#and it's not awful or glaringly wrong just a little out of key for a split second

[offthewall1979]

i can't express how insane this is.

[durrtydawg]

The Sadir Inheritance

{Sam Drake x F!Reader} Chapter 5 | False Alarm

Summary: The lure of adventure and a handsome sum of money may not be the only attractive thing about this expedition…

A ridiculous series of events that ensues when a headstrong twenty-something tags along with one Samuel Drake to uncover his latest discovery.

my masterlist ✨

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

CW: nothing...maybe swearing? I can’t even remember.

"Palace? I think they misspelt ‘doss house’."

Sam looks behind him, seeing her lips curled up into a grimace as she adjusts the sunglasses on her forehead. Normally, this behaviour would aggravate him, deep down he agrees. So he scoffs at her remark.

'The Petra Palace.' Trust Chloe to pick such an aptly named hotel for them to stay in. Not.

"Okay, Your Highness," he mocks. "So it's no 'Savoy,' but we got our own rooms, wifi, a p-"

"Plus, if you're lucky," Scott interrupts. Sam's brows furrow as she turns to Scott, all still walking down the seemingly never-ending ground floor corridor. "You'll return to the UK with your lungs still somewhat intact!"

Conveniently, Sam eyes a plaque on the wall stating the hotel’s ‘smoker friendliness’. As if the smell didn’t already make that glaringly obvious.

“Can you really be ‘smoker-friendly’? Isn’t it more like… ‘die, I guess’?”

He almost, almost laughs at that. Sure, he’s part of the problem, but Christ, if he smelled half as strong as this place, he might have to consider quitting. Might. But she keeps whining and he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

"Can't wait to develop a serious case of asthma." Sam turns his head to face her disapprovingly at this remark with a tut. She catches his expression and lightly swings her holdall into his side. "Joking."

She gives him a cheeky grin.

“I already have asthma.”

Scott guffaws at this.

"You two done?” Sam raises his eyebrows as if silently scolding a pair of children before he clears his throat.

“Like I was sayin’ this beautiful establishment apparently has a pool. And I don't know about either’a yous, but I'd like to take advantage of it before I spend the next few days undoubtedly sweating my ass off."

Scott comes to a stop, eyeing his room key, then the door he stood in front of. "This is me, folks." He puts the key into the lock. "I'll have a shower and head out to the pool in say-" he checks his watch, "half an hour?"

Sam nods, smiling as he turns to her, and she waves at Scott. He continues down the corridor with her by his side.

"What about you?"

She scrunches her nose up and shakes her head, eyes drifting to the tiled floor.

"Aw, why not? Don’t wanna get your hair wet?"

She snickers, pointing at her head. "Look at the state of it, mate. Getting it wet is the least of my concerns."

He doesn't know what she means. It looks nice. Four-hour-long flight considered.

“There’s nothing wrong with your hair.”

She hums in response. Quiet. Awkward. They keep walking and she clears her throat.

"Might just nap…read a little. Shower.” She pauses to look up at him and he awaits further talk, clocking the smart-assed little glint in her eye that he’s growing to tolerate. “Shave my legs, perhaps.” Sam bites his cheek to contain his smile as she stops walking, watching as she notes the room number on the door beside her. "Finally."

"Christ, how much further do I have to go?" Sam whines, looking down to his hand as she suddenly grabs a hold of it. She twists his wrist until she can examine his key.

"Not far." He pouts in confusion as she presses his hand up to his chest. "Hello, neighbour." She grins, squeezing his hand in hers for a millisecond, Sam mirroring her grin as she turns away to unlock her door.

She peeks inside, tossing her bag off her shoulder and kicking it into the room.

"I mean…" She starts, sticking her head around the door as he watches on. Her small hand grips onto the doorframe, fingers thrumming rhythmically against it before she reappears with a grin. "It's safe to say they put all their budget into the rooms. Waaay better than the corridor."

Sam lowers his hand from his chest as he watches her kick her holdall further into the room. "The pool is literally right outside. Sick!" She expresses as he unlocks his own door with a snicker.

She’s right. The rooms are clean, spacious; starkly contrasting the grubby, endless hallway.

"Still not tempted to join us?" He asks, leaning against his own door frame.

She smiles down to the floor, arms folded as she mirrors his leaning. "Nah, I'll give it a miss."

"Okay, well," he calls, glancing round his own room, noting the patio door that leads out to the surprisingly nice-looking swimming pool. "If you're not coming to the pool, make sure you get some rest. I don't want to be dealing with you tomorrow if you're gonna be as shitty as you were on the plane." Sam leans against his room's door frame, folding his arms.

Hearing this, she grimaces, turning back to Sam as he raises an accusation-heavy brow in her direction.

"I wasn’t being shitty!" She pouts, scratching the back of her neck.

Sam narrows his eyes. "It was like having a hormonal teenager by my side. And now you’re all chipper. Ish. What’s goin’ on?"

He frowns as she seems to bristle.

"Look, if I've done some-"

"Period cramps." She interrupts, arms folded, lips pursed.

Sam raises his brows. Does he believe her? Not for one second. Sam narrows his eyes, unconvinced by the casual dismissal. There's more to it, and he can feel it.

He straightens himself, ready to speak, this time with a touch of genuine care in his eyes.

"You sure that’s it? You’ve seemed a bit…off today. Not yourself."

She shrugs nonchalantly, avoiding eye contact. "I'm fine, Sam. Just knackered."

He lets out a small sigh. As soon as they’d left airport security, she’d closed off inexplicably, but he lacks the energy to prod further for the truth, so he simply nods.

"You know, if there's something on your mind, you… uh- you can talk to me, right?"

You offer a weak smile, appreciating the concern but not ready to take a deep dive into the confusing mess of emotions that you’ve just about managed to leave behind you. "I appreciate it. Really. It's just... I don't know. A weird mood, I guess. Hormones, etcetera. I’ll be right as rain once I’ve had a decent sleep.”

"Right." he clears his throat.

"Mhm, so I'm…gonna pop my last few ibuprofens, and have a nap. Maybe start going through some notes before tomorrow."

"M’kay. Want me to knock when we're getting something to eat?"

"Sure," She smiles as her head pokes out of her room’s door frame, "but if I don't answer just presume I'm knocked out."

He nods, but doesn’t move. His eyes remain narrowed, a final attempt at looking into her own for something deeper. But as she turns to take the key out of the lock, he can’t look any more.

“Hey.”

She turns back, brows raised in waiting.

“Have fun shaving your legs.” He grins back at her as she snorts and shakes her head before dipping into her room.

He does the same, albeit with an underlying reluctance. For some reason.

***

'Period cramps' was, of course, a blatant lie on your part, but if working in a heavily male-based environment had taught you anything, it was that mentioning anything remotely period-related was an efficient way to get them off your back.

Your moodiness that Sam had alluded to was sort of inexplicable. Initially, it felt like it resorted to some freak bout of jealousy back at the airport. But that’s a stupid theory, right?

Regardless, your afternoon spent deciphering your scribbled notes on the Sadir family had snapped you right out of that feeling, and you’d gathered some interesting ideas to look out for once your expedition properly began.

You’d been reflecting on the note the three of you had found in the British Museum and had devised a list of Emaan Sadir’s potential relatives that he could’ve written it to, given that he supposedly had no known heirs or extended family when he died:

Who did Emaan write the letter to?

Spouse- likelihood: impossible. Didn’t have one. Could’ve had a secret partner of some kind? Look into this.

Parent- likelihood: what the fuck. His parents gave it to him. They died, you tit.

Child- likelihood: unlikely, but not entirely impossible. Goes hand in hand with secret partner. Look into this.

Friend- likelihood: hope not. Hard to trace. Yawn. Look into this if you must.

You were, however, struggling to find something that pointed towards exactly what he did to make him write the letter.

I know I have left you in an inexcusable situation, but I pray that this begins to make amends for what I have done.

‘What on earth did you do?’ was a question that no amount of Googling was helping you with. You’d been asking yourself how you could find the answer right up until you fell asleep.

You wake up a few hours later, still fully clothed, and very, very hot. Unfortunately, sleep doesn’t seem to be agreeing with you, even after abandoning your hoodie, given the heat of your room, and as you kick off your sheets in frustration, you roll to the side and tap your phone screen with a scowl slapped onto your face.

“Ugh.” 1:49 am. 149 degrees too, apparently. You grumble, impatiently shimmying off the leggings that you’ve fallen asleep in.

Pulling a hair tie off of your wrist, you lazily pull your hair into a bun to try and make yourself feel less clammy, fanning the nape of your neck as you roll out of bed to check out the air conditioning control panel by the patio door.

Much to your chagrin, the display is blank, and after a few experimental button presses fail to switch it on, you huff, crouching down, picking up your notebook.

You pace back and forth, fanning yourself with the notebook, eventually pulling the thin curtain back to rest your forehead against the relatively cool glass of the patio door.

You stare at the glowing swimming pool; still and solitary, surrounded by several floors worth of hotel rooms.

A quick glance between the cool, clean pool and your hot, crinkled- God, it’s so hot- bed solidifies the thoughts manifesting in your brain:

A quick swim- in and out- cool off, then jump into bed wrapped in one of the hotel’s thin, scratchy towels. Out like a light. Boom.

Everyone else would be asleep now, of course. No one to see you in your bikini you’ve had since you were 19 and have definitely outgrown. Nothing to worry about!

A rummage through your holdall unveils the old-faithful; decent coverage, black scoop neck…thing that you’d packed solely for water-based emergencies.

What kind of an emergency? This particular sweaty moment surely constitutes one, no?

Attempting to push the consistent underlying self-consciousness to the depth of your mind, you peel off your tee and change into the swimsuit, grabbing a towel from the bathroom.

