#and apparently i have overcorrected | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

show-your-fangs · 2 years ago

Note

omg omg omg can I pls request hotch genuinely being the most clueless, dumb-and-in-love individual?

Basically the team has to point it out to him for him to see how soft he is for reader and how differently he treats them 💗😩 he’s in love, your honour 🤭

i love our stupid man in love, he's so cute i can't.

this is part two of this blurb from my moments au

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x f!Reader

Words: 1.7k

CW: nothing, just fluff.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

He didn’t ask you out that night. Neither Morgan or Rossi won the bet, the unfortunate draw making them only want to try harder to win over the other.

That had been a week ago, the pool only growing as more agents got in on it and it had somehow gotten out of hand really quickly. Penelope had been tasked with keeping track of the bets, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her mouth shut about it, especially when she was around you.

The team had left for a case earlier in the week which meant you were spending a lot of time with her. From helping with research, running point from the office, making calls and setting up permits, warrants, everything and anything they needed, you were practically tied at the hip as per usual when the team was away. The only problem? Penelope Garcia could not keep a secret to save her life, and the more time she spent with you, the more she almost slipped and told you what was going on.

You had closed the case earlier that night after five days of grueling work. You were exhausted, more so emotionally than physically, so you’d invited Penelope to dinner as way to celebrate the little victory. But what had started as a simple night out had quickly turned wild as the waiter had taken a liking to her and kept the cocktails coming throughout your entire meal. You were on dessert, a forgettable chocolate lava cake with ice cream when she finally slipped.

“I just think it’s so silly,” she giggled in between sips of her drink and scoops of dessert.

“What’s silly?” you egged her on, whatever this secret was had eluded you for the entire week and you just needed to know.

“How much Hotch likes you,” her cheeks flushed pink but her brain didn’t realize what’d she’d admitted to yet, allowing her to continue. “The team has a bet going on when he’s going to ask you out and everything.”

“Huh,” you mused. “That is silly.”

That’s when her brain snapped, dread and realization washing over her all at once. Her eyes widened, her spoon fell from her hand and onto the plate.

“Oh my gosh, do you not like Hotch back? I could’ve sworn— I am mortified! Forget I told you, please I am begging you—”

You reached over and placed your hand over hers, gently soothing her out of her panic as a mischievous smile curled on your lips.

“Can you get me on the board, Pen?”

Apparently they were all convinced it wasn’t happening for a while. They had decided to overcorrect their previous assumptions, placing bets that were days if not weeks in the future. Penelope had added you to the bet list that same night, promising to keep the secret until the next morning.

You knew the clock was ticking, knew that once you started the countdown, you had no business losing your courage. It was now or never, and the reminder that soon the rest of the team would be shuffling into the bullpen to start their day, that they’d know someone else had made a risky bet — it only got your adrenaline pumping even more.

You poured his coffee as you watched him enter the office, gaze on his phone, powerful and confident strides leading him towards his office. He turned and waved from the top of the stairs once he finally noticed you, a small smile on his lips. You smiled back, your cheeks reddening slightly as you finished getting your own coffee in order, the pale tan a contrast to his straight black.

You made your way to his office a minute after he’d settled, placing his cup on his desk and taking a seat across from him. This had been your routine for months now, you’d bring him his coffee in the morning and the two of you would fill each other in on your lives.

Aaron had been dealing with his divorce, the guilt of having to split Jack’s time between him and his mom, the added stress of finding a new place and moving, of finding himself alone when he’d been used to always having someone to come home to after a tough case. And you? You had just started going to therapy after he’d encouraged you to. It had been a rocky adjustment to the job, and you were glad that you could confide in him as your boss but also as your friend.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, pulling out the case files he’d taken back home the night before.

You shot him a look, the look, and he couldn’t help but sigh deeply. You weren’t angry, you were simply disappointed, and he knew that. It had been hard, harder now that he had to force himself back out there if he wanted to actually have a life. But even after months of this new normal, the idea of dating made him even more exhausted than he’d like to admit.

Because while Morgan or Emily thrived meeting new people, Aaron had met Haley in high school. He’d been with one woman his entire life, one woman for more than twenty years. He was rusty to say the least, the insecurity of it only growing the more he refused to take the leap, the more he refused to feel his feelings, the more he fell in love with you.

“Haley had Jack last night—” he started but you were quick to interrupt him.

“That’s a terrible excuse,” you chided. “There’s a million things you could’ve done instead.”

“Oh yeah?” the mischief was back in his eyes, making you gulp visibly. “What did you do last night?”

Your mouth opened in mock annoyance, he couldn’t possibly know—

“For your information, sir,” you mocked. “I went out with Penelope last night.”

Whatever glimmer of hope Aaron had cultivated to tease you about taking work back home was extinguished in a second. He sat back in his chair, inaudibly admitting defeat.

“Maybe that’s what you need too,” you started, your heart racing once more. His eyebrows shot up and you could tell his blood had also gotten to his head. “Ask someone out, go on a date, get laid.”

That caught him off guard completely. If he had been sipping on his coffee he would’ve choked, made an even bigger fool of himself. But instead his cheeks just reddened, his ears quickly following suit, a detail he knew you knew about him as you’d pointed it out many times in the past.

But you didn’t today, you didn’t say anything about his reaction but he was too hot to notice it right away.

“It’s what I have to do too, honestly,” you shrugged, faux confidence somehow allowing you to not combust right then and there.

“Do you now?” he managed through gritted teeth, the idea of you dating something that he made sure never to think about because it always led him down a dark path of rage and an ungodly desire to ravage you to the point where you belonged to him and no one else.

“Yeah,” you drawled on, almost sighing dramatically. That’s when he caught on, when his brain finally reconnected to his body and his heart only sped up even more. “But I don’t know…I’m not really into any of the guys Penelope or Emily have tried to set me up with, they’re not really my type.”

God, this was not actually happening. “What is your type?”

“Crime fighting single dads who adore their kids and participate in triathlons for fun,” there was no misinterpreting it now.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” the words flew out of his mouth before either of you could register them.

A bright smile took over your lips, your eyes sparkling with happiness. A shy smile slowly started to turn adorably embarrassed on his, his gaze tentatively raising to meet yours, eyebrows raised almost pleading, his eyes round and hopeful.

“I would love to,” you said and he graced you with the most beautiful full smile you’d ever seen from him. It was unrestricted, genuine, life giving.

“Great,” he cleared his throat as the clock struck eight, the reality of the world outside of your little office bubble a reminder of where you were. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“Can’t wait,” you reassured him, standing up with your own untouched coffee mug and making your way downstairs. “Oh, and it’s my treat. Trust me.”

You were gone before he could argue, but you knew that he couldn’t stop smiling, the warmth radiating from him was enough for you know it deep in your bones.

“Babygirl,” Morgan asked aloud, holding up the list of bets that Penelope had left on his desk earlier as the blonde returned to the bullpen from her office. “What’s this?”

He tapped on the bet you’d written down, the other agents gathering to inspect the new addition.

“Proof of my victory, Derek,” you said cockily as Penelope handed you the envelope full of cash.

The entire team turned to you, eyes wide and anger slowly boiling. But none of them let it out, instead they all looked impressed, they respected the move, the hustle, the boldness. Morgan scoffed in proud defeat as he held out his fist for you to bump, and you did, excitedly.

It had finally happened, the start of something that had been brewing for months, and you couldn’t be happier. While the girls walked up to you to get all the details you shot Aaron a cheeky glance as Penelope filled Emily and JJ in on your conversation the night before, and for the first time ever, Aaron allowed himself to meet your glance, unashamed to be caught staring at you.

i've been smiling like an idiot all day

taglist: @ssamorganhotchner, @canuck-eh, @cr1minalskies, @xladyxdreamer, @mrs-ssa-hotch

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch x you #hotch x reader #show your fangs writes #moments on ao3 #show your fangs hotch blurbs #show your fangs moments au

956 notes · View notes

aroaceleovaldez · 6 months ago

Note

what's your opinion on the trials of apollo series? (if you already have a post like this, you could link it below, i just haven't seen it if so)

I think it has an interesting concept and introduces some interesting worldbuilding, plus some nice new characters, but overall it's not executed well and is an unnecessary third series. A lot of TOA kind of ends up breaking the theses of the first series by creating a premise that basically every character involved needs to be retconned to be able to fit within. It also focuses way too heavily on unnecessary cameos and retcons/overcorrecting previous mistakes. Not to mention how much new stuff it introduces that is... not great. Altogether it's kind of a mess. But I can see promise in some of the core concepts.

My two main sort of main "takes" on how I think TOA could be improved is either: a.) remove Calypso from HoO and instead have her be re-introduced in TOA as a tritagonist in a trio with Apollo and Meg, with the focal point of the trio's dynamic being the intersection of their experiences and how they relate to one another - with a lot of emphasis on Calypso being a mirror to Apollo in both being stripped of their immortality and thrown into the mortal world and having been unfairly punished. Then have Calypso join the Hunt in approximately TTT (essentially her way of taking control of her own life again and regaining her immortality) so the finale is Meg and Apollo on their own and Calypso's absence is naturally felt because we're used to trio dynamics in the franchise. It'd be a great way to break the convention of the series while also playing with this feeling of loss but also hope leading up to the final fight in a meaningful way without having to lean so heavily on unnecessary (and poorly executed) character death. Calypso is gone because she got her happy ending, and now it's Meg and Apollo's turn.

or b.) - and this is apparently controversial - instead of having the protagonist be Apollo, have it be Ares. Otherwise the overarching plot is the same. This way you can keep the plot structure but not have to entirely retcon Apollo's character to fit the story concept. It also finally ties up that loose thread about Ares never seeing repercussions for his actions and allowing him to have a positive character arc that way more naturally touches upon events from the previous series. As a bonus it also allows for bringing PJO!Ares closer to how he's mythologically portrayed and examining some of his mythological themes and what exactly he's the god of. Mars is an agricultural god! Having his deuteragonist being a daughter of Demeter would be really fun to highlight that! Mythologically he's usually portrayed as a really good father! Let's allow him to have some character development where he stops being such a jerk!

