fumbling with your Margarita, you watched your sister closely, trying to convince yourself it was okay. It was Harry she was marrying for God’s sake. That teddy bear of a man that’d kill for her if needed.

And that was exactly what didn’t sit quite well with you.

You threw your head back, finishing your drink in one single gulp. Slamming the glass against the bar, you motioned for the bartender to approach. The young man with a messy man bun flashed you a smile, silently asking what your next choice would be.

“Whiskey on the rocks,” you yelled over the music, leaning over the bar so he could hear you better. Smiling still, the guy nodded, getting to it right away.

You plopped back on your seat, scanning the crowd with your eyes, again, trying to pass the time.

The scene hadn’t changed much since the last time you checked - most of the faces remained the same, the only difference being the cloudiness in people’s stares and sloppiness of their movements.

Yet your eyes narrowed as soon as you caught a young, handsome man staring at you, averting his gaze as soon as you spotted him. You were pretty sure you had never met him, yet something about him felt familiar... and suspicious.

Paying for your whiskey, you slipped off the bar stool, and slowly made your way to Donna.

“I’m going to get some air,’ you screamed into her ear, the beat of the basses making your knees tremble. Donna looked at you for a moment, as if trying to figure out your motives. Then she quickly nodded, lightly squeezing your wrist before letting go.

Gripping your whiskey glass tightly in order not to spill its contents, you made your way through the shifting crowd and into the hallway, slowly but surely.

Just as you walked out from the bar area, you noticed that young man you caught staring before turning around on his heels, following you.

It was a fleeting moment kind of realization, as you noticed Prospect written in bold letters on the back of the kutte the guy was wearing. Immediately you squirmed, pushing your way out of the bar with your elbows, slamming your glass on one of the unoccupied tables as you advanced.

“Shit,” you cursed, your eyes dashing around in search for a place to hide as soon as you reached the hallway.

You were being fucking followed. From the very fucking beginning. And by whom? By the Sons of Fucking Anarchy.

That would definitely up the number of candidates on your list for a well-deserved one night stand.

Thank God they didn’t think of sending someone bigger and meaner-looking, like Tig. Then your chances of getting laid tonight would have been non-existent, with the blue-eyed biker following you around like a shadow... shadow of death.

You froze at the thought, your mind painting the reaper tattoo before your eyes, angry black traits marking Jax’ ripped back.

The Prospect didn’t stay inside with Donna. It’s you he’d been told to follow around.

Clutching both of your fists in a sudden wave of anger that hit you like a speeding train, you muttered obscenities, your chest heaving.

Trying to swim against the current was useless at this point - you couldn’t change the way things were in this town years ago, why jump headfirst into that fight all over again? - yet two could play this game, you thought, Jax fucking Teller.

“Hey there, beautiful,” you were so lost in your thoughts, your eyes drilling a hole in the marble floor, you hadn’t noticed a pair of bright classy purple shoes walk out of the men’s restroom. Your eyes instantly flicked up to face a handsome stranger with deep grey eyes and a three-day black stubble on his razor-sharp cheekbones. The stranger smiled at you warmly, slipping both of his hands in the pockets of his expensive-looking jeans.

Bingo, you thought, mix of liquid courage and adrenaline spilling into your veins.

“Hi,” giving him a half-smile, you threw a quick glance over your shoulder.

Damn Prospect was watching you through the small dirty window in the door.

Grabbing the stranger by the lapels of his leather jacket, you pulled him in, your lips smashing against his.

You couldn’t even register one thing at a time, whirlwind of sensations and puzzle-like thoughts flooding your mind. He smelled of leather, cigarette smoke and musk, a sinful mix so familiar your stomach ached in an overwhelming need to stain yourself with it; steal it, carry it. The only thing stopping you was the absence of an important undernote, something sugary and spicy like oud or patchouli...

You figured it out in a matter of seconds, and even though the detail was bound to ruin everything, you still tried. Tried to fool yourself.