One squeaky patio door later, and you’ve made it to the edge of the pool. The night air is stuffy- viscous even, and you feel like you’re huffing in clouds of ‘thick warm’ every time you take a breath.

Placing the rolled-up towel on the ground, you gingerly sit on the pool’s edge, gritting your teeth as your legs cautiously break the surface of the water.

It’s fucking freezing.

Arms wrapped around your stomach, you sit hunched, swinging your legs back and forth in the water as you psych yourself up to get shoulder-deep.

Cool off, get out, sleep wrapped in scratchy towel.

With held breath, and a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the pool, you finally slide yourself into the water. You squeak, inhaling a sharp breath as your body is doused in cold, though after taking a few seconds to acclimatise, you heave a sigh of relief.

Letting yourself float on your back, you stare up at the night sky with heavy-lidded eyes, finally satisfied, feeling yourself begin to relax. All sound is muffled out by the water lapping around your ears; it is just you and the stars. And the imposing hotel building’s ten or so floors.

And… horrid cigarette smell.

You scrunch your nose up as it gets stronger.

“Falling asleep in a deep body of water probably isn’t the wisest of moves.”

“Ah!” You splutter, instantly submerging yourself underwater, until you find your footing and re-introduce your head to air. You spit out the water that you involuntarily got in your mouth and scoop your hair back, rubbing wet out of your eyes.

You turn to see Sam leaning against his room’s door, cigarette held between his teeth as he chuckles.

“How long have you been there for?” You instinctively submerge as much of your body as possible out of sight, cheeks heating up as you glare at his half-naked body.

“Like, thirty seconds?” He exhales a small plume of smoke before taking another puff. “I said hi. Obviously couldn’t hear me though.” He smirks as you struggle to get water out of your ears. You pout, embarrassed.

“What are you doing up?” He lowers his smoke to the waistband of his black boxers, your eyes following.

Sam tilts his head, awaiting an answer, snapping you out of…whatever you were thinking.

“Couldn’t sleep. Room’s boiling.”

“Can’t you switch on the air-con?”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?”

You slowly paddle over to the edge of the pool, folding your arms over the tiles.

“Nice to see you’re a man of consistency.” You say once you’re completely satisfied your body is as pressed up against the wall as possible.

“Hm?” He hums, inhaling before removing the cigarette for a moment.

“Your aversion to lung health- you get up at Shit O’clock in the morning to smoke, too?”

“Aversion to lung health? You wound me.” Sam puts his free hand to his bare chest in a faux-upset manner as he walks closer to the pool. “But no. As much as that would make sense, sleep and I seem to have a very… tumultuous relationship.”

You hum in understanding.

Unresolved trauma. It has the ability to turn anyone into an insomniac.

He gestures towards his temples as he bends down. “And like you say, I am nothing if not consistent.” He inspects his cigarette before popping it back into his mouth.

You scoff, resting your cheek sideways on your forearm.

“I knocked earlier. Scott too, but we guessed you were asleep. All that leg-shaving must’ve tuckered you out good.”

You grin. “I wish. Unfortunately the razor never made it out of my bag. The heat wiped me out.”

He laughs at that.

“Scott got you some falafel. We didn’t know what you’d like but…yeah. Just in case.”

You perk up a little. “Awh, that’s sweet of him.” You smile, gratefully.

“And I’m presuming your…um…lady…issues have sorted themselves out. I picked you up some more ibuprofen anyway…but the shit here’s like triple strength, so go easy.”

You snort. “Lady issues?”

He laughs out smoke, wafting it away from you with a diffident half-smile on his face. “I don’t know- felt right at the time.”

The reflection of the pool dances across his features, and the gentle smokey haze from his cigarette creates an ethereal play of light on his skin, and you catch yourself stealing a glimpse; the dichotomy of strength and vulnerability in his appearance captivating your attention.

In that moment, something hums in the back of your brain, a fleeting pinch in the core of your stomach; a sensation that teeters on the edge of realisation. The scars, the slight greyness in his stubble, the wrinkles- the little glint in his eyes as he cooks up whatever he wants to say next.

Attracted to Sam? No.

You can’t deny there’s a sort of… allure that comes with his authenticity, the rawness that draws you in despite the logical resistance you impose upon yourself.

You had this weird… though not at all unpleasant wavering in your stomach when Scott first introduced himself to you. But that was short-lived. And this is the same, right?

Silly.

But then he looks at you, a silent plea to bring him out of the unease associated with period-talk. The tiny shred of vulnerability- the awkwardness it’s just… captivating.

Pushing the unsettling revelation to the depths of your consciousness, you shake it all off and throw out the lifebuoy.

“Thanks.” You smile as sincerely as you can. “You didn’t have to. The ibuprofen, I mean.” You suddenly dwell on the lie from earlier. Best dig yourself out of that hole. "False alarm, anyway.” Nope. That won’t fly- whoops. Too late. You scratch the back of your neck nervously.

"Good to hear." He nods, eyes narrowed. He’s scrutinising you, and he doesn’t believe a word you say, yet the weight of his gaze feels so good and- he looks good in a ragged, sleep-deprived kind of way and- noooo. Fuck. The notion crosses your mind again– are you attracted to him?

Thank God it’s dark because your cheeks are on fire.

“So, prickly legs,” Sam clears his throat as he sits on the ledge, legs lowered into the water beside you, “how’s my favourite girl doin’ with her research?”

Sam pops the cigarette back into his mouth, taking another drag as he pats the ground beside him.

You dip half of your face under the water and shrug in a false display of nonchalance while your brain thuds at 200,000 beats per minute. Favourite girl? Jesus!

Right. Research. Work. What you’re here for. An apt distraction. For half one in the morning.

You scoff at the title as if you find it oh-so-patronising , swallowing away the tightness in your throat, reluctantly hoisting yourself out of the water to sit on the side of the pool.

Everything’s fine. You’re sooo cool.

Hunching with your arms wrapped around your middle, you ramble through your findings; potential who’s and what’s, as Sam presumably mentally notes anything relevant, chipping in from time to time.

“So, to cut a long story short,” you finally lean back after a few minutes, confident enough that Sam’s had enough time to acclimatise to any unsightly body parts of yours, “if we can figure out who Emaan’s letter was written to, I think it might open a lot of doors for us. Easy option is it’s a close friend, given he supposedly had no next of kin when he died, but-”

“You think it could be someone else?”

You turn to Sam who leans forwards, intrigued, as he holds his cigarette in front of his lips.

“Well…we know that the family had an excellent reputation, right? So, if he felt the need to vow them his entire bloodline’s worth of riches in order to right his wrongs, it must have been someone that he either felt threatened by, or… wanted away from the public eye- away from scrutiny for whatever reason-”

Sam nods, a look of admiration on his face as his hand scoops accidental cigarette ash fallout out of the pool. “Got anyone in mind?”

“Like I said, it’s either someone he felt threatened by- someone who could have…been ready to blackmail him-”

“-Which is a long shot, because the Sadir’s were supposedly good people?”

You nod. “Right. The other option is some sort of close friend or maybe even a relative that was undocumented for whatever reason. Which, to me, makes more sense.”

Sam nods. “Like a sibling?”

“Slim chance. His brother died while Emaan was still a teenager. Maybe a lover or something.”

Sam huffs a small laugh, attracting your attention. You frown. “What?”

He shakes his head and smokes again, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Why are you laughing?” You swivel to face him fully as he blows out another plume of smoke.

“No. Irrelevant. Carry on.”

“Sam.” Your frown deepens. “You can’t start smirking at me while I’m in the middle of telling you my theories- it’s making me feel… icky.” You exclaim, sticking out your lower lip. Sam waves his hand defensively in your direction.

“Alright, alright.” He sniffs, smirking again. “Nothin’ to do with your ‘theories’, just… you reminded me how smitten you’ve been acting-” He stops to chuckle, and suddenly you feel like your heart is in your mouth.

He- he hasn’t noticed you being weird, has he?

Your eyes widened. “I-I don’t-”

“No, no, don’t deny it.”

You gulp, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. Again. This can't be happening.

“I mean, the other day when Scott introduced himself, you were practically floating on air. Never seen you so giddy before.” He smirks, his eyes glinting mischievously.

Oh, God. Relief washes over you, but at the same time, the absurd notion of your attraction to Sam lingers in the background. You force a nervous laugh. “Oh, that? It's just… excitement about work and all. You know, meeting Scott and, and seeing you, and everything.”

“Excitement, huh?” Sam raises an eyebrow, and you mentally kick yourself for using such a vague excuse.

“Yeah, you know how it is. New people, big buck opportunities... It simply got me all… hyped up,” you explain, attempting to steer the conversation away from your horrid horrid self-awareness.

Sam chuckles again, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Doc. Look, you can like whoever you want, sweetheart. Just… don’t prioritise guys in this sort of industry. Not exactly the most...moral.”

You shoot him a playful glare, grateful for how completely oblivious he actually is. “Does that include you, then?” You prod, biting back a grin.

Sam scratched his chin, taking another drag. “Why, you lookin’ to get with me or something?” He mirrors your grin.

Your eyes widen ever so slightly, but you’re not about to let yourself fumble this one.

“Oh, God no.” You respond, composure relatively in-tact. You stand as Sam puts his cigarette back between his lips with an intrigued smirk on his face as his eyes follow you.

“I wouldn’t ever want to separate you from your one true love.” You smirk, crouching, bravely bracing a wet arm on his bare shoulder. “Though, I have to say, I don’t know what you see in her.” grabbing said love- the shrinking cigarette- from his mouth. Sam tutted. “She’s such a bad influence.”

“Give it back, you little shit.” Sam feigns anger as he lunges for your arm, which you hoist out of his reach as you stand.

Instead, he catches your ankle, which sends you plummeting to the floor, hitting your head as you fall back into the pool.