One of my core problems with TOA is Apollo's character is retconned entirely for TOA to even begin, he doesn't have any actual true flaws that he needs to work on throughout his character arc, and by the end he's literally just back where he started with his characterization in PJatO. It's a total net-zero. Why? Having Ares be the protagonist instead would be a great opportunity to take his currently very stagnant character from PJatO (and the very little he shows up in HoO) and have him change dramatically for the better. Doing so would also fit way more with the themes of the first series.

#pjo #riordanverse #toa #trials of apollo #toa crit #< i suppose #Anonymous #ask

77 notes · View notes

suzukiblu · 5 months ago

Text

WIP excerpt behind the cut; “Cassie has a sexuality crisis, Kon has a gender one, and Circe makes everything worse”. tw: internalized homophobia, unintentional misgendering of a closeted character. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

This mission sucks in a lot of ways, the least of which is trying not to make eye contact with Tim during any of it, which the whole “being stuck in a small room with someone wearing a mask with opaque white lenses” thing makes way, way harder than it has to be, in Cassie’s opinion.

“You do realize that blatantly projecting anxiety in every single conversation and constantly overcorrecting your behavior to try not to hurt Superboy’s feelings will upset him worse, right?” Tim says, which is another way this mission sucks.

Stupid Bat-psych profiles.

“This seems like a conversation to have while we’re not breaking and entering for justice,” Cassie says to the door she’s watching for intruders, her arms folded and eyes locked on the doorframe. She wasn’t even weird this time, dammit. Like–not loudly weird, anyway.

“Well, I tried to get you alone for it four times already and you dodged all four attempts with noticeably not-thin excuses, which means you’ve definitely been planning ahead to do said dodging, as opposed to actually just being busy,” Tim says.

Dammit, Cassie thinks, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment.

“You are literally his best friend,” she says as evenly as she can, digging her fingers just a little tiny maybe-kinda-bruising bit into her arms.

“I’m your friend too,” Tim says.

Stupid Bats.

“When I went to Themyscira last month I met a girl that reminded me of Superboy without realizing that she reminded me of him until after I’d already screwed her,” she snaps flatly. “And yes, specifically all the things about her that reminded me of him were the things about her that I was attracted to, except because she had a huge rack and a big fat launched-ten-thousand-ships ass that her barely-tied peplos barely covered, well, this time those things actually turned me on. So also-yes, I am the worst and I am going to keep feeling like shit about this, thanks for asking.”

“I didn’t even know I liked guys until I ran into you-know-who again,” Tim says. “Genuinely did not realize it was a thing, despite definitely having had a weird obsession with what, in retrospect, is a truly embarrassing amount of dudes for a straight guy to be weirdly obsessed with.”

“Is this about Nightwing’s V-neck era?” Cassie assumes.

“I mean I think I actually was crushing on him when I was, like, a literal toddler, which was much earlier than that, and also I was probably a little bit too interested in literally everything Robin 2.0 ever did in his career ever,” Tim says. “And, like, the time Red Hood beat my face in while wearing Robin’s colors was an interesting experience that I learned absolutely nothing about myself from.”

“Um,” Cassie says.

“Also I wasn’t trying to clone Spoiler in the basement,” Tim adds, half-tilting his head.

Cassie . . . blinks.

“What?” she says. Tim’s currently occupied with whatever he’s doing to the terminal, apparently, so just shrugs without looking up at her.

“Ninety-nine times really does not seem like a platonic amount of times to try to bring someone back to life, I think,” he says. “Like, platonic cloning probably only covers about the first fifty attempts, max.”

“Robin, I would believe your insane abandonment issues would try to clone literally anyone you were even passingly fond of ninety-nine times minimum,” Cassie says blankly, trying to . . . process that, kind of. Is that–like, that was not a subtle thing, what Tim just said.

“I mean, I thought about it a few times,” Tim replies with another shrug. “But I only did it the once.”

“. . . ‘the once’ times ninety-nine, you mean,” Cassie says, and Tim smiles wryly and finally spares her another glance.

“That, yeah,” he says. “And I built an entire illegal cloning lab, memorized literally every single detail of the night I met the original Robin before the violent trauma happened, stole a codename and costume from the subsequent Robin not once but twice, and still genuinely just assumed I was straight ‘til a dude who I knew for less than six months in high school showed up out of nowhere and actually, you know, directly asked me about it.”

“World’s second-greatest detective, huh,” Cassie says, then has to repress a grimace, because–well, that’s the joke Kon always makes, obviously.

“I mean you don’t have to have your whole identity figured out from day one,” Tim says. “Superboy definitely understands that, if anyone does. All of us do. Impulse tried to make himself be Kid Flash and hated it, I assumed things about myself instead of actually thinking about myself, Secret was afraid enough of herself to end up becoming a supervillain over it, and Superboy’s been having an identity crisis since the day his cloning tube got cracked. Also, literally Arrowette’s entire life experience. Just . . . literally everything that’s ever happened to Arrowette. Ever.”

“You didn’t mention Empress,” Cassie says a little lamely, trying not to grimace at herself, because–that’s all true, yeah. She knows it’s all true. Just . . . just it never felt . . .

“I think Empress might’ve actually sprung into existence fully-formed just to embarrass the rest of us over the course of our respective self-discovery journeys, but all my supporting evidence is technically conjecture,” Tim says, which may or may not be a joke. Who knows, with Tim. “But the point still stands. Superboy’s not mad at you for not knowing something about yourself. None of us are, but especially not him.”

“I knew,” Cassie says tightly, digging her fingers into her arms a little harder and staring at the wall. “Part of me, anyway. I just thought . . . he’s the perfect guy. I thought if the perfect guy liked me . . . I thought that’d–fix it. I thought that’d be . . . enough. Like–he was already the celebrity crush I lied to all the girls at school about having, just because I thought he was–you know, cool and everything, and so–and then when I actually got a chance to meet him, and then we all wound up teaming up . . . I just thought . . .”

She’d thought a lot of stupid things, but the stupidest ones had probably been about Kon.

Those were the things that’d actually gotten somebody else hurt, so . . . yeah. Definitely the stupidest things.

#cassiekon #koncassie #cassie sandsmark #tim drake #wonder girl #dc robin #young just us #young justice #wip: circe makes everything worse #internalized homophobia #unintentional misgendering

55 notes · View notes

this-is-a-name-dont-worry · 9 days ago

Text

pride episode where there's a pride parade in Danville and the boys decide to participate with their friends but Buford is confused about what any of the flags and labels mean. So after he asks the other what the trans flag is and they explain, he's like "I don't get it, everyone wants to be a girl",

"I don't. What about you, Ferb?"

"I don't really think about it much."

"Yeah I don't either."

"And I really don't want to be a boy."

"Wait so none of you guys want to be a girl sometimes?"

"No."

"Already am!"

The A plot is the gang making fun Pride stuff with Buford's gender identity crisis going on in the background (he likes being a girl, but he ALSO likes being a boy!! sometimes it feels better to be one and sometimes it feels better to be the other!! he doesn't get it, he has to try everything in the most stereotypical way and make a tally to see which one he prefers!)

Meanwhile, Perry arrives at Doofenschmirtz Evil Inc., but Doof tells him there's no evil plan this time, because Vanessa amd his ex wife told him about this Pride Month thing and apparently today is Danville's Pride Parade and Vanessa said she's going with some friends. And because he's trying to be more involved in her hobbies, he asked if he could participate, and Vanessa told him that sure, they could meet up at some points and do a part of it together. So he decided to build a chariot because he knows that in every Danville's parade there are chariots, but the issue is that he has no idea what a Pride Parade is, and doesn't even understand what Pride Month is, so he had to improvise. At first he wanted to make a sculpture of everything he was proud of but it looked like shit, so instead he decided to focus on one thing and did two birds one stone; he'll make his chariot about Vanessa, because he's proud of her, and she can be proud of herself too!

Perry knows exactly what Pride is and that Doof is misunderstanding the whole thing, but he gladly accepts to help. Then Vanessa arrives and gets upset when she sees the final product that's all about her.

She's not going to the Parade for herself, but for her friends, and the chariot is like. Going to a friend's birthday party, but then the cake and decorations are shaped like your face. Perry tries to comfort her, and Doof feels bad.

For Candace's plot, she is stressing out because she volunteered to give water and food to the attendees when they pass by, thinking that it's ok because she'd get to hang out with her friends or Jeremy, but it turns out they all participate at the Parade, and not even Jeremy invited her, so she starts wondering if she was a bad friend or did something wrong that made them not want her to accompany them. And also not want them to answer her calls. She starts overcorrecting herself about everything, worried she'd look like a bad ally, and it becomes ridiculous.

At the end the chariot has been slightly remade to be about Vanessa and her friends (that or about doof, perry, vanessa, and norm, becoming really Heinz's chariot, im not sure), and Candace gets comforted by everyone that it was ok, it's just that they knew she already had something else going on and had planned to stop when they reached her. They couldn't hear their phones in the crowd, and they're sorry for not thinking about telling her.

For the A plot?