Even though his lips were a little too full for your liking. A little too soft. A little too innocent. A little too different from what you loved.

With your eyes closed, you bit his bottom lip, focusing on the way his rough cheeks felt against the palms of your hands as you cupped his face.

He didn’t bite back. He didn’t grab your hips with his hands, pulling you in closer. He didn’t moan into your mouth.

You didn’t click and that was that.

You still tried.

Holding on to that familiarity of rough beard under your fingertips, his scent completely engulfing you, you thought whether he hollowed his cheeks when he inhaled the smoke. He wasn’t a manual worker - you could tell from the softness of his touch as he positioned one of his hands on the nape of your neck. Exactly, positioned - that was the word. To describe a nearly mechanic movement of those soft little fingers.

Probably ain’t that good with his hands, darlin’ - Jax’ shit-eating grin appeared before your eyes for a millisecond, exactly the time it took for you to try and get a hold of yourself again.

You tried.

Your eyes fluttered open as the stranger rolled his tongue over your bottom lip - a little provocation that made you lose your mind back in the day. This time it felt like an ice-bucket full of water being dumped on the top of your head. It felt invasive, arrogant and wrong. It felt wrong, fault of his lips, his smell, his cheeks... Fault of him not being who you wanted him to be.

The stranger kissed you with his grey eyes open. And it shouldn’t have mattered at all - for all you knew, you’d have never seen him again - but it fucking did; the man you wanted always closed his eyes with your lips on his.

‘Hey, could you...’ you whispered, your lips still touching his. ‘Could you please close your eyes?...’

No answer followed. The stranger moved his head a little, confused look of those grey eyes settling on your face.

You ransacked your mind for something to say that could justify the shitty stunt you pulled; nothing came out. Luckily, the outside world came knocking soon enough.

‘Y/N!’ swinging the door to the bar open, Donna and her flushed and happy face came into view. ‘We’re doing shots, you with us?’

‘Yeah!’ you answered a little too quickly, relief in your voice almost tangible. ‘I’m coming’.

You gave the stranger a sympathetic look before letting go of his jacket.

‘I’m sorry,’ you told him blankly, not sure what kind of emotion he’d expect from you, given the context. ‘It was nice meeting you, uh...’

‘Gabriel’, he filled in, his lips still raw from the kiss you shared.

‘Gabriel,’ you repeated, knowing you’d forget his name the moment you’d turn away. ‘See you around, I guess’.

Just as you left the man with purple shoes behind, following Donna, you noticed the Prospect by the bar. He caught your eyes and gave you an uneasy smile.

For a spy, the guy isn’t exactly hiding, you thought. Biting the inside of your cheeks, you decided to finish what you started for once and headed his way.

Nighttime had always been the time for his demons to come out to play. To bring out the worst in him.

Tonight, however, felt different.

The night was silent, save for the car engines revving miles away from Teller Morrow. Stars dotted the inky sky, their shine so bright they looked like holes in heaven’s floor.

Jax’s mind was clear – not a single stray thought corrupting the peacefulness of the moment. The roof may have trembled under his feet, good old tunes rocking the walls of the club, but he heard none of it, not a single note. Hollowing his cheeks, he took a deep drag of his cigarette ; the smoke eddied coolly down his throat, until he puffed it out slowly – milky white and circular.

This stillness was new to Jax, the feeling of time rolling by in its silent and endless way soothing him. He wallowed in it for a moment ; until the thuds of careful steps reached his ears.

Dumping the cigarette butt over the roof and straight down on the parking lot, Jax watched Opie’s impressive, broad frame block the harvest moon from the view, as he slowly climbed the stairs.

‘If this ain’t the man of the hour,’ Jax said, his lips bearing the semblance of a smile. ‘Tired of enjoying your last days of freedom yet?’

Opie chuckled quietly, making his way to his best friend. He shook his head slightly, taking a seat next to Jax, his eyes immediately drawn to the beauty that was the night sky.