***

"Oh shit."

Without hesitation, Sam pushes himself into the pool, scooping her body towards him. He holds her by his chest, pushing her wet hair out of her face, panic immediately setting in when her head lulls to one side and her eyes stay closed.

He feels around the back of her head for any blood, relieved to find none. Fucking moron.

"Come on, sweetheart." Sam hazards a few taps to her face, hurriedly looking around, debating whether or not he should call for help as his heart rate begins to speed up.

He looks back to her, about to bring her towards the edge of the pool, before he notices her mouth twitch. She opens an eye and looks up at Sam as a smirk plays on her lips.

"Hey, what the he-" Her sudden grip on his shoulder sees Sam let go of her as he’s forced under the water.

Opening his eyes, Sam frowns as he watches her legs kicking to keep her afloat. He pushes himself up to the surface, wiping the water out of his eyes before staring at her in disbelief, breathing heavily.

She can't help but laugh. He splashes her with all the force he can, making her cough again.

"Are you trying to give me an aneurysm? Jesus!"

"No, I-" she chuckles, coughing up the remaining water.

He isn't impressed.

"Oh, come on! A little bit of embarrassment isn’t going to kill you, Sam."

She swims forwards.

"You," she pokes the tattooed star under his clavicle, "could have cracked my skull open."

Sam turns to the side, scratching his forehead with the usual scornful jaw clench he does when he knows he’s in the wrong.

"Gravely injured. All for a cigarette."

"Yeah, yeah, we get the point. Knock it off."

"Aw." He watches her pout. "Don’t be moody."

Sam shakes his head, swimming back to the side of the pool. As he pulls himself up onto the side, his shut his eyes, feeling a little bad for suddenly being so shirty with her. He sits, legs back in the water and watches her sheepishly blow bubbles, avoiding eye contact.

Enough of the silent treatment.

"Don’t you ever pull shit like that again." She turns to face him, mouth still under the water. She nods. He can't help but crack a smile as she sinks her head further down after being scolded, leaving only her eyes above water. "You’re just out to give an old man a heart attack. Little asshole."

She rolls her eyes, biting the inside of her cheek. "Stop with the ‘old’."

"Come on." He brushes off the subject before kneeling at the edge of the pool, extending a hand. "Pretty sure it’s way past your bedtime."

"Oof, maybe I take it back. You sound like my grandad." She mutters with a smirk, swimming towards him.

He lightly shakes his head as she grabs a hold of his hand. She holds onto his bicep with her other hand, allowing Sam to hoist her out of the pool, though before she can reach dry land, he purposely loosens his grip.

As he watches her fall back into the water with a squeal and a large splash, he stands with a proud expression, arms folded.

She emerges, pushing her hair out of her face, catching her breath. "You prick."

Sam bites his fist, face lathered in mock sympathy. "Hand slipped. So sorry, dear."

He begins to back away from the edge, heading back towards his room as she swims to the ladder. With a smug grin plastered onto his face, he turns around to see her adjusting her bikini at the edge of the pool.

Sam feels his smile falter as his eyes quickly trace over her frame. He internally slaps himself.

Act your age, Samuel.

As she wrestles the hair tie out of her soggy hair, he settles on her concentrated expression and becomes inexplicably afflicted.

Sam reluctantly tears his gaze away from her, realising that his momentary distraction is more than just an innocent glance.

You’re young enough to be my daughter, for chrissakes.

"Hmm?"

Sam snaps out of his trance. "I-What?"

She stops wringing out her hair. "You said…something, something…chrissakes." She laughs nervously, imitating his accent to the best of her ability on the final word.

Shit. Sam exhales a silent curse under his breath. He's been down this road before, starting with their video calls way back when. Back then, he thought he liked her, but he shrugged it off, attributing it to loneliness and the desire for a connection.

Now, being with her in person, there's a glimpse of something coming back- something he's in no rush to acknowledge.

It’s a complication he didn't anticipate, and as much as he’s tried to push it away, there's been a persistent ache in his chest that refuses to subside since he caught her dancing in false solitude.

Sam freezes, eyes wide towards the ground. "I…can’t remember."

Smooth.

"Right." She narrows her eyes, picking up her towel from the ground.

"We, uh-" Sam rubs the back of his neck, desperate to change the subject as he reaches the door to his room. "We should get some sleep. Gotta get moving in what…four hours."

"Mhmm." She hums, reaching her own door. "I’m sorry about…that." She gestures towards the pool. Sam shakes his head, looking back at the water with a short laugh.

"Me too. Are you sure you didn’t actually hurt yourself?"

She lets out a breath, releasing some sort of tension. "Hurts a bit, but I’m all good. Promise. I’ll…see you in the morning, Sammy."

He watches her slide her way back into her room with a little wave, closing the curtain behind her.

Sam clenches his jaw, pushing the intrusive thoughts away. The age gap echoes in his mind like a relentless reminder.

The reminder is necessary, a defence mechanism against something he fears acknowledging. As he retreats back towards his room, a faint smile lingers on his lips, his thoughts wrestling with a growing hope that maybe, just maybe, this time, it's different.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Is the last thing he mutters before stepping back into his room to take a cold, cold shower.

[yeojaa]

they don’t love you like i love you, iii.

read parts one and two!  good things come in threes.  or something.  idk.  as always, ty to my beloved beta reader @hobi-gif​.  i post nothing without her - even if it’s just a drabble.  🥺

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  general.  tags.  a lil bit of angst (only if you squint) but mainly fluff?  or romance?  idk.  they love each other a lot.  that’s about it.  wc.  1.2k.

“You look great.”  It comes in a warm breath of air that crawls across your spine and drags heat over every vertebrae, colouring the bare expanse of your back in ruby roses.  The colour blooms prettily, blending with the mosaic around your neck, little mementos left behind by the man that holds you recklessly close.

The softness of his mouth retraces the patterns from last night (from this morning, from less than an hour ago).  Hands - broad, firm, unrelenting - follow in tandem, slipping easily over the small of your waist.  He squeezes you, teasingly, with a giddy noise that reverberates deep in his chest.

You’re not sure what’s got him in such a good mood.

“I have to finish getting ready,”  you chide, though you’re not entirely opposed to the closeness of his body, how it feels like home despite the fact that it shouldn’t.  

Another kiss, straight to your cheek.  “Five more minutes.”  

“We have to go in fifteen!” 

He huffs - an adorably soft sound - and releases you like you’ve asked him to give up a limb.  But still, he doesn’t go far, dropping onto the edge of his low-profile bed as he watches you riffle through your - his - closet.  You really shouldn’t have anything in there given the fact you’d packed it up close to nine months ago now but he’s never been good at saying no.

Not to his parents, not to his students, and certainly not to you - the love of his life.

Which is probably why Jungkook’s about to do one of the stupidest things in the world.  This coming from the same guy who’d nearly ridden an ATV off a cliff during one of his best friend’s bachelor parties.  The same guy who’d taken a bet to play Chubby Bunny with hodo-gwaja and had nearly choked on it - just for a free forty dollar meal.  

“Gives me enough time then…”  You’ve caught on the moment he mumbles the words.  It’s like you’ve got supersonic hearing - or you’re just very well-attuned to his antics.  Probably the latter.

The amount of suspicion in your eyes should be offensive.  It crowds every other emotion out, replacing the darks of your irises with nothing but distrust.  “Enough time for what?”  

He’s been working himself up to this for the last eight weeks since you’d drunkenly blamed him for dating someone else.  Which had been, honestly, a completely laughable accusation.  

The two months doesn’t feel like enough, though.  If it were up to him, he’d have another month.  Maybe two, or even ten.  A year sounded good.  

You’re back to being elbow-deep in his closet, swiping through the few velvet hangers you’d brought over and then decided to leave there.  He’d be grateful for the distraction if it wasn’t acutely obvious you were waiting for a response. 

“Spit it out, Kook.” 

One breath.  Another.  The feeling that he wants to sink six feet under and disappear.  Then, so quickly he wonders if he might join the Guinness World Record Book for fastest speaker:  “Be with me.”

“Excuse me?”  You’ve heard him, obviously.  You’re far too still, fingers caught in the soft wool of a tartan skirt. 

“B-be with me.”  The words wobble, just the barest hint of his stutter coming through.  Hands fist and unfurl in his lap, smoothing over the softly textured fabric that drapes over his straining thighs.  They’re pants you’d picked out, insisting they made his ass look ‘fat with a ph’. 

When you turn, returning his favourite skirt to its spot, he almost wishes he hadn’t said anything.

“I don’t want to get married.”  It’s hard, non-negotiable.  It strikes out like a hot brand, as searing red as the Chanel rouge that paints your mouth.  It’d probably hurt less if you didn’t look so angry, as if you were tired of having this conversation.

He gets why.  He’s angry, too, but for different reasons. 

“I’m not asking you to marry me.”  

“But you will.”  Your exasperation is, frankly, a little offensive.  After five great years as a couple and even more as friends before that, Jungkook thinks you’d know him a bit better.  He supposes he deserves it. 

Just like you deserve the roll of his eyes, whites glaringly obvious as he reminds himself that this will be worth it.  That you - in all of your frustrating, absurd glory - are worth it.

“No, I won’t.”  

The way he says it doesn’t sound any different than anything else he’s said but your own expression shifts, tumbles and falls over itself as you study him.  There’s something close to hope, a flicker of it hidden just beyond the shadow of your stare.  He wonders how close he is to prying the door wide open or if it’d always been like this - a little stuck but never locked.  Maybe you’d never changed the key.  

“I’m not going to change my mind.”  You’re firm but not nearly as harsh.  There’s a tell-tale wobble in your chin, in how your mouth pouts and purses so prettily he wants to kiss you senseless.

“I’m not asking you to.”  