"So Buford, how is your identity crisis going?"

"Meh, I've decided to not think about it for now. I'm like, 11, I've got plenty of time to figure it out later."

"Well when you do, we'll be happy to help!"

"Thanks guys."

and then idk we have a joke that confirms a sexuality or gender that takes people by surprise to finish it all off

#tiny other stuff: Charlene and Vanessa told Heinz about the whole Pride thing because they know he's bi #Vanessa thought he knew what Pride was and that he wanted to go to the Parade with her as an attempt to open up about his sexuality #so she just wanted to support him when she accepted #Also Jeremy didn't invite Candace immediately because he's straight and was invited himself so he wasn't sure if he could #there's a moment at the start where the kids try to explain all the flags and labels there are to Buford and he's just. completely lost.#they realize maybe you need to start small #there must be at least three songs and it should be in two parts #im really not sure what the final chariot should be as you can tell #linda and lawrence are working inside the house to make food to give out and lawrence sometimes leave to buy groceries #anyway hire me disney /j #phineas and ferb #pnf #not tagging everyone

46 notes · View notes

tanadrin · 11 months ago

Note

It sounds like you likely side against the protesters in New Caledonia who were apparently protesting about France giving people who moved there recently the right to vote in local elections. (i.e. the native minority doesn't want the colonizers to have the right to vote)

I probably would! If you live somewhere, and pay taxes there, and use the public services and utilities there, you should have full political rights. That policy seems like an overcorrection for historical injustice--e.g., the French not granting Muslims voting rights in North Africa.

And there are other awkward questions you could pose for my open-borders-and-free-citizenship stance--like the fact that the overthrow of the Hawaiian monarchy was driven in part by immigrants of American background who felt excluded from representation (but who in turn wanted to exclude Asian immigrants from representation), or how small countries that suddenly find themselves in an advantageous economic position often find their demographics rapidly changing (Qatar, Hawaii in the early 20th century).

But the alternative--the whole hog of blood-and-soil nationalism, with a bit of anti-colonial lipstick--seems pretty bad to me. People move around. Places change. Cultures change. We can and should do everything in our power to ensure those changes and that movement is the result of, like, free individual choice, and not war or violent seizure of land or systems of brutal economic exploitation. And sometimes despite those changes, the things people love about their traditional cultures can persist--especially now, in a world that pays much more attention to the rights of (for example) minority language speakers than it used to.

But the desire for the world to remain culturally, linguistically, and economically static is basically reactionary. I mean really, it's the aesthetic heart of reaction. It's also an absurdity. Even perfectly isolated societies can change in dramatic ways. And, of course, very often "tradition" is a cudgel simply wielded in the service of entrenching a different kind of elite power: I am no more supportive of the Hawaiian monarchy, one born of bloody conquest by an imperialistic dynasty, than I am of the British; the British one just happened to be more historically successful, but the underlying principles are the same. Cf. also the way land tenure works in American Samoa, a system that is billed as keeping land in native hands--which it does, by institutionalizing the colonial system of blood quantum and being explicitly racist, and simply serving to prop up a different set of elites (in this case, traditional tribal elites rather than colonial ones).

I think the only way you can really escape the trap of reaction and nationalism is to refuse to play the game in the first place--to put the primacy of your bond to your fellow human beings, regardless of culture or race or origin, and thus inherent political equality (and solidarity) above other considerations. Tribalism, pillarization, byzantine ethnicity-based power-sharing arrangements, special rules for land tenure or voting rights--all these have a nasty way of turning into new forms of exploitation, of someone figuring out how to do the economic and political arbitrage at someone else's expense. The central insight of 1789 was correct here: the only solution is the universal equality of all human beings. The trick is to carry that insight through to its logical conclusion.

#which naturally is fully automated luxury gay space democratic socialism

78 notes · View notes

awkward-tension-art · 1 year ago

Text

Darkness on Umbara Chp.10 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 9. Chapter 11.

Mayhem and Chaos

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, swearing, death and battle, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, Pong Krell is an asshole, reader insert, names of non-canon dead clones, Mentions of breakdowns, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

Minors DNI

As predicted, Fives and Hardcase were causing trouble. Were you going to stop it? No. Would you get involved? No.

Would you standby and watch? Absolutely.

At some point Kix had also joined in, aiding the troopers in their toying with the starships.

You sat back, hoping you didn’t have to use life saving measures on any of these lovable idiots.

“All right…” Fives typed away at a console next to the ship Hardcase had chosen. After some tinkering, the ARC trooper looked back up, “Okay, there. Should be a little easier.”

Hardcase rolled his wrists, adjusting to the controls. After a few moments to prepare, the Umbaran fighter lifted into the air, hovering unsteadily. You weren’t entirely sure what they had changed from the first time, but you really really hoped nothing was going to explode.

After a couple of moments however, the ship jerked forward and the trooper inside overcorrected backward. One of the wings slammed into a stack of crates, sending them flying into the far side wall. Fives ducked, narrowly avoiding getting struck by the ship as well.

“Hardcase! What are you doing!?” He shouted up.

“If I knew I wouldn’t be doing it!” Hardcase snapped back, clipping another umbaran fighter and dislodging from its holdings.

You grabbed Kix and dove out of the way, barely dodging the thing as it hit the ground and knocked over shelves of metal boxes. The ship was out of control, spinning in the air and nearly hitting two other troopers.

“Look out!”

“Move!”

Fives gripped the console and shook his head, “Great. This can't get much worse!”

As if on command, an intercom from a different dashboard buzzed before Krells voice boomed out, “Trooper, what's going on down there?”

The ARC trooper shoved the soldier out of the way, “Er... Yes, sir. Everything's fine in the hangar, sir.” He answered sounding as unconvincing as possible,

Hardcase slammed into two other starships, sending them to the ground with loud clangs. You flinched, knowing this was going to be hard to explain.

“Then why have the alarms been triggered?!” The Jedi snapped over the console.

Fives stuttered before barely coming up with a response, “It's just a drill, a safety drill, sir!”

You and Kix managed to get behind a knocked down pile of crates. Both of you watched helplessly as Hardcase spun out of control, ramming into the wall and bouncing off of it.

“Safety check occurs at 0600. Who authorized this drill?!”

The ARC trooper choked on his words before coming up with another excuse, “Uh...We are decrypting the alien hardware, sir. Standard operating procedure!” He finally found an answer to tell the General.

Clones can not lie for shit! You threw a dumbfounded look at Kix before running to another spot for safety.

Hardcase hit an already downed ship, sending it bouncing in one direction before screeching to a halt. Apparently things could get worse because the damn starship began to rapidly fire green bolts everywhere.

“Shit!” You ducked down behind an open metal crate, next to Jesse “Hardcase, can you land the fucking thing!?”

“Let me try!” He called down to you. After a twist of his wrist, one of the large cannons attached jerked slightly and charged up a bright bolt, “No, no, no, no, no!” Hardcase desperately tried to undo…whatever he triggered, but was too late.

The bolt launched, hitting directly into the hangar doors, causing a burst of light and the metal to melt into ash.

“They’re dead. Krell is going to kill them.” Kix mumbled, sitting next to you, and Jesse, who was laughing too hard to speak.

You had your face in your hands when Hardcase managed to land the Umbaran fighter, “Got it. I got it. It's easy. Just level your hands.” He had a proud smirk when the ship was fully on the ground and the cockpit opened.

Five dashed forward, exasperated at what happened, “What, are you crazy? You could've gotten us killed! Not to mention ruining our hopes of flying this mission!”

“It's a malfunction, no harm done.” The other trooper tried to calm his friend. Before he could say anything else, another voice cut through the air.

“Explain this,” Krell demanded as he stomped towards the clones, “Now.” He was followed by captain Rex who looked more concerned and confused than mad.

Fuck! Clones really can’t lie for shit! You shot up, instantly speaking, “It was a trap, sir!” You could hear Jesse repress his snickering as you continued, turning the Jedi’s ire to you, “They were decrypting the enemy craft when what appears to be some sort of preventative failsafe went off.”

Rex’s eyes widened at you, but he remained silent, praying the Jedi wouldn’t see right through you.

“A trap!?” The General leaned forward at you, glaring.

“Yes sir,” Hardcase spoke up, covering for your lie, “The fighter went haywire and had I not been able to get control of it, and aim the missile at the doors, something worse might've happened.” He was standing at attention as the besalisk stared him down.

You kicked Jesse who hadn’t managed to stop his laughing. Rex, on the other hand, looked damn near stupefied. Kix had his face in his hands and you swear you could hear him praying.

Krell put his arms behind his back, a critical gaze on the troopers in front of him, “Is this true?” His question was directed at Fives who flinched at the sudden attention.

After a second to stutter he nodded, “Yes, sir. That is what happened, no doubt.”

The jedi General huffed, “Well, Captain Rex, looks like I was correct. The Umbaran fighters are dangerous and not fit for flight,” He turned and began to walk out of the half-destroyed hangar, “Lock down these fighters. I don’t want anything else exploding.”

Rex shook his head and cast a look at Fives and Hardcase before turning to follow the general.

You sank to the floor, putting your face in your hands. Jesse managed to calm down enough to get up and give a friendly clap to the two soldiers, “I thought the plan was to destroy the enemy ship with the fighters, not blow up our own hangar.” He had a grin as he put a hand on his hip.

You were about to say something when your comm beeped, “Doctor, you're needed in the medical bay. A patrol’s been injured.” Without waiting another beat, you dashed out of the hangar, Kix close behind you.

The two of you had arrived to a broken patrol of 5 men.