‘I’ve belonged to Donna since forever, man,’ Opie shrugged, moonlight reflecting in his dark eyes. ‘This is just an excuse for boys to enjoy booze and pussy’.

Jax rolled his tongue over his bottom lip before biting on it, smiling knowingly.

‘Yeah,’ he let out, nodding slowly. Fumbling with his cigarettes, he offered one to Ope. Winston gladly accepted, lighting it up.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, listening to downtown Charming snore softly in its agitated sleep.

‘Saw you talking to Ima at the bar,’ Opie was first to break the silence, exhaling the smoke. ‘She still carries a torch for you?’

A crooked half-smile graced Jax’ face at the question; he slowly stood up, raising both of his hands and stretching, the hoodie he was wearing rolling up a tad, thus showing toned muscles.

‘Don’t even get me started on this one, man’, Jax shook his head, raising his eyebrows in desperate gesture. ‘She keeps pestering me about that old lady shit…’

Opie whistled, watching Jax lean over the roof barrier, and following him shortly.

‘Ima? An old lady?’ Opie repeated in disbelief, Jax watching him with a blooming smirk. ‘She’s really getting desperate ain’t she?’

Jax let out a booming laugh before staring down into the ground, his thoughts taking him elsewhere.

Comfotable silence settled over the roof again. It were as if the world had stopped, came to a much needed halt, yet both Jax and Opie knew the feeling wouldn’t last.

‘I don’t think I’ll ever get around to what you’re doing, Ope’, Teller suddenly confessed, unblinking, voicing the thoughts that’d been plaguing his mind for what seemed like ages. ‘How am I supposed to ask someone to just open themselves up to the neverending load of shit we’re dealing with on a regular basis? I deal arms, I sell porn, I hurt people. That’s all I’m good for. Who would ever want to be associated with this kind of psycho, huh? Maybe Ima is my end game.’

Jax smiled bitterly, stealing a quick glance at the Teller Morrow sign on his left, even unlit a painful reminder of who he was. Opie grabbed Jax’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly.

‘Bullshit,’ he protested, shoving Jax back a tad unintentionally. He looked Teller right into the eyes, holding that heavy stare of stormy blue orbs for a moment. ‘I know someone who did want that, Jax’, he finally said, letting go of his friend, sadness lacing his words. ‘You’re not asking for a goddamn moon’.

The Vice-President of SAMCRO sneered, biting on the inside of his cheek. Opie knew he took a plunge in dangerous waters with that statement, but he also knew he needed to put this shit Jax’d been going through ever since that fight of yours on the table.

‘Damn straight I am,’ Jax bit back roughly, not even trying not to rise to the bait. ‘That someone you know made sure I was aware of that,’ he spat, his voice dripping with anger.

‘You’re not being fair, man’ Opie stated sternly, taking a step back and shoving both hands into his jeans’ pockets, his eyes never quitting Jax’ face. ‘You both said things you didn’t mean that night. Besides,’ his voice softening up a bit, he continued. ‘Can you really blame her? After what we did to the A.T.F.?’

Jax scoffed, turning his head in Opie’s direction. The fire that anger lit in his eyes wasn’t quite gone yet, its sparks still lingering on the surface of Teller’s irises.

‘Donna didn’t seem to mind,’ he observed spitefully, turning around and leaning on the barrier, folding his hands across his chest, as if protecting his bleeding heart.

‘Donna doesn’t know!’ Opie retorted almost instantly. ‘That’s why I’m still marrying her on Tuesday!’ once the words were out of his mouth, he rubbed one of his hands against his beard, looking away, exasperated. ‘Y/N didn’t tell her shit’, he added quietly.

Gritting his teeth, Jax faced the barrier again, grabbing it with both of his hands. Rocking himself back and forth on his heels, he let out an irritated, rumbling sigh.