Hand is offered, palm up.  A question.  You stare at it longer than he likes.

“I love you.  You know I love you.”  Each word is enunciated with great care, like he’s worried one wrong move will have you slapping his offer away, leaving him high and dry like all those months ago.  “I don’t want to not be with you - not over something like this.”  

Once he starts, it’s almost easy, like the words come of their own volition, too quick for him to catch.  Shooting stars that light up the sky, full of promise and wonder.  

“I know you don’t believe in marriage.”

You had reason not to - you’d seen it tear apart your mother enough times.

“If you told me tomorrow that you’d marry me, we’d do it.”  He smiles then, wistful and far too handsome for his own good.  “But since it’s either keep you or lose you—”  He shrugs once, a roll of his shoulders that does little to dislodge the faraway look in his eyes..  “—I’m choosing to let it go.  Because I’m not losing you and I’m not doing this, this—”

The hand that’d hung between the two of you wiggles, noncommittal and limp.  Quite a good imitation of the light and breezy thing you had going. 

“—stupid friend bullshit.  We’re not just friends and I’m tired of acting like we are.”

You’re surprisingly silent, the shape of your mouth betraying nothing.  He hates that you’re so good at this - at holding your cards so close to your chest you might as well be a word championship poker star.  It’s so terribly different from him, who cries during really sad movies even when he tries not to and who gets too worked up during junior varsity soccer scrimmages.

“Can you say something?”  It’s almost whiny, puffing out his cheeks.  

“You can’t change your mind,”  you state, terribly serious.  Jungkook tries to ignore the utter unfairness when you step forward, close enough he can almost reach you.  “I won’t ever give you that.” 

Hearing it again feels awful, like nails on a chalkboard.  It doesn’t break his heart this time, though, and that’s a feat in and of itself.  There’s something else to look forward to.  He has to focus on that, even as he’s grinding his teeth and forcing his tongue into his cheek - telltale signs of his frustration.

“But you’ll give me everything else.”  Not a question this time.  

“Everything else.”

“Then that’s enough.”

[maxparkhurst]

Trial and Error

May 29th

Deep breath in…

Slow breath out.

Time felt nonexistent in this surreal space. Max watched the shop’s amber glow shift along the water’s surface. It was almost like being in another plane of existence; an existence where her body was independent of her head, and where she filled her lungs with water instead of air. She wondered if this was what being pickled in a jar would feel like, adrift in stagnant water with only the pressure in your ears for company. She had to admit, it wasn’t so bad.

Deep breath in…

Slow breath out.

Augustine’s silhouette glided across the surface and reflected back at Max in its ripples. He stared intently at his pocket watch, his lips puckered in a demur pout as he nodded in tandem to each beat. It was like watching him through a distorted looking glass- his childlike features warped into a pseudo version of himself. Max stared curiously at her brother, knowing full well he couldn’t see her, and allowed a subtle smile to touch her lips. There was a bit of euphoria to be found submerged in water. She was free to observe the world unobstructed through this slightly askew lens; everything else- sound, smell, touch- muted. Restricted to only one sense, Max felt weightless and light.

Deep breath in…

She held that breath as she followed Auggie’s form. He crossed the basin’s length and disappeared over the side. Her lips parted in protest when her lungs seized. A bright, poignant sting started from her nostrils and ran all the way down her throat as her shoulders buckled. Drowning. The thought struck Max in a flash. I’m drowning!

Max erupted from the water, drenching the floor in her wake. Hunched over the basin, she heaved and retched into it. The contents of her stomach emptied and the water clear from her lungs, she fell back onto her haunches and gulped down as much air as she could muster. It took her a moment to realize Augustine was by her side. He patted her back vigorously with one hand and threw a towel over her head with the other, drying her hair before a chill could set it. “How long was that?” she wheezed between breaths.

Augustine paused. He bit his lip and focused his efforts on toweling Max dry. After a prolonged silence, he answered, “Four hours.”

“Damn it.” She said in a whisper, her voice coarse against her raw throat. Her fist smacked into the floor. “Just...Damn it.”

“I thought we had it that time…” Augustine lamented. He settled cross-legged next to Max, slipping off his glasses to clean them on the edge of his shirt. He inspected them bleary-eyed in the light and breathed a dejected sigh. “Was hoping we would, anyway.”

A twinge of guilt tugged at Max when she saw the dark circles under his eyes. He must’ve been exhausted. She couldn’t blame him; they’d been at it for hours. Slivers of grey light peeked through the drawn curtains, washing the siblings and their efforts strewn across the shop in a muted glow. Candles burnt to the nub, books cracked half-open on their spines, papers covered front to back with scrawlings, and ooze-filmed vials laid scattered across the shop’s floor and counter. The cauldron frothed with their latest edition of Aquatic Breathing, its putrid scent of Blackmouth Oil mingling with the bile floating in chunky motes inside the water basin; both were doomed to be dumped in the back alley.

Max smacked the sleep from her cheeks and pulled them taunt with a frustrated groan. “I don’t get it… Where are going wrong?”

They’d tried nearly everything; extracted the basic oils from the stranglekelp, distilled and reduced the Blackmouth oil, let the whole affair simmer in calcium and lime sulfates, and even threw in a pinch of salt for added measures. Its potency was fine. It made breathing under water almost feel like second nature, unlike their first attempt which almost ended in Max waterboarding herself. Duration, that’s what it lacked. To last eight hours they needed a key component. Something specific, yet simple.

“Something,” Max thought. She pressed her lips together and rubbed at her temples. “Something crucial but glaringly obvious.  Run through it: Calcination, Dissolution, Separation, Conjunction, Distillation-”

“What did you eat?” Augustine tucked his glasses on top of his head, gingerly peering into the water basin. His nose wrinkled at the rancid scent which drifted up from it. “Smells like ripe cheese. Do you chew?!”

“Ripe cheese…” Max echoed. She perked up as a thought flashed. Her lips curled with a manic grin. “You genius boy. Ripe cheese!” she exclaimed, leaping to her feet.

Augustine dumbfoundedly blinked at Max. “I’m not following…”

“You-you-you ferment it! You ferment cheese to make it ripe, right?!” She gestured wildly in the air before promptly turning on a heel. She swept the counter clear of its vials and candle nubs and opened its drawers, rummaging through them in search of her chalk. “It makes the taste…” She snapped her fingers as if it would summon the right words. “Makes it taste.. I don’t know… More potent!”

Auggie’s glasses slipped from his curls and plopped down onto the bridge of his nose. “So...We’re making cheese?” he questioned, canting his head.

“No!” Max snapped, slapping a box of chalk onto the counter. “Focus, Augustine! We’re fermenting the Stranglekelp and then extracting the oils.”

“Oh…” Auggie drawled. He pushed his glasses up and rose to his feet, tentative in approaching his sister. He watched as she drew one large circle on the counter followed by a series of smaller ones inside all connected with a single, angular line. “Do we even have enough time?”

“No,” Max said pointedly. She discarded the chalk over her shoulder and brushed the dust from her fingers. “So we’re going to cheat a little.”

Augustine’s eyes widened with sudden realization. “Oh!” he chimed, looking down at the transmutation circle inscribed on the wood. His awe melted into a mild perturbation as he lifted a brow. “I thought you said the Siren’s Stone was only used for emergencies?”

Max spread hands out with a nonchalant shrug, looking off with a tired smile. “I deem this an emergency.”

“I deem it as you having too much coffee and not enough sleep.” Augustine balked when Max shot him a look and sleeked off with a sheepish grin. “I-I’ll get the kelp…”

Max chuffed and turned her attention to the circle. She noted its curvature and made certain that each line connected with the correct node; transmutation was a complicated art and a wrong connotation could spell disaster for their project. When all was double checked and a pile of kelp was placed in the certain, Max ducked under the counter and retrieved a lock box hidden in its shadows. There was nothing ornate or complicated about it. Just a wooden box and bronze lock sealed away the single most valuable object the Parkhurst’s owned- a Siren’s Stone.

The box’s key laid hidden amongst the miscellaneous objects cluttering the desk’s drawers. The idea of keeping it in such an obvious place may have looked negligent from an outsider’s perspective, but in Max’s mind it was the ultimate safety precaution. She rarely knew of people who checked beneath their noses. She fumbled with the box’s tumbler and cracked it open, her face washed with a crimson glow. A Siren’s Stone, not quite unlike a Philosopher's Stone, was an essential component in transmutation. It was the driving kinetic force. The only difference between it and its counterpart was that a Siren’s Stone had a limited number of charges before it became unstable and disintegrated. Max couldn’t remember the last time she’d used it; it was anyone’s guess to how many more uses she’d get out of it.

She laid the stone amongst the bundle of kelp. It glimmered with an ethereal, crimson light like a ruby buried in a pile of mud. Her hands hovered above the circle as the air grew dense. Augustine watched from over the counter’s lip, huddled behind it in case things went arie. Max flexed her gloved fingers and closed her eye.

Deep breath in…

Slow breath out…

Her hands clapped together, their echo resonating in the growing quiet.

Focus on your intent.

Max felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as an electric current coursed through the shop. It pulsed from the stone, its light growing brighter by the second. Vials shook in their castes and books shivered in their shelves which teetered dangerously from side-to-side. Sparks flew from her fingers as she forced  her hands apart, fighting against a magnetic pull.

Deep breath in….

Slow breath out…

 “Please work…”

She slammed her hands down onto the circle. Light erupted from the inscription and struck the shop with a blinding flash. Moments passed. And as the dust settled and the shelves no longer shook, Max peeked her eye open. Relief bubbled in her chest and was expelled with an airy laugh.

“Yes!” she hissed, cocking her head back with a sigh.

Augustine poked his head out from behind the counter and beamed down at the now rotten kelp sitting on the counter. “Woah…” he breathed, readjusting his askew glasses.