The most healthy was Cloud, holding a broken arm. But he was standing, and not your concern at the moment.

Blue had a hand over his charred shoulder. His helmet was off and he was breathing, awake and aware of his surroundings, However, next to him was a trooper laying on the floor. You could see the blood seep from under the helmet and pool onto the sterile white tiles.

Forty. His name is Forty. You remembered, spotting the ‘40’ he had written on his helmet.

Bind was on the floor, normally white plastiod stained a deep red. His helmet was off, jaw barely hanging on to his skull by shredded muscle and ripped tendons. It looked like he took a blaster bolt directly through the mouth, melting his tanned skin.

In his shaky arms was Thrall, heavy amounts of blood streaming from his stomach and chest. It looked like he had been ripped open by a beast and then thrown around. He was unmoving, and you weren’t even sure if he was even breathing.

“Kix, take Forty!” You commanded, immediately leaping into your training. Within minutes you had Thrall on one of the medical beds and hooked up to life support machinery.

Visually, you assessed the damage. To be safe, you used your new umbaran scanner to confirm.

Broken ribs. Ruptured diaphragm. Collapsed right lung.

Your medical mind put the pieces together. You prioritized.

Stabilize the lung, restore oxygen. Then, control the bleeding. Repair the diaphragm. Stabilize ribs.

So you got to work. Your hands were fast and efficient, setting the chest tube correctly to inflate the lung. From there, you focused on the sources of bleeding. However, your repairs weren’t quick enough.

Thrall’s heart rate took a nosedive. You fought against his death as long as you could, using a cardiac massage and other life restoring methods to keep him alive. As hard as you struggled and tried to save him, his body gave out.

Thrall succumbed to his wounds, and the list of the dead forced its way into your head.

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Hinge. Trident. Iron. Mesh. Steele. Bruno. Zeke. Jumper. Aura. Dia. Silk. Thrall.

“I’m sorry, He’s gone.” You informed the others before getting to Bind’s side. Kix was still working on Forty, and you couldn’t see exactly what the medic was dealing with.

Bind was breathing heavily, clearly in agony over the damage that was done to him. He was trembling, terrified and now grief stricken from losing Thrall.

“Bind, don’t worry, I got you.” Your voice took a soft tone as you injected him with the strongest painkiller available to you, “What happened to you five?”

“Krell sent us to a backroad West of here,” Blue responded shakily, “Said it could be used as a supply route, but…”

“He didn’t tell us traps were set over there.” Cloud finished his comrades sentence, “When we commed him for a scanner to sweep the area he said there wasn’t time. We needed to secure the road.”

“Krell…” You growled.

Bind flinched, jumping slightly when your finger brushed over an exposed nerve.

Immediately you felt sympathy. As someone who, just a rotation ago, had your own nerves exposed to open air, you knew his pain, “I’m sorry Bind.” you murmured softly, “I know it hurts…”

He stared at you, brown eyes filled with unshed tears.

Soldier bravado…of course…

“Blue,” you called to the trooper, “Come here, and let him squeeze your hand. He’s in a lot of pain.” You hid the true intentions of your request.

Hold his hand so he doesn’t feel alone.

Blue did as asked, clasping his trembling brother's hand.

Kix slammed his hands down on the surgical table. He swore, sweeping the medical supplies onto the tile floor where they clattered, “He’s gone.” His voice was trembling from emotion.

Forty.

Cloud slid onto the floor and ripped off his helmet before throwing it. It bounced a couple of times on the ground, “I fucking hate Krell!” He snapped. You didn’t comment when you saw the tears on his cheeks, “He’s purposely trying to get all of us killed!”

Kix sat down next to you, aiding in Bind’s jaw. This time, Blue spoke up, “How many men have we lost?”

“Too many.” Your answer didn’t seem to make him happy, so with a sigh you told the truth, “Assuming any MIA are casualties…almost a third.” You’ve seen the numbers. You’ve seen the names. The list you replayed in your head were only those who died under your hands that you blamed on Krell. There were many more. Those you couldn’t get to. Those who perished in the field that would remain as they decomposed. Those Kix lost.

There were too many that have died on Umbaran soil.

With Anakin and Ahoska, these numbers would never get so high. When they would lead, Kix and you were enough to handle the 501st with the Venator on standby to take the more seriously injured off the field.

But with Krell? It was clear that two medics wasn’t nearly enough.

If you had known this was going to happen, you would have contacted those you knew in other legions for support. You were sure General Plo would have gladly given his medics in the 104th to support the 501st.

Fuck, if General Plo was leading the 501st, you were sure Kix and you wouldn’t even have injured to help.

“One third.” Cloud whispered, “one third of our brothers…”

You stabilized Bind’s jaw and let Kix finish up. Wordlessly you went to the emotional trooper's side to begin to help his broken arm. Before you did so, you reached up and wiped his tears from his cheeks, “I’m sorry,” you whispered, “When we get out of this, and we will get out of this, I’m going to reach out to some contacts to punish Krell for all of this.”

“Will that even work?” Blue asked from where he was, now being tended to by the clone medic.

With a sigh you gave an honest answer, “I’m not sure,” you admitted, “But I know some senators. Even helped a few, so I’m sure they’d be willing to at least listen to me.”

“Just give up, Doc.” Cloud sniffled, looking away from you, “No one cares about us. We’re clones. We’re meant to be thrown onto the battlefield and then thrown away like trash.”

“Not if I can help it.” You responded, “I’ll become a senator just to stop that from happening if I have to.”

Blue snorted, “I’m gonna tell you, Doc. it's talk like this that has Captain Rex in love with you.”

Oh, shit did they know? Play dumb. Kix glanced up at you before looking back down at Blue’s shoulder.

Your words were steady and calm as you spoke, “He’s not in love with me, we’re just good friends.”

“You might see that,” Blue continued before wincing at something Kix had done, “But every time you turn your back, the Captain gets this lovestruck look in his eyes. He looks like a puppy, I swear to the Maker.”

Bind nodded in confirmation.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. Oh if only they knew the truth.

Then an idea came into your head.

“What else does he do?” You asked playfully, taking full advantage of this.

“Well, that last planet, on Sataran.” the trooper continued, “there were three women and two men that tried to get with him. And not only did he turn them all down, he was looking for you directly afterward.”

You remembered that. Poor Rex had been so flustered to have been flirted with so aggressively.

“He’s in love with you, doctor.” Cloud chimed in quietly, “You make him happy.”

These guys needed a distraction from their grief. That much was clear. It's why Blue was so quick to start gossiping about their captain. All you could do was smile softly.

“All set,” you stood once Cloud’s arm was stable, “Bind, I want you to stay here, take the bed on the far left. Blue, Cloud, you two can go to the barracks to rest.” They all gave you a salute before following your command.

Once Bind was under the effects of painkillers and sedatives, you took a deep breath, “How long was that?”

“Couple hours at least,” Kix murmured, sitting down on a stool next to one of the medical consoles, after a few moments he sighed, “So one third of the 501st is dead?”

You confirmed with a nod.

“Maker, we suck at our jobs.” He mumbled, rubbing his face in his hands.

With a bitter snort, you began to evaluate the other soldiers. You use the scanner you cracked earlier. Their wounds differed of course. Severe burns, broken bones, head injuries, but the anomaly in their brains was consistent.

Perhaps it’s just a clone thing…

As you were working, the doors opened again. Dogma and Tup walked into the med bay. The longer haired trooper looked tired, as if he had been woken up against his will and dragged here by the former.

“Are you two alright?” You spoke first, thinking perhaps they needed something for their sleep. It wasn't unheard of for troopers to need medicine in order to get a proper amount of rest.

“Well, doctor,” Tup cleared his throat, “We-”

“Where did Hardcase, Jesse, and Fives go?” Dogma demanded.

Oh boy…

“If you two are just here to waste our fucking time, you may as well leave.” Kix snapped, standing to face them.

Dogma, however, didn't seem entirely phased by the medic, “If you know where they are, you need to tell the General. Otherwise it's insubordination.”

Poor Tup looked like he didn’t want to be here. You noticed the trooper looked extremely uncomfortable and unsure.

Your anger spiked, “Fine,” You approached the demanding trooper and grabbed his wrist, “Let me show you what we’ve been doing.” Your steps lead you to the surgical table that Thrall was laying on under a sheet. Still holding his wrist, you threw back the white cover, revealing the dead trooper.

“That!” You snapped, glaring at Dogma as he yanked his wrist back, eyes wide. “We don't know where those three are because we have been trying to fix that!”

Your emotions surged. Your vision blurred with tears.

Fuck. Calm down. Keep yourself together!

“Your ass kissing of an incompetent General hasn’t done anything to help us.” you seethed, “So get the fuck out of my sight and don’t bother me unless your fucking dying!”

He scrambled out of the medical bay, most likely to find Rex. Tup stopped in front of the door before looking back, “I think you're doing the best you guys can.” He sounded genuinely sorry for the situation, “Thank you for working so hard, and…I’m sorry.” He left quickly after Dogma, maybe hoping to talk him down.

Kix sighed and shook his head, “You ok?” He asked quietly.

No. I’m not. You thought before lying to your medic friend.

“Yea, just…yea. I’m fine.”

#reader insert #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #star wars tcw #star wars x reader #the clone wars x reader #tcw x reader #captain rex x you #captain rex #clone trooper hardcase #arc trooper fives #clone trooper jesse #clone trooper kix #clone trooper dogma #clone trooper tup #pong krell #umbara arc

85 notes · View notes

marlynnofmany · 2 years ago

Text

Shore Leave

I didn’t think I was homesick until I caught the unexpected sound of a toddler’s wild laughter from the spaceship bridge. Out in the hall, I whipped around to stick my head through the door with some very unprofessional curiosity. That hadn’t been an alien noise.