There was something in that sound of air pushing its way in between Jax’s lips that made Opie freeze; the fierceness of heartache behind it. Opie watched. He watched Jax’s face, as Teller bit the inside of his bottom lip, shaking his head, lowering his gaze – hiding those glossy baby blues of his.

Then he knew.

Jax’s anger was nothing but a shield for pain. Empty bravado. Signifying nothing.

Each word coming out of Teller’s mouth was an activated grenade; Jax was a soldier, cornered by his pain, scared, desperate and so damn lonely. Bitterness was his surviving mechanism. Little did he know that those verbal grenades he threw would eventually end up backfiring at him. And then that anger – that shield he carried – would clatter to the ground and the pain would hit him like a tsunami. Choking him. Drowning him.

‘I don’t care,’ Jax finally spoke, facing his best friend again. Strangled emotion seeped out of his words, only confirming what Ope had already knew. ‘If I had to choose between Y/N and that A.T.F.’s wife again, I wouldn’t have done a damn thing differently. I will always choose Y/N.’

Protectiveness rang in Jax’s voice, like bullets falling on the ground. He eyed Opie almost threateningly, daring him to challenge his statement.

Opie nodded slowly, reassuringly. This simple gesture made Jax’s body relax a bit, as he rolled back his shoulders.

‘I know, man,’ Opie spoke calmly. ‘Y/N knows it, too, and she’s grateful, trust me. There was only one way to do it with her getting out alive,’ Winston frowned at the thought, watching the same kind of expression darken Jax’s features. ‘She now lives with the weight of two deaths on her shoulders, for God’s sake, cut her some slack.’

‘She didn’t pull that trigger on the A.T.F. when he came asking about his old lady, Ope,’ Jax rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands tiredly. He clearly did not want to have the same kind of conversation with Ope that he would have with himself in the darkness of the night. ‘I did’, he said, more to himself than to Winston, not even looking at his brother. ‘I killed him.’

Jax vocalized what he’d been telling himself ever since you left, forcing himself to believe that this – he – was the reason you two broke and could never be put together again.

‘Those two deaths are on me,’ he added, hoping his mind would be satisfied with the self-hatred audible in his confession. But it wasn’t. He knew the same thoughts would be back to haunt him in the night all over again.

‘This is on Mayans, Jax, all of it’, Opie tried to counter, watching Jax being submerged with the idea of who he thought he was. The idea that was, of course, complete and utter bullshit. ‘All you did was protecting your family. Protecting the club.’

‘Yeah, whatever’, Jax managed a small smile, almost free of bitterness. ‘It’s over, Ope. It’s done’.

Lowering his head, Jax searched for his cigarettes in his pockets, slapping his palms against the leather of his kutte. Finally finding what he’d been looking for, he took a Zippo lighter from Opie’s stretched hand and lit up the cancer stick.

Hollowing his cheeks, inhaling deeply, Jax raised his eyebrows at Ope, judging from his uneasy expression that he wanted to speak, but weren’t sure how to go about it.

‘You know it ain’t over, man’ Winston finally managed, his voice quiet and hoarse. ‘You still love her’.

The statement made Jax chuckle for some mysterious reason ; he threw his head back, slowly exhaling the smoke as it carressed his lips. Watching Ope with the same amused yet hard expression he learned to master, Jax spread his arms, as wide as they would go.

‘Yeah, well, I guess I’m shit out of luck then, ain’t I?’ a wicked smile grew on his mouth. ‘I’ll just have to find someone half as good as her, and that’s that. Consider myself lucky if I do.’

Opie huffed out a breath, looking away and down at the parking lot, shaking his head. Jax leaned against the roof barrier, taking another deep drag of his cigarette, dropping his gaze.

‘Or,’ Opie broke the silence all of the sudden. ‘You can just talk to her. Work this shit out’.

Jax gave his friend a sideways glance, a ghost of hope settling along the curves of his red lips.