Max retrieved the Siren’s Stone and held it aloft. It glistened in the morning’s light as if it’d been just conjured; they’d been granted another day with the precious gem. She wiped it clean on her trousers and tucked back in its lockbox where it’d remain under the counter. “Clean out the cauldron, Auggie,” she breathed, meeting her brother’s inquisitive- albeit tired- eyes- “We’ve got one more shot at this.”

Augustine straightened and gave his sister a firm nod. He wrestled the cauldron from its hook and pushed out the back entry-way. Max turned her attention to the rotten kelp, pinching a strand between her fingers and twirling it. “This might actually work,” she muttered to herself, “Just maybe…”  

Continuation from here

[littleoldrachel]

i am burned out (i smell of smoke) - part two

guys. the response to this has just been. unreal. thank you so much for all of the kindness and support you've shown me and this little fic. i couldn't be more grateful. y'all are wonderful and i don't know why i was so nervous to post in the first place. thank you.

for now, part two! (look, it's gotta get worse before it gets better!!! (it will get better though, i swear))

i am burned out (i smell of smoke) [on ao3]

summary: in which virgil falls apart, learns how to put himself back together, and realises he doesn’t have to do it alone.

word count: 3.6k ish ( part 1/5 | part 2/5 )

warnings: mental health issues

timeline: i suppose this is set in early TAG verse?  jeff is missing and nobody is Coping Well.

happy belated birthday, nutty!! <3

ii. 

He’s not better in the morning. Waking up is an unpleasant experience for Virgil at the best of times, only gratified by a large mug of coffee or the necessity of a rescue, but today - 

Virgil is aware of the heavy weight on his chest before he even opens his eyes. It’s even larger than it was last night, sucking him dry of what little energy sleep has reclaimed. 

Virgil glares down at his chest, half-wishing there was some outwards sign that something is wrong on the skin there. But there are only the same patches of bruises and still healing scars as adorn his whole body. 

He takes a deep breath, and feels the strain of it against this heavy weight. 

Is he getting sick? He can’t be - he’s only just had the flu, dammit! He has a job to do, and Scott will never let him get away with flying Two whilst sick again if their last shouting match about it was anything to go by. 

And even if he were getting sick - which he’s not - that chesty ache is different to this weighty nothingness. Instead of feeling ill, he’s just… tired. 

A Scott-like voice sounds in the back of his head, though it’s far harsher than Scott could ever be: concentrate on your job - on the people who need you.

But it’s right. That’s what he needs to focus on - that’ll be what gets him out of this awful funk. 

(Because that’s all it is. A funk).

(It has to be). 

*

It’s not better the following morning either. Nor the morning after that, no matter how many rescues he pushes himself through.

His go-to coping mechanism has always been music, and so he makes his way to the piano without even bothering to raid the kitchen for breakfast/lunch. He’s not hungry, which should probably trigger alarm bells but he’s too tired to care.

Instead, he plonks himself down on the piano stool, lifts the lid to his precious instrument, and stares at the keys, waiting. 

Only, nothing swells inside of him, desperate to be expressed - no emotion, no thought, nothing. 

Virgil has never been in front of a piano and felt nothing. Even before he could play, the very sight of a piano had him awestruck. He remembers his mother playing L.O.V.E just to make him smile, stressing over his finals with endless Rachmaninoff, and pouring out his grief through his own stormy compositions. The piano is and always has been less of an instrument and more of a mouthpiece, a beating heart, a lonely soul that he has bound to himself. For a child stricken mute by tragedy, a teenager struggling in his siblings’ shadows, an adult who can never save them all, his piano is the best way he’s found to dig those feelings out of himself. 

Scott has always said Virgil feels things too deeply. He’s right - even in this nothing-ness state, the depths of it are chasm-like inside him. 

And so, because he knows Scott would want him to try, Virgil half-heartedly plays the opening melody to one of his most recent compositions - a gentle, comforting little thing - but stops almost at once in frustration. 

He just doesn’t feel like it. 

(The upset this causes him is almost better than the awful emptiness because at least it’s a goddamn feeling).

*

The one place he feels semi-normal is the gym. At least there, he can distract himself with the burn of straining muscles and the clanging of too-heavy weights. 

At first, even the thought of venturing down here and working out is Too Much, and he can’t quite bring himself to do so.

But then - 

The image of a child buried beneath rocks he's too weak to lift propels him forward, a sharp twinge of anxiety in his chest. 

And so he rows until his shoulders are throbbing, pounds the treadmill till he can’t feel his feet anymore, presses weights more suited to the exosuit than a man. 

His whole body is trembling with exertion as he runs through some cool down stretches. As he makes to stand, his vision tips sideways, flecked with dark spots. 

It's a good twenty minutes before he tries again, this time leaning heavily on the weights racks. 

He pushed too hard and he knows it. Thank God his brothers weren't down here to see it or he would be in serious trouble.

But it has helped, at least a little. It quiets the worry in his mind that he's useless and the guilt of lives lost. The endorphins of exercise lessen the load on his chest momentarily and though he hurts all over, he'd rather this physical pain than the ache of feeling nothing at all. 

*

Virgil hasn't drawn anything in weeks now, despite the not-so-subtle hints from John that he would really, really like something new for his room on Five (and honestly sending Virgil breathtaking photos of double-ringed galaxies would usually have him mixing up colours at once). 

He wants to draw John something - heck, he just wants to draw something. Or maybe, he wants to want to draw something, but every time he sits down with a sketchpad or canvas, his mind empties and his heart is tired.

Like now, curled up in the window seat of his room with a pencil and pad in hand. It's been well over an hour and the page is still glaringly blank, both physically and mentally. 

A knock at his door startles him, and Alan's head pokes round it. "Hey, Virg, you busy?"

Virgil throws the pad and pencil aside, almost grateful for the distraction from his utter failings as an artist. "Never too busy for you, Allie, what's up?"

"Oh wait, you were drawing?!" Alan hurries over, reaching for the pad. "That's great, it's been ages - can I see?"

He turns over the pad before Virgil can stop him and deflates. "Oh."

"Sorry, Alan," Virgil says, tugging the pad back so that he doesn't have to see the disappointed worry in Alan's eyes. "Waiting for inspiration to strike."

"Oookaaay," Alan says slowly, "but if you're busy, you should have said... It's fine if you are! I can ask John instead. Or Brains."

"I'm not busy, honestly. What is it you need?"

Alan looks torn. "But your art time is so important to you.. and you haven't had time in weeks."

Virgil sighs, "it's not that I haven't had time. I just don't feel like it at the moment." He means it to be reassuring - confirmation that whatever Alan needs is more important than doing fuck-all - and it's the most honest he's been in weeks. 

But instead, Alan looks even more worried. "You don't feel like it? … why not?" 

Shit. It's easy to forget with King Smother Brother in the building that his younger brothers have learned from the best. Virgil doesn't know what to do. There's no way in hell he's spilling how horrible he feels all over his littlest brother. And so he does something that will only make him feel worse in the long run but that might disperse the concern in Alan's eyes. 

"I mean… I wanted it to be a surprise," Virgil says slowly, hating himself for the way Alan brightens at his lies. "But I've been working on something special for John's birthday."

Alan beams and it's almost worth the guilty squirm in Virgil's chest. "Can I see?!" 

"No, no, it's - it's not ready yet." Or started, planned, conceptualised… he's gonna have to get his shit together to fix this lie. 

"Okay, okay. Aw man, I can't wait to see it, Virg!" 

The guilt only swells, and with it, anxiousness. "What was it you needed, Allie?"

"Oh! Right, yeah, it's Physics."

Virgil blinks. "Isn't John your go-to guy for that?"

Alan bites his lip. "Yeah, but you have an Engineering degree. And also…" Alan sighs and flops down on Virgil's bed. "I don't get it and John's great except he doesn't get why I don't get it and-"

"Say no more." Virgil has himself been on the receiving end of John's frustrated rants; not only did he have to bear the humiliation of asking his younger brother for help, but he came away from it feeling even more stupid and hopeless. Thankfully, he'd had a Jeff to explain it to him in terms he could understand - it's a choking grief when Virgil realises that Alan doesn't have that same luxury. 

"It's this equation," Alan is saying, dragging Virgil back to the present. "I just don't get it."

A glance at the page and Virgil feels much steadier. He knows physics, and for once, this is a situation where he can help without failing anyone. 

*

Both on rescues and at home, Virgil has always been the focused, steady rock upon which his brothers can ground themselves. And he's still that, even worn out and perpetually empty, it's just a little harder to maintain it. He's vaguely aware that he's sort of falling apart and he should probably tell someone, even if it means Gordon will be flying his precious 'bird for a while. But the larger part of him is still working to convince himself that he's fine, because he should be fine.

The facade slips a couple of times and each time there's a cost that leaves Virgil so angry at himself, at his uselessness that he can't bear to face anyone. 

Scott watches his usually perfect aim fail three times in a row, and is forced to launch himself out of Thunderbird One to fire his own grappling hook. It takes on the first go because he's Scott fucking Tracy, but they’re too close to the ground thanks to Virgil's ineptitude and there's blood everywhere - oh God, it's everywhere - and Virgil is left with shaking hands staring at the man whose wounds Scott is desperately trying to plug.

John hears when he blacks out momentarily in the tunnel system beneath Mexico City. It's just a temporary dizziness from the heat of the packed soil (is what he's telling John, even though he doesn't remember the last time he ate, and forces himself to choke down an energy bar in guilt) but it distracts his brother from wherever else he is needed and Virgil hates himself for it.

Gordon is the one who wakes him sweating and yelling from a nightmare. There's such worry in his younger brother's face as he asks about the dream, but Virgil can't bring himself to explain that it was his father going up in flames over and over, as it has been for months now. A week later, when it's Scott's face replacing Jeff Tracy's, Virgil wakes to a panic attack, but Gordon is nowhere to be found. 