Up on screen was our new client who the captain was negotiating with, and also the client’s young daughter. She’d apparently come into Daddy’s room to show the nice aliens on the video call her favorite noisemaker.

“Okay honey, they think it’s great. Go on back to—” the patient father was interrupted by an electronic fart sound on high volume, and even louder peals of laughter from his child. “I’m sorry,” he said to the captain as he scooped up the wiggly youngster and carried her out of frame.

Captain Sunlight waited patiently, every inch the dignified yellow lizard alien who wasn’t about to let someone’s gleeful offspring ruffle her calm.

The human came back, minus the child but with a new food smear on the shoulder of his crisp uniform shirt. Nobody told him. The conversation resumed with nary a giggle, and with me waiting in the hall.

“…By that timeframe or sooner,” Captain Sunlight concluded. “We can’t have your colony going without the comforts of home for long! Farewell.” She held her position as Wio flicked a button with one blue-ringed tentacle, and the screen clicked off.

“I volunteer,” I said.

A lesser captain might have twitched, but she probably knew I was there. “That saves me the trouble of finding you to ask,” she said smoothly, turning her chair. “It’s a big delivery, with multiple cases, so we’ll get a couple others to go along too.”

“Sure, sure,” I said. “I’m sure they’ll love to visit a human colony.”

“Though we won’t need too much lifting power,” she continued, “Because it’s a lower-gravity world.”

“Yay!” I said with an honest grin. “That’s even better.”

***

Getting the shipment down the ramp was surprisingly difficult, because the hoversled was calibrated for the artificial gravity inside our ship. Even with Mimi clinging to the control panel as it passed the barrier, the dang thing bounced.

I leaped to pull it down; Paint shrieked and leapt out of the way; Zhee yelled at both of us; Mimi cranked the controls and overcorrected, almost crushing my feet. I leapt back next to Paint, who had already stumbled in the low gravity and fallen on orange sand that was actually a decent match for her scales. I managed not to land on top of her.

“Got it,” Mimi grumbled in that rough voice that always seemed out of place on a guy who looked like an octopus the color of mint chip ice cream. He scrambled off the back of the sled. “Don’t touch the controls until you get back.”

“Understood,” Zhee said, clicking forward to follow the sled. He made the best exit of all of us, only springing upward a little. All those legs probably helped. Bug aliens weren’t known for tripping over their own feet — something that Zhee was insufferably smug about, and something that I would never let him live down if it actually happened. Not today, though.

The minor excitement had made it obvious that the air on this low-grav world was indeed as thin as the scans had said, and there was no point in toughing it out until we got indoors. The three of us got our feet under us and put on the vaguely-uncomfortable breathing masks, then began maneuvering the sled as a team. Really Zhee was doing all of the work while Paint and I held onto the sides and calibrated our own relationships with gravity, but we could pretend. And the long walk across the landing pad gave me a chance to take in the sights.

The landing pad itself was pretty boring; a couple silver-gray ships on one side and a wide stone building on the other. No sign of our contact yet, but the instructions had been to meet at the sun-shelter. So that’s where we went. At a hoppity-bouncy pace that probably would have looked very silly to any local humans if they were out to see us yet.

As we got closer to the big sun-shelter, I could better appreciate the way its shape seemed built to funnel cool air in and warm air out. Also the view off the cliff. I got a good look at that too, over the edges of the flat hilltop that the landing pad covered.

My first impression was: weird desert. Sandy hillsides in reds and oranges, with a sun that was just above those hills, and already hot. A bunch of alien trees scattered around that looked like they wanted to be cacti. They were almost familiar, as if they’d been designed by someone who only had third-hand descriptions of Earth plants to work with.

The low gravity let them get wild in ways that would collapse back home. The tallest ones spread up into the sky in cylinders that bent and quested out in every direction like curious snakes, but at a vast scale. Others spiraled straight up like unicorn horns, or twisted together like lumpy brains the size of a house, or feathered out like thick fan blades with fractal patterns. A couple were probably star-shaped if you cut a cross section, and the sides reached out to make dividers that were probably handy to hide behind in a sandstorm.

I was so busy looking at the cactus trees and trying to decide if they had spines or not that I was surprised when the hoversled stopped. We’d reached the shelter.

Zhee rapped on the door with his pincher arm. It was stone too, and would have hurt my knuckles.

Where is everybody? I thought, looking around at the sun-bright area. It sure is getting hot out.

The door slid wide to the welcome sight of another human, who immediately ushered us inside.

“Come come, bring it in!” she said, waving both hands and bounding aside. Her skin was dark and her clothes were drapey, and she seemed to consider the matter urgent. Given how much the top of my head was starting to cook, I didn’t blame her.

The door wasn’t big enough for the sled. So we unloaded it through the doorway, as quickly as possible, with me sliding close to the human and Zhee standing on the sled and Paint standing behind it to push boxes forward and comment that the extreme heat was kind of nice, actually.

But even she, coldblooded though she was, had to admit that shade was nicer by the time we got everything unloaded. She helped turn the hoversled on its side at the recommendation of the human, who still hadn’t introduced herself. Flipping it around was weirdly easy in the low-grav. Once we got even the sled inside the room — very spacious, that — the human closed the door and greeted us properly.

Yes, she was the contact we were supposed to meet. Taeya, how-do-you-do. Yes, the weather here did get shockingly hot quickly. No, it wouldn’t be pleasant to go back out into that, even for the short jaunt to the ship. Did we have to rush off, or was there time for a cooling beverage or two?

“There is!” I told her. “The captain said we have two hours of wiggle room in our schedule — usually there’s more, but we have some urgent deliveries — anyway, two hours, three tops, because she wanted to, uh, ‘give me time among my own herd.’” I made finger quotes.

Taeya beamed. “Then let me give you a tour! This stuff will keep; the people coming to unpack it won’t need any help from me. C’mon downstairs.”

“Downstairs?” I asked.

She hopped behind the boxes and disappeared, waving a hand to follow. “Downstairs!”

With a glance at the others, I moved forward and floated down the red stone stairs, one hopping step at a time.

And there I found civilization.

Stairs led to streets and storefronts and vast, cavernous halls, all carved out of the rock. It was built mostly around the edges of the mesa from what I could tell, a curving, circular city with lots of air flow that left the central core solid and untouched. It didn’t quite feel like home to me, but it was so impressive that I didn’t mind.

Every boulevard had high ceilings, and even high benches, out of the way of foot traffic. Most of the surfaces were either painted or carved. And everywhere I looked, humans bounced instead of walking — which did look silly no matter how they approached it.

With the drapey, flowing, colorful clothes that everyone wore, it all looked like a society of cheerful wizards. I laughed behind my breathing mask, then asked Taeya if she thought I could take it off. She wasn’t wearing one, but then her lungs were used to thin air.

“Oh yes, I should have said,” she told me with a wave of gold-and-red sleeves. “We have oxygen generators lower down, to keep things comfortable. Along with the top-notch medical suites for keeping an eye on any low-grav degradation. Offworlders tend to ask about that.” She had a distinct twinkle in her eye as she said it.

“How handy,” I said.

Zhee peered judgmentally at the lightfooted humans. “Is that how you handle muscle atrophy? With medical adjustments?”

“Partly,” Taeya said.

“Mushers!” Paint exclaimed at the same time, pointing.

I turned, looking for sled dogs and thinking back to the time Paint had gotten to ride a hoversled while I pulled. I saw no dogs now, but a cluster of rickshaws pulled by people huffing like suburban joggers. They didn’t bounce, weighted down as they were. And their passengers looked like workout buddies urging them on until they got their own turns.

“Partly things like that,” Taeya finished smoothly.

I removed my breathing mask, eyeing a nearby restaurant and a closer flower display, then took a deep lungful of body odor and broke up laughing. When the nearest passersby had moved on, hopefully toward showers, I explained to my nonhuman crewmates that sometimes our own natural smell was unpleasant to us, with insufficient hygiene. Surely I’d told them that before.

“Right, you did,” Zhee said. “I still say it’s a deeply maladaptive trait.”

“I won’t argue with you on that count,” I told him, trying to fan the air casually.

Thankfully the rest of the crowd sported a more pleasant range of scents, and we hopped on down the road.

Taeya had something else to show us before nightfall.

“Nightfall?” I asked with some concern. “We’ve only got two hours, less now. Probably closer to one.”

Taeya responded by making a sharp turn toward a row of window slits, just a few inches wide by several times my height. Outside, the sun was already getting low.

“Oh,” I said eloquently.

“It’s the perfect time to see the flitters come out,” Taeya said with another hand wave. “Come on.”

More bouncing steps, another beautiful hallway full of murals, and another curving stairway down. Then we were, surprisingly, outside.

A sprawling garden of alien succulents covered the ground, with low burrows that I noticed moments before brilliantly-colored creatures began scampering out of them. These took to the sky in flashes of movement, flitting about as the name suggested, for all the world like tiny flying carpets that had been ferrets once.

Paint wanted to know if they bit. Zhee asked if they were food. I shook my head while Taeya told them both no. They were a lovely sight, and that’s all they needed to be. Plus they ate some local pests. Always a bonus.

The air was getting chilly already, to my surprise. Taeya did something deft with her clothes, pinning the drapey bits in a way that looked suddenly much warmer, with all that cloth wrapped around her.

“If you were staying longer, I’d suggest you get a local outfit,” she told me.