‘She won’t see me, Ope,’ Jax’s words were contradicting his body language. He stood straighter, letting his chest open up as he leaned backfirst onto the barrier. ‘I’m dead to her’.

‘Guess she’s here to visit your grave then,’ Opie smirked, motioning towards the parking lot with a slight movement of his chin.

Jax’s immediate reaction was a deep, skin-creasing frown, his mind a surging perplexity. Opie could literally see the realization dawn on him, the walls he had spent all these years bulding high and deep crumbling at his feet. All it took was one look at you ; one look at that black car that brought you home.

Dread flashing in his blue eyes, excitement creeping up his spine, Jax didn’t even realize he’d been holding his breath for three minutes straight. His heart trying to escape the rattling cage that was his chest, Teller closed his eyes. Anticipation tingling through him like electric current, down to his Nike-cladded feet, he bit his bottom lip, regaining control over his body.

His blue sparkling eyes flashed in the darkness as Opie’s gentle, yet slightly mocking voice cut the tension like a knife :

‘If I were you,’ trying to keep the urge to smile at bay, Winston pursued his lips. ‘I’d hurry downstairs before Ima spots Y/N at the entrance…’

‘Shit !’ Jax hissed, already climbing down the stairs as fast as his feet would take him. In one adrenaline-fuelled jump he leapt towards the entrance door of the club, his brain on fast-forward and his heart skipping several beats at a time at the thought of seeing you…

#sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #soa imagine #jax teller #jax teller x reader #jax teller imagine #jax teller x you #charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam imagine #soa one shot #jax teller one shot #jax teller angst

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migleefulmoments · 5 years ago

Note

"Because accusing a gay man of hitting on all the straight men is homophobic. Because Abby insinuated that the video is problematic" Did the anons say Ryan has hit on all the straight men? This is getting weird. I am sorry to see you keep misrepresenting what the original anon said - who mentioned only a "crush". I don't remember anyone here accusing Ryan of hitting on Darren. The anons weren't talking about Abby either, you brought her up regardless. But she uses everything to tinhat.

I’m done talking about this- if you want to say more then come off anon and have a conversation. But they DID imply that Ryan was being predatory and inappropriate- I don’t remember what the first anon said but I have been responding to the tinhatters comments.

Abby: Yes Anon, That was my take as well.

This got long so it’s under a cut

followed immediately by:

justcantgetenoughcc

I have seen the recording of Ry/M touching Da/rren’s cheek before, and still find it creepy. It looks as if D turns his head to kiss R’s hand. What do you think?

Abby: I noticed that too. That Darren turned his head and blew him a kiss / or kissed his hand… to appease him, as he was interrupting the conversation with their guest of honor - Mayor Bloomberg. Possessive much? I found Harry Shum’s expression even more interesting as he notices what RM is doing.

There’s another picture that goes with this set… Where Heather is unceremoniously yanked out of the way, so that RM could stand next to Darren.

Look at Jane’s reaction to HOW RM is describing Chris here…

Chrisdare actually comes in with a reality check and pushes back against their nonsense. Notice that she points out that they need to watch the entire video to see the truth.

chrisdarebashfulsmiles No it’s not the right take and it’s easy too see if you see the entire clip: tightening the lips is not the same as kissing hands.

Now, i know i’m gonna sound rude but i’m mad and pissed off AF in D’s behalf (and as a person who try always to check before speaking) and it’s not something that happens a lot. I usually stay silent too but today this is too much for me. I don’t understand this need of spreading “lies” about him of on this kind of things. To prove that is ok to be mad at him for the bearding and thinking he’s always been disrespectful to C?? That maybe he did casting couch?

We have enough haters… he has more haters than we have… why there’s the need to invent stuff about him it’s beyond me. And now you all block me or whatever, i don’t care. I swear after 6 years here and all that this means… I DON’T CARE.

But for the love of God he has enough on his plate without this kind of stuff. Said that, i agree on RM being the creepiest and i hate him for how he treated C.