Alan seizes his arm at a landslide in south Wales, drags him to a man who is pale, sweating, clutching his broken leg, and Virgil goes into medic mode at once. Bind the leg, treat for shock, arrange transport to the nearest hospital.

Except the man never makes it to the hospital.

Because there’s a hard, swollen bruise up his ribcage that should have indicated internal bleeding. And he didn’t spot it - why didn’t he spot it? He has one job: help people, and he can’t even fucking do that right. The man dies on the way to the hospital, and Virgil can’t breathe. Alan tries - bless his good, generous soul - to reassure him, reminding him that there’s relatively little they can do for internal bleeds, they aren’t equipped for that kind of injury, but Virgil pushes him away with a roughness he’ll later regret.

He’s falling apart and this feeling wasn’t supposed to affect rescues, it wasn’t supposed to be a problem he actually had to face. This wasn’t supposed to happen, why did this happen, why, why, why - 

*

Scott is the one who drags him away from his bedroom, where he’s taken to moping alone. 

He doesn’t even knock, simply sweeping through the door in shorts and a tank top, trainers dangling by the laces. “Right, get changed, we’re going on a run.”

Virgil, who hasn’t moved (can’t move) from his bed since getting back from a rescue a few hours earlier, glares up at him. “Nope.”

“Move it.”

“Make me.”

Scott narrows his eyes. “You know I can.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Virgil regrets the words the second they leave his mouth, because no way in hell does he have the energy to wrestle with Scott right now, but his older brother does something much, much worse. 

He tickles him. 

Virgil goes into survivor mode: kicking, flailing, shoving Scott away all whilst breathlessly begging him to stop. When Scott finally relents, Virgil flops back on his bed, panting. 

“I - hate you.” 

“I know,” Scott says cheerfully. “Now, get dressed.”

They begin on Scott’s usual circuit across the beach, chasing the trail up under canopies of forest, and then break away to run alongside the cliff-edges. Most of the heat of the day has faded with the sun, but it’s still warm enough that they’re both sweating by the end of the ascent. Scott pauses at the crest of the cliff and stands silhouetted against the sunset. Virgil slows to a halt next to him.

"What's wrong?" Scott says suddenly and Virgil almost flinches.

"Nothing," he says. It's enough of a half-truth that he doesn't even feel guilty at the frustration in Scott's eyes. 

Scott stares at him. "Please don’t lie to me, Virg. Are you getting sick? Are you injured?”

“What - no, I’m not - I’m not lying -”

“Because I swear, if you ever pull that ‘pushing through pneumonia for the mission’ bullshit again, I will ground you for life-”

“Scott, I’m not sick!”

“Come on, Virg, you’ve always been a shit liar.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Then what’s going on with you?! This is your favourite route." He sweeps a hand over the view of endless ocean, soaked pink and gold beneath the setting sun. "Normally you're urging us to get back so you can get it all down on a canvas, and today, you haven’t even noticed. Please, Virg?” Scott takes a step towards him, resting a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. Talk to me?”

The unbridled concern in Scott’s tone hurts and Virgil simultaneously wants nothing more than to fix it and to stop being its cause. 

Except that - he's fine, he's okay, he's coping with whatever this is. And he doesn't even know what this is so he would rather set himself on fire than trigger another of his brother's nightmares.

“I’m okay, Scott, really.” Scott shakes his head and Virgil doubles down. “I am, I’m just tired.” (So tired, so fucking tired but no amount of sleep seems to help). “It’s been a crazy couple of months.”

Scott frowns, and Virgil forces himself not to cringe at the intensity of his brother’s stare. This feeling is shaping him up to be a damned good liar, and Virgil hates it.

“You have been looking tired,” Scott says eventually, and Virgil sighs internally. “Do I need to give you leave to rest up - and tell me the truth, Virg, I swear to God -”

“No, no.”

Don’t leave me alone with this feeling and nothing to distract from it. 

“Swear it?” 

Virgil nods and watches the relief bloom in his brother’s eyes. He almost doesn’t hate himself for it, because he’s trying his damnedest to convince himself that he is fine, even though it’s becoming increasingly apparent he’s really, really not. But he doesn’t know how to explain how empty and tired and fragile he feels, and so he can’t.

“No more skipping family dinners though, Virg. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you aren’t around at mealtimes lately, I miss you.”

*

The thing is, he's just not hungry anymore - not for Scott's special blueberry pancakes, nor for authentic Italian pizza from his favourite restaurant courtesy of Gordon on the way home one day. He's especially not hungry for Grandma's (literal) rock cake, no matter how hurt she looks by his rejection. 

Virgil knows he's losing weight - he can feel it in the looseness of his uniform around his limbs and in how he has to cinch his belt a little tighter than before. He also knows that in intensifying his workouts, he should be increasing his intake to match. 

He’s also not sleeping - or at least, not sleeping restfully. His nights are riddled with horrific dreams that he wakes from in a panic, or he spends hours unable to switch his mind off for all the terrible thoughts echoing round it. 

The thing is - he can't quite bring himself to care about it all. He’s finding it so hard to care about anything at all (besides his family and the rescues, of course, though even these are draining him beyond all reason), least of all himself. 

*

After one sleepless night, Virgil wanders aimlessly through the house in the groggy rays of the rising sun. Scott will already be on his morning run and Gordon will be halfway through his pre-breakfast swim. And Virgil -

He should be in bed, dead to the world, only to be woken up under dire circumstances or so help me, Gordon - 

Instead, he finds himself in front of his piano. It’s been long enough that a film of dust has settled atop the lid, and he traces his finger through it absently, then decides to try. For Scott, if not for himself (definitely not for himself).

He rifles through boxes of sheet music waiting for something to grab him. When nothing inevitably does, he snatches up whatever’s sticking out sideways, and begins to play. The notes are familiar enough that he closes his eyes, waiting to lose himself in the melody.

But that tug never comes. 

Virgil finishes the piece just as empty and useless and tired as he started it, and opens his eyes to see Gordon standing there, toast in hand.

“Morning,” Gordon says grinning wickedly. “Long time, no see, Mr Piano Man.”

“Hey,” Virgil says quietly, filing the sheet music away again. He’s not in the mood for Gordon’s joviality right now - then again, when is he ever these days? He feels guilty for thinking it at once. 

“What’s wrong?” Gordon demands, his eyes narrowed. He leans across the piano and Virgil glowers at those buttery fingers.

“If you get grease on my piano, Gordon, you won’t live to regret it.”

“Sheesh. Someone got out of bed on the wrong side this morning. But seriously, what’s up?”

“Gordon. I mean it.”

Gordon rolls his eyes so hard it must physically hurt him to do so, but raises his hands in surrender. “Fine. Now will you talk to me?”

Virgil looks down at the keys. “Why would anything be up?”

“Well,” Gordon says slowly, “numero uno, I don’t remember the last time I got to have crunchy peanut butter on toast, which means you’re not eating us out of house and home, which is Highly Suspicious Behaviour. Y dos, you only play that when you’re feeling down.”

“I’m surprised you remember that,” Virgil says, caught off guard enough that he doesn’t even attempt to deny it.

“I listen,” Gordon says indignantly. “Chopping is what you play when you feel sad.”

“Chopin.”

“Bless you.”

Virgil half-smiles, in spite of himself. He doesn’t remember the last time he smiled. 

And there’s a moment, where he thinks: tell him, tell him there’s this horrible feeling inside of you and you’re afraid it’s going to swallow you whole, and he’s going to - he wants to - he means to, but-

“I’m okay, Gords, honest. Just nostalgic.”

Gordon looks at him with eyes far older than his years. “You know it’s okay if you’re not okay though, right?”

“Sure.”

“I mean it, Virg. You’re always here for us. Let us be here for you too, yeah?”

There’s a lump in his throat and Virgil can’t trust himself to speak, so he nods vigorously instead. His brother looks uncharacteristically sad as Virgil makes his excuses to hurry off to the gym and it hurts, all these lies hurt, he’s hurting so much.

He’s just dropped the weight when the floor lurches beneath him and he staggers. 

Hm. Low blood sugar. 

The medic in him is furious at himself, but that guy is also buried beneath a thick layer of exhausted indifference, impenetrable sadness and an overwhelming nothingness. 

And so, Virgil does what he does best. He keeps going.

Keeps going through the motions of gym, rescue, take care of brothers, rescue, repairs, sleep, gym, rescue, because what else can he do? 

*

Until he can’t.

There’s a day that dawns bright and beautiful like every single goddamn day on their tropical island. The birdsong is melodic, the butterflies are a tapestry of colour, the sea sparkles beneath lazy golden rays. 

And Virgil can’t get out of bed. 

Not won’t, not doesn’t want to - physically cannot. 

The weight on his chest has finally become heavy enough that it pins him beneath his covers and he cannot shake it off. Every single particle of the emptiness inside him has insidiously become a despair so absolute and almighty that Virgil cannot bear it inside of him but is powerless to get it out. It’s the worst feeling he has ever known - worse than watching his mother die before his eyes, worse than his father turning away from him in his own grief, worse than trying to keep a splintered family together with frayed nerves and a broken heart. He’s not okay. He’s falling apart. 

It’s the first time he’s allowed himself to accept these as facts, rather than fears.

But the realisation only makes him feel even more alone. 

[writingfromkitchenator]

Normalcy is Key

Bruce Banner Bingo for @brucebannerbingo

Square filled: Only One Bed

Characters: Bruce x OFC, Tony Stark

Words: 2,433

Warnings: Slight awkwardness, mutual pining, Tony playing match maker, it’s mostly just pure fluff.