I nodded. “If I was staying longer, I’d take you up on that. Looks like a good design.” Clever and foreign, in a way that looked like several familiar things at once while managing to be none of them. And certainly nothing I’d ever worn.

Staring up at the whirling flitters as the light left the sky, I felt oddly sad. So much of this was halfway familiar, not the whole-hearted taste of home that I’d hoped for. But before I could get too maudlin, Taeya waved us back toward the carved-out city.

“C’mon, back into the good air,” she said. “One last thing before we get you back up to your ship.”

I hopped quietly after her. Zhee muttered about the theoretical taste of flitter meat while Paint made stiff-legged lizard hops out of the nighttime chill.

We were only a little ways down this new hallway before I heard music.

I bounded faster.

The great hall that Taeya led us into was lined with people around the edges, standing in rows and sitting on ledges, their voices echoing as they sang toward the center. I spotted instruments at some of the higher seats. People at the bottom swayed in time.

I didn’t know the words. But I knew the sound. A crowd of humans singing together; it was a glorious thing.

This is what I’ve been missing, I thought, breathing deeply. The air here smelled like flowers and spices and laundry detergent, and it was full of the sound of home. A vast roomful of people singing the same song, voices rebounding off the walls and bodies moving in joy.

I glanced back at Zhee and Paint. They both looked a little baffled. I asked over the music, “Do your people do much singing?”

“A bit? I guess?” Paint said. “But not all together like this.”

Zhee shook his head. “Why would you use your voice for music?” he asked. “How barbaric.”

I laughed and turned to Taeya, who was happy to teach me the words. There was even a bit of dancing with the next song, and that was an adventure in low gravity. So was the next. Zhee and Paint patiently observed from the doorway.

Then when one song ended, and a fast drumbeat paved the way for the next, I was surprised to see a number of people vacate the dance floor. I started to do the same, ready to say something about getting to the ship on time.

I didn’t realize that Taeya had left until she returned. She appeared at my elbow with two padded helmets and a smile.

“We’ve moved on to quick-beat time!” she told me over the rising music. “Does your captain need you back right now, or can you stay long enough to try a low-grav mosh pit?”

Our two hours were up and I knew it. I looked to Zhee and Paint, who were close enough to hear the conversation. Paint was sitting on one of the head-height benches. She looked down at Zhee.

He turned his head away, which meant nothing with his range of vision. He harrumphed. “Don’t break anything the medsystem can’t fix.”

“I’ll do my best!” I told him with a grin as I accepted a helmet. “Besides, I hear they have good ones here.”

Surrounded by a mix of old and new, I joined my people in the time-honored tradition of dancing more far vigorously than common sense dictated. The captain had said three hours tops.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come!

#my writing #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #colony worlds #writeblr #science fiction #humans are space orcs #low gravity

354 notes · View notes

heygerald · 1 year ago

Text

Falling Without A Harness - Chapter 2

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. When Colt Seavers' sister, Parker, finds the professional asshole in a vulnerable moment, she decides to sideline the attitude to help. Is an asshole still an asshole if no one is around?

read the story here: prev / next

The movie was finished, and, apparently, a whole lot of people were happy and drunk over that little fact. The wrap party was currently being hosted by Gail—producer extraordinaire—and it was quite literally the nicest house that Parker had ever seen in person. White leather couches that cost more than her car dotted the living room floor, decorated with Williams Sonoma pillows, and a Versace rug that spelled the brand name out in big, bold letters. Art hung on every available space, while odd statues were placed at random throughout the living room. There was even a pair of perfectly groomed Afghan Hounds doing tricks near the conversation pit.

The opulence of it all was counteracted by half-drunken executives milling around the pool, very drunk equipment techies playing a game involving dice, a quarter, and a banana in the kitchen, and one particular Colt Seavers miserably attempting a handstand on the back patio.

"It's harder than it looks, you know," he told the crowd of onlookers as he teetered left and right. Venti swatted his shoe when it knocked into the back of her head, while Jody tried to act impressed with some half-hearted clapping. "I did this once—two hours. Could barely talk afterwards."

"Two hours?" she echoed; half doubt, half amusement. "That sounds almost impossible."

"Heh, well, nothing is impossible if you believe hard enough. You're the only one who gets to decide what you will be remembered for."

"Is that written on a poster somewhere?"

"Uh, not exactly—"

Colt's peacocking was cut short when an unfortunately timed sneezed caused the stuntman to lose his balance. He swung his legs wildly in an overcorrection that ended up knocking a full glass of Chardonnay right onto Parker's lap.

She responded in true sisterly fashion: by promptly shoving him as hard as she could on the hip with the toe of her shoe. And though his literal job was to know how to take a fall, the entire patio got to watch as he went ass over face into a nearby potted plant.

Alcohol, a nice sunny evening, good music, and better food made the fiasco a spectacle, and everyone keeled forward at the waist in laughter. Jody, bless her, did her best to muffle her giggles behind her hat while Colt awkwardly floundered on the ground. Parker didn't have such restrictions.

"It was a Taylor Swift quote, actually," she told the camerawoman. It wasn't as funny when she noticed the damage to her pants, and with a sigh she attempted to blot the wet spot with Venti's crumpled napkin. "These are brand new jeans, you ass."

Colt popped back onto his feet with a flushed face. A pair of executives raised their eyebrows at him curiously, and in response he offered his typical awkward smile and wave combo. "What did I tell you about being cool?" he hissed at his sister.

"You're the one attempting cheap Cirque-de-Solei acts on Gail's back deck," she tutted.

"You're not even supposed to be here," he whined while plopping himself down beside Jody. She pretended to sympathize by offering a pat on the back. "How are you even here? You didn't even work on the movie!"

Parker shrugged. "Dan brought me as his plus-one."

"His—? I didn't even get a plus-one!"

"Maybe because you do stupid stuff like a handstand in the middle of a crowded party," she sniped. Colt didn't rise to the bait, however, and instead slumped onto Jody's lap with a long-suffering sigh.

"S'not fair," he muttered into her leg, words half smothered by the denim. "This is my first big party, and you just happen to be invited as well. Oh, the misery."

Parker blew a raspberry.

Colt batted his eyes at Jody and she conceded with an easygoing smile. "I didn't get a plus-one either, babe. But you know what? If I did, I would haven't wanted to bring anyone but you," she cooed while tapping him on the nose.

And—god, it actually worked.

Colt's entire face broke out into a starry-eyed smile.

Parker, still wet and now grossed out, decided that was as fine a time as any to excuse herself. "Well that's officially disgusting. I'm going to try to find a hair dryer and see if I can't dry this before it stains or I throw up."

"There's a loo by the kitchen," Jody pointed.

Colt popped up out of her lap, his tantrum already forgotten about. "Oh, hey! Will you get me another beer? Something cold, domestic maybe. A bud light if they have it. If not, I'm cool with whatever is on tap."

She blinked at her brother. Once, twice, three times.

"Yeah," she shook her head at him. "And I'm the embarrassing one."

"What'd I say?"

Both women promptly ignored that as she asked if Jody wanted something, but the camerawoman was still working on her very much un-spilled glass of wine and therefore didn't need anything. Venti made a general request for some snacks, which Dan quickly seconded.

Parker gave them a thumbs-up before heading inside. The mansion was no less shocking the second time she traipsed through it, but it was certainly more daunting to brave without her date, brother, or Jody and with a giant wine stain near her crotch.

No one seemed to notice her discomfort, however. There were plenty other things to occupy their attention. Between the caterers walking around with trays of fancy finger foods and freshly made mojitos there wasn't any reason to take note of the unfamiliar face in the crowd. She wound her way past whatever game was happening on the kitchen island towards where Jody had said the bathroom was. Unfortunately, the free food and alcohol did seem to have a penance; the line was seven women long.

"Wine?" a waiter offered on a silver tray.

"No thanks, I'm still wearing my last glass off," she joked with a dry smile. The kid followed her line of sight to the large wet spot on her pants and went bright pink.

Still, it couldn't have been the worst thing she had seen before, and with a modicum of professionalism that impressed Parker, she pulled forward a second tray with a variety of fun colored drinks. The one closest smelled of coconut and had a cute umbrella sticking out of it.

"Piña colada?" she asked.

"...yup."

Parker grabbed a glass and didn't hesitate to take a large gulp. And—damn.

Thank you Gail Meyer.

The waitress then leaned closer, glancing pointedly at the bathroom and then Parker's jeans, before saying, "there's two more bathrooms upstairs that are open for guests."

Channeling Jody, Parker grinned. "Brills," she chirped.

She felt a little bad that she didn't have any money to tip the kid, but before she could try to work something out, the redhead was already drifting off through the crowd to offer the other guests her variety of drinks.

"Brills indeed," she said again, even more pleased.

Following suit, she wound through the crowds of people until she reached a large staircase. From there, the crowds seemed to thin out considerably.

A few people sat in conversation at the foyer at the top; a beautiful blonde woman that was the lead actress in the film was chatting with some friends. She was utterly gorgeous, with pearly skin and silken hair, and without even looking where she was going Parker covered her pants with her hand and darted to the hallway on her right.

The first door revealed a linen room with a washer/dryer set that she half considered smuggling out when she left later that night. The second a yoga studio. The third was locked.

The fourth door was tucked all the way on the end of the hallway, hidden between a glass statue of a pelican and a snake plant that was taller than her. It wasn't locked—in fact, whoever had previously been inside had left the door ajar.

Parker stuck her head inside, and was ecstatic to realize it was a bathroom.

A nice one, she thought while stepping inside.