Abby comes back with a toned attitude and agrees with Chrisdare. She wasn’t reflagging this earlier in the week? No idea what that means but she can’t help but stir the shit.

ajw720

I was actively not reblogging this gifs earlier in the week because it’s a reminder I don’t think d needs.

But he’s literally pushing his hand away with his face. As @chrisdarebashfulsmiles said, d as enough on his plate. Can we not add to it with falsehoods?

No one is arguing about RM. but for some reason d has decided to dance with the devil he knows. It must be his best option. And c is still there and supporting him so he’s clearly ok with the choice. Let’s not add to the substantial weight on their shoulders.

Rouged has the most outrageous comments-as usual- and Abby reblogged them without pushing back and in fact said “some good points”. Since she didn’t call out those she felt were untrue-I must assume she was fully supportive of the suggestions of impropriety on behalf of Ryan. This isn’t the only time Abby has sullied Ryan’s name. Rouged is only upset that Darren’s name is dragged through the mud.

rougedraconteur

This has been around forever, and will never go away, will it? I had asked that this not be reposted, for what I thought were obvious reasons, but people just can’t help dragging him through the mud. So, let’s talk about this little piece of hell. This was when they were filming the competition in New York. D’s bit was supposed to be over, and he was only in that episode at the very end, which could have been filmed anywhere. BUT, he had broken so big that he, and the Warblers, were given an album release and were also in NYC and on Today show premiering it. D was privately discussing with the producers where his character Blaine would go next. Would he have his own show with the Warblers, a spinoff, or would he stay with Glee? It was a huge decision, and very high-pressure. C had already returned to Glee and New Directions, this was the big show. But, starring in his own show, and giving all the other Warblers a bigger career, that was also tempting. I am sure he felt the pressure of that decision, and how his choice impacted others, he had formed a bond with the Warbler actors. But being on the big show, a sure thing, and with C as his co-star, seeing him and working with him every day, well…

This was a “Welcome to NYC” photo op and news article by Mayor Bloomberg with some of the cast, and this was the moment D was shaking hands with Mayor Bloomberg, and speaking to him. I happen to think D has some political aspirations as well, so he may have mentioned something when he met Bloomberg. RM was probably high, he acts so erratically here, but he reaches out, with a camera and tons of photographers there, and pats him on the cheek, cups his cheek, actually, and pats it way too fondly, extremely inappropriate but what RM does a lot, and not just with D. (more about that later.). I don’t know why Br/ad Fal/chuk does not control him better, but they are both horrible people, as is Dan/te Di/Lor/eto, standing right behind RM, who no longer works with RM, Br/ad, and I/an. (Thank all the gods. That’s one creep out of the way, two to go.) D, in mid-speech with the mayor, and still shaking his hand, is shocked, and reaches up to angrily swat RM’s hand away. Remember that D did not know all the other guys that much, he had mostly hung out with C and the Warblers, who would probably have been more protective of him, (I am sure C would have tried), and more interactive, but this is the rest of the world, including Bloomberg, the NYC press, AND New Directions seeing this predatory behavior roll out up close and personal, for the first time, out in the open, and blatant. I mean, he just did not care what people thought at that point, he thought he was king of the world.

I don’t know why C and the rest of the girls besides Hea/ther were not here, but I know L and C had that big filming singing on the Wicked stage, and the scenes at Tiffany’s. D supposedly was present in the audience at that filming. Since he is not dressed in Warbler costume, for Today show, this may have been that day, I assume C and L filming in those outfits took most of one day. The entire Glee production team, including Warblers and THEIR album rollout, were all there for a week of filming, and, at the height of their fame, had all practically shut NYC down with their various filming locations. Fans were everywhere, and the city made a big deal of it.