It felt strange doing so normal, especially with threats always feeling like they were just around every corner, but then, there probably wasn’t two safer people to be with, except maybe Thor.

Jala looked around the conference hall in awe.  This year’s science conference was bigger and larger than the previous one she’d got to attend (probably due to Tony now owning part of it) and seeing so many large display and all the different people around was somewhat exciting.

Tony beamed at her.  “See? Aren’t you glad you came?”

She rolls her eyes a little.  “I never said I didn’t want to, I simply asked if we had time to.”

“We make the time,” Tony shrugs.  “And I could hardly let you sit out again, especially when you said you hadn’t been in six years.”

“Yeah, well-” She stops, seeing Bruce shifting just a little uncomfortably, enough that not many would notice, except for her and Tony.  “Are you okay, Bruce?

Bruce blinks at her and smiles, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes to hide his nervousness enough, but it was clear that he was trying to shrug it off. “Yeah, of course.  Tony, do we have to check in before heading into any of the lectures?”

Tony and Jala share a quick look, but Tony was quick to smile at Bruce. “It mightn’t be a bad idea to freshen up after that flight.  I’d imagine we’ll all be fairly flat out all day, may not get the chance till late otherwise.”

The three of them made their way over to the lobby of the hotel, Jala still trying to take in as much as could when the hotel’s receptionist words caught her attention.

“Okay, there’s the keys for your two rooms, they’re on the twelfth floor, which is second elevator on the right.”

“Two?”  Jala asked, a little surprised.

Tony was quick to hide his smirk.  “Yeah, they were fully booked by the time you made a decision, so I had to make some arrangements, agreed to do a lecture for at least one room, and you don’t even want to know what I did to get the other.  So, I’ll have one and you and Bruce can share.”

Jala and Bruce stare at him.

“Why do you get one?”  Bruce asked.

“Well, you know, my snoring issue and all that, not to mention,” he added quickly as Bruce went to talk.  “Seeing as I’ve got to give a lecture and all, I can’t have either of you snoring to keep me up.”

“Tony…” Jala’s voice was a warning.

Tony was quickly moving away though, throwing a set at Bruce, who just manages to catch them.  “No time to argue sweetheart!  Lot’s to do and get ready for and all that.  You kids have fun!”

With that, he was gone, leaving a very awkward Bruce and Jala standing there.

Bruce sighs first.  “I really hate that man at times.”

“Join the club.”  Jala scoffs and shakes her head.  “Come on, let’s go see what the damage is.”

The elevator ride to the twelfth floor was awkwardly quiet, neither wanting to risk talking, despite a shared nervous glance at one point.

The whole team knew how they secretly felt about each other, but normally, they didn’t push it.

Tony, it seemed, was now a different story.

Bruce let out a slow breath as they reached the room.  “Moment of truth.”

The room itself was actually quite nice and large, with its own bathroom and small kitchenette, but there was one glaringly obvious problem.

There was only one bed.

Bruce and Jala stared at it, neither wanting to be the first to point out the obvious.

“Well, I guess I’ll take the couch then.” Bruce said, heading to the much too small lounge on the other side of the room.

Jala stares after him.  “Don’t be daft Bruce, we’re both adults, we can manage to share a bed for a couple of days.”

Bruce looked just as nervous as she felt.  “I don’t want to impose Jala.  We’re all used to our space.”

“If it was imposing, I wouldn’t have said anything,” She gives a shy smile.  “Come on, we’re friends, we can manage.”

They left it at that, neither wanting to talk about it anymore, freshening up and heading out for the day, soon going their spate ways to different lectures that took their fancy.

Bruce was first back to the room that night, cringing a little at the sight of the bed and cursing Tony under his breath.  It had been worrying him all day, about how to handle this, so much so that he wasn’t entirely sure he’d taken in much of the talks that he’d been too, not to mention it chased away his own anxiety of being surrounded by all people.

Sighing, Bruce sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck as he thought about what to do.  He knew, as well as Tony did, that there’d be no other hotels around that would have a room available, this event was just too big and there were too many eager people.  He eyed the couch again and had to agree with Jala, it didn’t look very comfortable, and if he wanted to keep his cool around here, then he needed a decent night’s sleep.

Accepting defeat, Bruce stands and grabs his clothes, heading to the bathroom to shower.

Jala didn’t return to the room for another couple of hours, having almost completely forgotten about the situation waiting for her, her hand pausing over the handle as she goes to step inside.

She swallows and then shakes her head, resigning herself too it, knowing that her and Bruce had already agreed that it would be fine, they were just friends.  Friends did this all the time, right?

Not knowing whether Bruce was inside or not, she enters as quietly as possible, sneaking around until she could get a glimpse of the bed.  She gives a soft smile as she see Bruce curled up, his breathing deep, hair mused on the pillow.

Everything was going to be okay.

She grabs some things and heads to the bathroom, quickly getting showered and changed and brushing her teeth, fighting off a yawn as she comes back out.

Shuffling a little awkwardly, she tries to quietly ease her way into bed so as not to disturb him.

Bruce groans a little and she freezes, seeing him half open an eye. “Jala?”

She gives a small smile.  “Sorry Bruce, it’s okay, go back to sleep.”

He gives a small grunt and closes his eyes, his breathing quickly deepening again.

Holding back a giggle, Jala gets herself settled, trying to ignore the heat at her back before she drifts into sleep as well.

“Jala?”

Bruce’s voice drew her from sleep and she slowly comes to with a small groan.  Surrounded by warmth, she tucks herself in closer, earning a soft chuckle.

She frowns for a moment before her brain catches up, her arms wrapped tightly around him, her bod pressed into his back.

Jala freezes, unsure of what to do.

“It’s okay Jala,” Bruce said quietly, a clear smile in his voice.  “It was a cold night, it was bound to be one of us.”

She unwraps herself from him and shuffles back, allowing him to roll over to look at her.

There was no missing the slight blush in his cheeks, even as he gives a sheepish smile.  “How did you sleep?”

Her face was burning.  “Fine, I guess.”

“My snoring didn’t keep you up?”

Jala shakes her head.  “I…I slept through everything.”

Bruce can’t help but smile.  “I noticed.  Say, is that biochem lecture on today?”

She smiles, glad that he changed it to something normal. “Yeah.  Did…did you want to go with me?”

He nods.  “I’d like that.”

Jala laughs a little, the nerves breaking back through.  “I’m sorry Bruce.”

Bruce shrugs as he sits up.  “No harm done.  Come on, we’ve got another big day, maybe we’ll actually get to see what Tony’s up to.”

The two spent most of the morning together, much to Tony’s amusement, who ran into them not long after breakfast and hung around for a little bit until dragging himself away, chuckling, to another lecture.

After lunch, they went their separate ways again, Jala catching up with some old colleagues that she used to know and Bruce heading over to Tony’s lecture.

Tony pulled Bruce aside as soon as he saw him walk into the room, grinning at him widely.  “So, how did it go?”

Bruce frowns at him slightly.  “What?”

Rolling his eyes, Tony drops his voice, wrapping his arm around Bruce’s shoulder to lead him away from all the people.  “Last night.  You two looked rather chummy together this morning.”

Bruce shrugs Tony’s arm off.  “It’s not like that Tony, I was already asleep by the time she came back in, and I still can’t believe that you did this.”

Tony chuckles lightly.  “Come on, both of you needed a nudge in the right direction.  It’s not like it’s hurting, is it?”

His face flushing, Bruce shakes his head.  “That’s beside the point, you know we both have our reasons for not…not going any further.”

“You mean you have your reasons,” Tony said seriously, causing Bruce’s shoulders to drop slightly.  “Look, I know I shouldn’t get involved, but you know I only want the best for both of you. You deserve to be happy man and Jala is that for you, isn’t she?”

Bruce swallows thickly and gives a very small shrug.  “I don’t know, it’s a nice thought but…”

Tony clasps him on the arm.  “You don’t have to always be afraid of good things Bruce.  You’re allowed to feel normal every once in a while.  I think we’d all go mad if we didn’t.”

At that, they were interrupted by a crew member calling Tony away to be miked up for his lecture.  With a final pat on Bruce’s back, Tony left him, Bruce watching a little helplessly after him.

That night, Jala came back to a very agitated looking Bruce pacing the hotel room.

She raises an eyebrow as she closes the door behind her, watching Bruce pace for a moment.  “I wouldn’t have thought Tony’s lecture would have you thinking that much.”

Bruce started, his step faltering as he flinches.  “Oh…no, his lecture was fine, he’s come up with a lot of new concepts actually, you would’ve liked it.  That man thinks too much for his own good.”

“Well, you’ll just have to fill me in then,” Jala smiled, but it quickly fell at Bruce’s clear agitation.  “Bruce, what’s wrong?”

He blinks at her and shakes her head.  “Nothing, why?”

“Because you look like you’re mulling over something pretty deep there.”

Bruce’s cheeks flushed a little red.  “I…no, no, I’m…I’m perfectly fine.”

Jala smiles warmly at him.  “Okay, well, if you want to talk, I’m here.  You don’t just have to mull over it on your own, sometimes talking it through can help.”

The colour in his cheeks deepened and he’s quick to break away from her sincere gaze, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Thanks Jala but…not right now.”

“When you’re ready.”

Dinner was quiet, Tony doing most of the talking, filling Jala in on his lecture when he wasn’t having a dig at her missing it, or a slight hint at Bruce that Jala seemed to not catch onto.

Finally, Jala called it a night first, wishing the two of them good night before heading to the room.

Tony’s gaze fell seriously onto Bruce.  “Seriously?”

Bruce refused to meet his eye.  “What?”

“Don’t what me Bruce,” Tony folds his arm, closing his eyes and shaking his head.  “Come on.”