There was a marble counter with a large white sink, a mirror with LED lights, a beautiful tile floor, a clawfoot tub next to a large window that overlooked the back yard, edited photos of Gail on every wall, plants hanging from the ceiling, candles propped across floating shelves, a stunning white rug of questionable descent, and—

Tom Ryder. Hunched over a toilet. Puking.

"Shit."

The sound of her voice echoed in the nearly silent bathroom. Tom jerked upwards, all red flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, and though it took him a moment to realize just who had walked in on him, he didn't manage so much as a glare before he was retching into the toilet bowl.

"Uh, fuck, um—do you—I can totally come back. Sorry. Sorry!" she said, panicked, backtracking towards the door before she not so smoothly slipped on said rug. Parker hit the ground with a squeak, and her piña colada only added to the wet spot on her pants. "Fuck!"

The hurling stopped for a moment as he took in a large, calming breath. And the sudden awkwardness of it all had her freezing in place on the ground, staring.

Always fucking staring when it came to Tom Ryder. Never able to look away.

The white button down he had arrived wearing was discarded haphazardly near the rug. His ripped jeans were bunched on the calves, shoes nowhere to be found, while sweat-dampened tufts of hair were plastered to his forehead.

He looked... well, awful.

Which was a far cry from the first time she had ever seen him on the set, and the three or four times after that in which the pair had equally unfortunate run-ins with one another. Every single one had been filled with witty barbs and well-placed insults. Mostly on her part. Tom seemed to prefer the approach of generally being an asshole in everything he said, did, and thought. It came natural to him, really, and just like their introduction it always ended with Colt playing referee to keep the two from drawing blood.

Well. Colt was nowhere to be seen, and Tom was already down.

Suffice to say Parker certainly had the upper hand if they were going to fight.

But—well, fuck. The dude was lying on the bathroom floor at his producer's house during a party that was practically being thrown in his honor.

Alone. Sick. And looking a little too close to death for comfort.

"Ah, fuck," Parker seconded under her breath. She set aside the cup to shake ice cubes and an orange slice off her shirt. Of course the towels were all white. Wincing, she started to pat dry her, well, everything with a side-eye in his direction. "Are you... okay?"

He scowled. Sorta. It was hard to tell when his face was half hidden in a porcelain bowl. "What the fuck do you think?"

"I don't know. That's kind of the purpose of asking."

"Fine."

"You sure don't look fine."

He glanced at her, eyes darting over the wet spot on her pants to the newly wet spot on her shirt. Somehow, he wasn't too sick to roll his eyes as he pressed his forehead against the cold porcelain. "You're supposed to drink it, not wear it."

"Says the guys vomiting his drinks right back—"

The mention of the word vomit had his face turning a shade of green, and not a moment later Tom pitched forward to throw up once more.

Parker winced. She didn't have a strong stomach, and the sound alone was already threatening her own health. "...er, sorry."

"Can you go bother someone else?"

The vomiting subsided. Parker looked at her pretty pineapple glass with a despondent sigh before she filled it up with cold tap water. He didn't accept it when she offered it, however, and with a defeated sigh she set it onto the sink counter.

"I'm trying to be nice, asshole."

"Hm. Since when are you nice?"

"Well I'm pretty sure if you choke on your own vomit and die, I'll be liable as the last person to see you alive. So," she fluttered her hands at him, unsure of what to do or where to touch, and eventually Parker settled for planting her hands firmly on her hips. "Just—chill out for a moment, okay. I'm going to call Colt and have him find Gail."

"No, no, don't—don't tell Gail."

"Are you kidding? I think you might actually die, dude."

"Just don't," he snapped in a tone that left little room for argument. Of course, it was plenty easy for her sidestep the argument considering he was down for the count on the bathroom floor, but after a moment of a silent stare down, his shoulders deflated with a sigh. "I... she's going to flip. Alright? I'm fine."

"Fine?"

Tom attempted a shrug. "Bad reaction to shrimp."

Parker heard alarm bells ringing. When she spotted a nickel sized baggie on the counter those bells turned into sirens. She pinched it between two fingers while arching a brow at him pointedly. "I know giant shrimp are a thing, but I didn't know microscopic shrimp had started to gain traction."

His lack of a retort was more concerning than the vomiting.

"I think I should get you some help."

"It's not—" he started before stopping when he took too deep a breath. Something darkened in his features; mouth flattening, downcast eyes, furrowed brows. Was that guilt she saw? Or shame? "Just... relax. I took some Xanax and it... well, you know, fucked with the alcohol."

Parker couldn't withhold a snort. "Xanax? Seriously. Are you secretly an unhappy soccer mom or something?"

Whatever look had been curling his eyebrows vanished in seconds, replaced full force by a glare. "Fuck off, alright. I take them sometimes for anxiety."

"What in the hell do you have to be anxious about?" she asked.

There was a long pause. Music thrummed from outside, laughter, chatter, and shouting echoing happily in the summer evening air. The bathroom itself was cold.

Even colder when he said, "you know you can be a real asshole sometimes too."

And—yeah.

That single sentence fucked with Parker. Because upon closer introspection she realized that, shit, he was right. The guy was on the ground, throwing up, in a vulnerable state surrounded by some very powerful people that could easily ruin his career if they found him and here she was kicking him when he was down. Literally.

Pot, meet kettle. You two have a lot more in common than you think.

Disgruntled at being called out—by Tom fucking Ryder of all people—it was Parker's turn to flush red in shame. She tucked the pill baggie into the pocket of her jeans so someone else wouldn't stumble upon it and his piss poor excuse, before sticking her head out into the hallway. Whatever was going on in the landing seemed to be keeping everyone occupied, and the noise wafting from downstairs made it clear that the party would continue with or without her.

Satisfied, she firmly pulled the door shut. Paused. Then locked it for good measure.

The bathroom was surprisingly empty despite all of the decorations. Thanks Kim, now even Gail is part of the minimalist movement. The mirror cabinet was completely empty over then some Q-tips and an extra bar of soap, and there was no space under the sink for storage. Tutting, Parker pulled the hand towel free and stuck it under the tap.

Then, she lowered herself to his level. Physically.

Tom seemed surprised that she hadn't left. Even more so when Parker offered the cup for a second time.

"What?" he asked, a bit dumbly. Fair though, given the circumstances.

"You should drink some water."

"Can't you just piss off?"

She sighed through her nose and gently shoved the cup into his hand. "Drink some fucking water, Tom."

They stared at each other for a long moment before he accepted the cup. He shifted so that his back was now pressed into the shower so he could drink without choking. Parker took advantage to close the toilet lid, flush it, turn on the overhead fan, and crack open a nearby window.

Immediately, it felt easier to breathe.

Tom took two, small sips before setting aside the cup. Patronizing, even when he wasn't trying to be.

"Do you want me to go find one of your friends?" she asked; almost entirely because she couldn't stand not talking.

He shot her a deadpan look. "No."

"O-kay. How about some food?"

He grimaced.

"Right," she clicked her tongue. "Some soda? Ginger-ale might help with the nausea. I don't think you should take any ibuprofen right now or else I would offer some."

"What are you doing?"

"What?"

He gestured vaguely to her, to the room they were in, and then to himself. She could tell by the way that his face paled even that small use of energy was taxing, and Parker shoved the glass of water back into his palm.

"I'm just trying to help."

He harrumphed, but chanced another sip of water. "Why?"

"Because you were... right," she muttered through clenched teeth. He blinked at her through hazy eyes, and she tried not to notice the sweat dripping down his bare chest. "I was, well... being an asshole. And you need help. So."

He still said nothing. Parker tried not to feel super awkward.

After a moment of indecisive staring Tom took another sip of water before letting his head hit the wall with a soft thud. "Is this some sort of trick?"

"How on Earth is me hanging out in a bathroom with you a trick?" she scoffed.

"I don't know," he shrugged, sipped the water, and took a long, hard swallow that made her wonder if he was biting back another round of bile. Subtly, Parker propped the toilet lid open again. "Blackmail, or whatever."

What a fucking asshole, she thought.

"Just because everyone else is dying to get a picture of Tom Ryder doesn't mean that I am," she said. Her attitude did little to convince him of her good intentions if the wary look he shot her was anything to go by. Rolling her eyes, she plucked her phone from her back pocket, waved it dramatically around in the air, before turning it off. When the screen was good and black she half-heartedly tossed it aside. "Happy?"

He grumbled.

Parker huffed. Don't be an asshole, she had to remind herself while clambering to her feet. The hand towel was properly wet and cold by now. She switched off the tap and took a moment to wring out as much water as she could. Then she promptly slapped the wet towel onto his forehead with a thwap.

"What is—?"

"Just shut up and leave it be, okay? The cold water should help with the flush. Once your skin starts returning to a normal temperature, the nausea should be more manageable. I don't know anything about downers, but... it's the best I can do without getting help or using my phone," she said; adding a pointed glared at the mention of her discarded device.

He grumbled a bit louder, but didn't remove the towel. In fact, she watched his eyes flutter contentedly as he smoothed it out along his hairline. "Are you a doctor now or something?"

"On the side. I'm at A-list parties all the time. You're hardly the first celebrity I've found on a bathroom floor with an empty pill baggie."

"...seriously?"

"No. Not seriously, Tom. That was a joke."

He blinked at her. "Oh," he said awkwardly. Then, added, "wasn't that funny."

It was her turn to bang her head onto the cabinet behind her. "Well, sorry for trying to lighten the mood. I'm still a little worried I'm going to get sued or something for this."

"For spilling on Gail's mink rug?"