Heather tries to stand in front of D, in the group photo, and is roughly jerked out of the way, (also caught on film, the guy must have been unable to stop rolling, it was just too bizarre), so that RM can cosy in to that tight space next to D and hold on. In virtually every photo made with the two of them in a group, D ALWAYS is made to be very near RM, UNLESS RM is sober, has just been called out for being a creep, or is otherwise trying to behave and scrub his image, in which case D is not attached to him at the hip, but these are rare indeed. Again, this was NYC, the height of Glee’s popularity, RM was drunk with power and fame, and probably also literally drunk, thinking he ruled the world and everyone in his domain, and D was making the second-most important decision of his life, behind the scenes. I don’t think many people ever consider the extreme pressure he was under, this was a career making moment, and RM and the other producers were all giving him the hard press. At 23 years old.

The first important decision, knowing how RM was, was going all in to be on Glee. And don’t tell me he didn’t know. Every person in Hollywood knows the predators, and the pluses and perils of working with them. If they are mature adults, and are not trapped or coerced or blackmailed or assaulted, (and they usually are, the power exchange is very imbalanced), what they do is their business, and I don’t judge. If they gain something, that is an exchange, that is their power, their erotic capital, and they are allowed to own that and exchange it as a strength, if they choose. The actors have assets, that propel their careers, and they are allowed to use them, as they see fit, if they give that consent in that moment, and get something they value in return. That is an exchange of power, and happens so frequently in Hollywood (and Washington, and corporate America, and The entertainment and fashion industries as a whole), that most in those industries don’t think twice about it.

So, Hollywood is one of those towns where lots of sex happens, because there are lots of beautiful people interacting with very rich and powerful people, and they all interact with each other. Get real, and get over that part. D is not a saint, nor does he have to be for me to be his fan, I am not blind or stupid or naive, I get it. They are not like us, okay? This is not our day to day lives.

The bad part is when people are faced with almost constant sexual and physical and emotional harassment because of it. And D is. From many power sources. The same as many beautiful women are, with all the talk about fleshlights and being rapey, which is the latest. It is all lewd and suggestive, we have all sexualized D and C, and need to accept that complicated history we all have with them. But especially it is true for D with RM, and Br/ad Fal/chuk, (and Da/nte Di/loreto, but I hope that one is over.) Theirs is oppressive, and manipulative, and controlling and threatening. And that is abuse.

And if anyone has the film from C’s first Single Ladies dance rehearsal, in costume, for the Glee tour, you would see more blatant RM abuse.

In fact,I would venture to say almost every member of that key cast was abused beyond their consent by the showrunner, other producers, writers, and directors. (Not all of them, but some of them, for sure.) It was only because that show made billions, with a B, for F/ox, and even War/ren Buf/fet visited that set (weird, he sat by Ch/ord), that Fox execs looked the other way. The fact that Da/na Wal/den, RM’s main enabler, is now at The Mouse House, just tells you how pervasive this culture truly is. It’s hard to fight everyone, when all your heroes have feet of clay. RM IS the devil he knows. And he has a contract. And he DID negotiate Executive Producer status. But I think it is ironic, and more than a little sad and sick, that RM also gave it to the two new prettyboys on set, who have earned NOTHING like the shit D went through, after we all mentioned that it gave D power and control that he had more than earned. Can’t let D get too big for his britches, and think he is getting somewhere without us now, can we, RM and BF? He OWES you. Apparently, forever.

And can we stop reblogging that series of images now? I think RM gets a sick satisfaction out of them even now, as all the shot starts yet again, tangling them together in intimate ways RM does not deserve, and I despise giving him anything. What was done, is done. What happened, happened. What is happening, has its reasons. It does not change that D is a huge talent, and deserving of his fans, nor that RM and BF are likely to bring him success. They are still creeps, and horribly so, ones that deserve to be brought down, in my opinion. i And apparently would rather deal with, at this point, since everyone is watching, due to all the issues in the past, than ones he doesn’t, which no one expects. The current movie is a perfect example. This career is exactly like walking through a field of land mines for a living. You never know when you are going to step on the next one.

ajw720. Will no reblog again, but some really good points.

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