"That's mink?!" she shrieked, jerking around to give the rug a better glance over. No wonder it was fabulously soft. "Who the fuck keeps a mink rug in the bathroom? Shit! Do you think she'll charge me to clean it? I can barely afford eggs!"

There was a noise half between a grumble and cough, and when she glanced towards Tom he was sporting a crooked smile under the towel. "That was a joke."

"O—oh," she said. Parker glanced at the rug once more. "Well, it wasn't that funny."

"You don't know how to clean mink fur?"

With the panic subsiding from her suddenly too-tight chest, Parker returned to her seat on the ground, and glared. "I guess I skipped over that chapter in my cleaning manual."

"Is that where you learned the thing about wet rags?" he asked, subtly fixing said wet rag with a sigh. His shoulders relaxed as he settled against the shower glass, and in turn Parker tried to relax as well.

"No. I read that in an old textbook once. A physiology manual from, like, the 1930s. So, I actually have no idea if it's outdated information or not. Guess we'll find out, huh?"

"Why the hell are you reading a physics manual?"

"Physiology."

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes. Like... a lot," she deadpanned. He responded with a blank, empty, no lights-on-behind-the-curtains look. Parker pinched the bridge of her nose before decidedly moving on. "I read a lot."

"Don't you work?"

"Says the guy who reads bad scripts for a living," she retorted. His cheeks had been slowly returning to their normal color, but quickly blushed an irritable red as he scowled at her.

"My movie scripts are not bad," he shot back with just as much heat. "They're million dollar enterprises, that make quite a lot of people rich and famous. Like people here, at this party. What have you ever done?"

"Not have my face plastered on a billboard."

"Exactly."

"Yeah, and thank god for that."

"There's not a chance in hell you would ever."

"Good!"

It took them both a moment to realize that they weren't actually agreeing on anything. Parker thought having her face plastered on a billboard was a horrific nightmare that she would not be able to endure, while Tom clearly took pride in his advertisements spread all over the Hollywood acres. Somehow, though, in their attempt to insult the other, they had missed the mark entirely.

The pair shared mutual glares.

Stopped short when he turned green in the face, pitched forward, and vomited a third and final time.

"Oh, shit," she said, hands waving around and not knowing what to do other than to snatch the wet washcloth from where it had fallen into his lap. Awkwardly, Parker patted him on the back. Once, twice. "Um... better out than in, right?"

"Did you read that in a book too?" his voice echoed hoarsely from the toilet bowl.

And, well, it was such a ridiculous question to be asked while he was hurling into a toilet worth more than her car, that Parker didn't have a response other than to huff.

Which turned into a giggle. Then an actual laugh.

In an even more surprising turn of events, Tom laughed too. "S'not funny."

"No, no, actually," she corrected him to gently lay the cold towel across the back of his neck. "I think that's the funniest thing you've ever said, Ryder."

Some time passed as he focused on taking deep breaths before the nausea passed for good. As he returned to his former position against the wall, hand towel now dripping a trail down his chest, Parker flushed the toilet a second time, and folded her legs into a pretzel so she could lean an elbow on her knee. "I read a lot for work. Out of boredom, mostly," she admitted.

"Bad scripts?" he echoed her earlier sentiments.

"Bad biographies, mostly," she corrected him. He gave her an odd look, to which she shrugged. "I work at a bookstore. Er—own—a bookstore, I mean. I just read whatever I happen to find that day."

Parker wondered if Tom Ryder had ever stepped foot in a bookstore before or if he got too distracted by his reflection in the window outside.

"I don't think I've ever been to a bookstore," he said, almost as if he could hear her. The reason why remained inconclusive. "But I thought the idea was to sell books, not read them."

"Generally, yeah," she conceded with a sigh. It wasn't so funny now and she frowned at the thought of her dilapidated store with shoddy lighting and a half-functional air conditioner. "It's not exactly... well, successful. Not like your movies, anyway. I can't throw giant wrap parties for my employees because, well, I don't have any. I don't get a lot of customers so I read."

"Movies are better than books," he said.

He must have caught the irritated curl of her mouth because he made an amendment to his statement before she could argue.

"I mean," he added in the raw sort of voice one got from throwing up five times in an hour, "they make more money. It's all anyone cares about in LA."

"Yeah, well, maybe I should get a billboard."

Tom snorted. "You wish."

Parker wanted to glare, but... it was a little on the nose. The idea of shelling out money to plaster her face—or even her bookstore's name—on highway billboards went against what she believed in. She liked the idea of having a small, hole in the wall shop where lonely wanderers like herself could take solace in. That's what the shop had been in the decades before she bought it. Then again, her old boss had been all too eager to hand it off to her, and how bill days she suspected he knew that it was a dying market without a hope or a dream.

Only—LA was supposably the land of dreams... right?

"You ever read sci-fi?" he asked.

Thrown by the question, Parker had to shake the static out of her brain before it fully comprehended. "Uh, sure. Loads. There's tons of source material from the 70's and 80's that is pretty fun. They're all considered kind of hokey nowadays though so they don't sell that well."

Tom shifted the towel back to his forehead with a thoughtful tut.

He didn't seem so sickly pale anymore, and his breathing had evened out. Even his chest had dried up a bit.

How didn't he die of lack of service if he was never wearing a shirt when she saw him?

"There's this role that I want to go for, a big sci-fi thing. Gail said that I'm not right for it, though."

"Not right for it?" she echoed, scrunching her nose. "Seriously?"

He gave a half-hearted shrug. "Too pretty, she said. Which—duh—that's a given," he added. Parker responded with an over the top eyeroll, but she refrained from faking a gag. She was a little too worried that they weren't out of the woods yet, and that the sound (fake or not) would provoke Tom to start hurling again. "But it's a smart role. Intense. A great script. I think I'd be perfect for it."

"Can't you audition anyway?"

"I don't know, I—she—Gail tends to know what roles I'm good for, you know. She doesn't think I can pull off a smart, sci-fi type."

Parker snorted. "Why not? All Chris Pine has going for him is blonde hair and blue eyes and he got three movies out of Star Trek. Pretty sure you got that covered. You know, box dye notwithstanding."

Tom shot her a cross look. "I would never use box dye on my hair."

"Even better," she waved a hand at him flippantly. "Audition then."

Something weird happened then. Something so out of character and bizarre that by the next day Parker would convince herself it hadn't really happened; that it was provoked by the bathroom fumes of Febreze and vomit.

But Tom Ryder, A-lister, looked... unsure.

"Yeah, I... I don't know. She's probably right."

Sounded it, too.

Parker didn't even know how to react to that. The guy had been a grade A tool since the moment she met him, and in the several run-ins they had since, he hadn't disproven the label. He basically worshipped himself. Once, she had even caught him admiring a paparazzi photo taken of him wearing low riding swim trunks in a cheap magazine.

Seriously!

The guy loved himself, talked about himself, and never let people forget who he was! What could ever provoke a moment of self-depreciation like this?

Oh, duh. Drugs.

"Jesus, how much Xanax did you take? You don't even sound like yourself."

The question pulled him from whatever pensive moment he had been having, and Tom's response was to promptly chuck the wet towel at Parker. It landed atop her head with a smack.

She plucked it off with a grimace. Wet pants, wet shirt, now wet hair. She would have to go home after this to save herself the sheer embarrassment of being an utter disaster at her first mansion party. And by the time she glanced back over at him he was back to his normal mode of self-importance as he started to run a hand through his damp hair, singular moment of weakness already forgotten.

"Is my hair okay?"

Parker sighed.

It was nice while it lasted, she thought.

"Yeah, Ryder," she deadpanned while ambling onto her feet. She fixed her own hair in the mirror while he finished the last of his water. He actually looked close to normal—because, of fucking course he looks fine after coming down from a bad drug cocktail—and she avoided the mink rug entirely to pick his shirt up off the ground. "Your hair looks fine, Chris Pine. Your shirt is probably all wrinkled though."

"Fuck. That's Dolce & Gabbana."

"I thought it was linen," she snarked.

There was some groaning and whining as he teetered onto his own feet, and while Parker was half afraid that he might just keel over and die on her, he seemed more scandalized by the fact that she was touching his designer clothes.

Snatching the shirt out of her hands, Tom huffed, "do you even know what linen is? I thought all you knew how to wear is that polyester crap you seem to like so much."

Wow. What a fucking asshole.

It was her turn to take a deep, calming breath as he ambled towards the mirror. He didn't seem sick anymore, his breathing was normal, shoulders relaxed, and he was able to stand on his own. Somehow, even his skin had bounced back with a lively, bright sheen.

Fuck, even his back was beautiful. How did—?

A wrinkled Dolce & Gabbana shirt was slung over his back, effectively cutting off her gazing. Parker ran a hand through her hair a second time. When she glanced in the mirror, however, she found Tom smirking at her.

"Staring ain't free you know. The pap pay a lot for this," he said.

For fuck's sake! she thought as her mouth curled sourly.

Shaking herself of both her stupor and kind hearted feelings, Parker snatched her phone off of the ground. She didn't miss the way that he was ogling her back side in the mirror, and she flushed a bright shade of pink without meaning to. That only incensed his smirk further.

"Yeah, um, Tom? I did lie," she admitted, pausing in the doorway to bat her eyelashes at him as dramatically as she could. She wasn't an actress, but she was pretty sure the point got across when she cooed, "your hair looks awful."

She watched his jaw slacken in the mirror with a sharp smile, before Parker swung the bathroom door open, and made her way back to the party.

.............

And the love/hate continues.

#plot bunny #the fall guy #the fall guy imagine #tom ryder #tom ryder x ofc #original female character #tom ryder imagine

59 notes · View notes