“We don’t live normal lives Tony,” Bruce said seriously.  “And expecting something normal just isn’t going to-”

“Let me stop you right there,” Tony cut in.  “In our lives, normalcy is key Bruce.  We all crave it, we all want it, it helps us slow things down, get a perspective on things again.  It’s part of the reason I dragged you two out here!  We’ve all needed it!”  Tony points at him.  “What do you want to be your normal Bruce?  The hero life where you’re the Hulk every other day?”  Bruce flinches.  “Or a life with Jala where you can do things that you both enjoy, chasing away the out of the ordinary life, even for a few hours?”

Bruce stares at Tony for a long moment.  “You really are serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Funny thing,” Tony taps the table with a small smile.  “You do get sick of your friends giving lovely dovey eyes at each other when the other isn’t looking.”

Bruce gives a small chuckle.  “Alright, point taken.”

“Well, I’m glad my methods are actually getting through.”

“Don’t applaud yourself too much Tony, I still don’t approve of what you did.”

Bruce was greeted by soft snores when he got back to the room, a small smile coming to his lips as he saw Jala curled up in bed, wrapped tightly up in the blankets.

He watched for a moment, feeling more at peace in this moment than he had in a while.

Normalcy is key.

Bruce sighed softly and got himself ready for bed, his thoughts returning heavily.

As he carefully climbed into bed, Jala stirred a little, making him pause.

“Bruce?”

He smiles.  “It’s okay Jala, you can…”

She rolls towards him and he quickly sees her eyes are still closed, her chest still rising and falling slowly with sleep.  “Do you like me?”

He swallows.  “I do, but now isn’t the time to talk about it.  You need to go back to sleep Jala.”

Jala gives a small whine but remains silent for a moment, Bruce slowly sinking down properly into the bed.

Bruce is surprised when her arms wrap around him, burying her head against his chest.  “I like you too.”

He freezes and stares for a long moment, wondering whether he should wake her up again, but finally, he relaxes and adjusts them both slightly so they were both comfortable, holding her close to him and pressing a soft kiss into her hair.

“I love you Jala.” He said quietly.  “But we'll talk about it in the morning.”

Jala smiles against him, just awake enough to have heard, but not enough to want to disturb this moment, letting her body drift back into the deeper depths of sleep, safe and normal in Brice's arms.

[fishingtel]

CHOOSING THE BEST FISHING LINE FOR CRAPPIE

Having a problem selecting a first-rate

fishing line for Crappie

your needs? Perhaps you maintain losing your entice because of the reality of wrong line choices. Learn more approximately the first-rate fishing line in your fishing needs.

Why Choosing the Most Appropriate Fishing Line for Crappie Key I frequently discover random bits and topics people have left with inside the once more of when I fish, however, the maximum common shaking-my-head absolutely really well worth problem desires to be the discarded rigs, jigs, and line that ties them all together.

While monetary institution fishing with my son the opposite day I determined the all-time strangest rig pictured below, putting from a useless department which can have disintegrated if the wind blew difficult, tied on with pink 20+ lb. Monofilament.  The Jig will become trailerless, the Tube turns into rigged flawed on an EWG 2/zero hook and the small Crappie Jig will become naked as I come to be on the day I emerge as born. It was regarded as a person who had located on a blindfold, went into Walmart, and virtually grabbed the critical few lures their hand touched.  All 3 lures had been tied at the identical time on the identical line with overhand knots, without the terminal knot on the Tube which will become an awful clinch knot and is thrown into the water as an entice-line.

This turns into glaringly a character's first strive at fishing/trapping (I hoped) and it left me thinking why they didn’t truly display up an educational online.  It furthermore made me mad, even even though it had an, in reality, the low risk of catching fish, over some time, I knew faster or later the tube could probably in all opportunity be eaten the usage of the manner of the ability of a fish and the fish killed on the identical time because it used to accept stuck on the entice.

Many human beings that have been fishing longer than I actually have, although use the incorrect line and knots even as fishing whilst quickly as I even have endorsed masses of instances, to their annoyance that they now not do that.

So why is it that we forget about analyzing strains?  I assume for too many people, which embody myself, it's far ways one of the more uninteresting elements of fishing even as in assessment to new and charming lures, reels, rods, and tools. Especially close to catching fish.  The truth of it's far a ways that line impacts our fishing achievement greater than a few different a segment of our equipment, absolutely what diverse fish we catch.

First, I would really like to debunk more than one famous fantasy surrounding fishing line for Crappie

Top Fishing Line for Crappie! Fishing Line for Crappie #1: Fish can’t see crimson. The Redline is invisible.

Many people I talk to swear that Bass, Catfish, and plenty of unique species that I fish for, can't see the sedation pink.  Therefore, the reason for the crimson line is invisible!  This reasoning is flawed.  Wouldn’t groups have ceased making crimson/invisible lures via way of means of manner of the functionality of now?  Even if they didn’t have pink cones or rods in their eyes, it wouldn’t make the street disappear, it can virtually default to every unique sedation.

I consider this fantasy comes from semi-present day findings that many deep-water fish are pink because of the truth deep/darkish water filters crimson, which has the longest wavelength of considered mild out of the spectrum first, rendering them identical sedation as their background.  Anyways… you need to do your very very very own studies alternatively I’m calling this one debunked. Stick with a clear, small, Fluorocarbon line if you don’t need the fish to appear to be it.

Fishing Line for Crappie #2: Braid catches in reality as many fish as small Mono/Fluoro

Bass and unique Gamefish are truly dumb animals and a tiny little bit of difference in line diameter isn’t going to matter.  They’ll hit whatever that actions, right? Wrong!

I can’t depend on the quantity the variety of conditions that I actually have had my 50-sixty five lb. Braid fall slack on a long forged, zig-zagging its way once more to me at the top of the water, and then had a Bass every spook from seeing it, or surely smack my line wondering that it will become prey.  I won’t say that this doesn’t even display up with a smaller diameter line, however, it takes region very infrequently.  When finesse fishing, stay with a small line until you’re with inner the thick of it.

A sub-branch of this fantasy is that fish can’t tell the distinction with inner the road we use.

While this will be partially proper for some species like Catfish close to Bass and energetic Gamefish, they may now not continuously see the massive distinction in line, however, they have to frequently trip it.  Again, on the identical time as fishing with braid, I could probably be aware that finicky Bass could probably frequently spook formerly than my lure had been given in all locations near them. This forced me for a prolonged-term till I placed out that the road is coming via way of means of manner of the location that they are in extended formerly than they absolutely have sight of the lure.  Braid transmits vibration plenty more than Monofilament and in precise Fluorocarbon. So… the fish could probably not see this, however, they have to in reality experience it.

Now approves get right all of the manner right all the way down to the right strains of this Article.  What type of line is right for what and what type of line suits the rod.  Always make it effective to test the street recommendations to your rod as a place to start too.  I try and live as low on that spectrum as I can besides demanding that I will destroy off.

Braided Line: Now that I actually have dissed braid so badly, permit me to permit you to be privy to the reality:  I love braided strains. I in all viable use it masses greater than the common remaining angler does and I have faith that it's far an extended manner the reason that I actually have landed, in preference to dropping the 3 largest Bass I actually have ever stuck.  Because I can’t have adequate coins to move expert and I am very near breaking maximum of the time, I spool nearly all of my reels with braided line and tie a 1 to the 6-foot leader of Fluoro or Monoline with an FG knot (rather encouraged knot to examine).  Braid lasts for months if you cope with it appropriately or maybe the mild stuff I.e., 10 lb. is lots more difficult to break off with than the 10 lb. Versions of Fluoro or Mono.

It will prevent loads of dollars online if you are on a budget. It works fabulously as a stand-on my very very own top-water lure line too if you use a mild or sluggish rod as opposed to a quicker rod with mono.  Although I pick out expensive 8 companies braided line, I constantly turn out to be getting the plain vintage Power Pro Braid I actually have reels that have had those topics on the spool for 2 years, truly ‘til it gets too brief to solid with and it although has all 4 groups (character fibers) intact.  You actually can’t beat those topics for the price. If you've got offered the cash though, move together with the Power Pro 8 company Super Slick or probably the top-rated Spider Wire.  I surely just like the darker green sun sunglasses absolutely for Bass fishing.

Monofilament: The unique fishing line for Crappie.  This stuff has been around because of the reality of the 1950s.  This could probably surely be my least favored line (even even though I understand all 3 have their locations and I sound like a novice declaring this), however, it's far a manner the least luxurious and maximum normally used line.  The simplest time I use mono is for top water dog-on-foot programs. It is a stretcher than Fluorocarbon and doesn’t sink and get stuck underneath the essential treble like Braid or Fluoro even as used with dog-walked lures like a spook.  Many execs may also scoff at me for this and I can moreover furthermore test my lesson one day… rather nowadays do not appear to be that day. It moreover may be used at the same time as you need to hold a crankbait better than its score with internal the water column. I use the Sufix Elite.  It’s reasonably-priced price-clever however high-quality stuff and it doesn’t get kinked up or birds-nested absolutely effortlessly as some mono does.

Fluorocarbon: Fluorocarbon might be the maximum bendy of all 3 not unusual region strains in fishing.  It may also moreover be used for each software which includes topwater or even though many human beings could probably argue withinside the path of this, I like having a softer/slower rod paired with a stiffer line in preference to a stretchier line paired with a stiffer rod.  There are many reasons for this, personally, alternatively, nearly it’s because of the truth Fluorocarbon is lots tougher, smaller, and consequently, lots heaps a great deal is much less seen/palpable to the fish than Monofilament or Braid.

Fluorocarbon furthermore sinks in water and smaller diameter line sinks quicker because of the reality of this which you have to get lures deeper, quicker on the identical time as power fishing as well.  I choose out Sunline Sniper if I actually have more dough, however, the toughest stuff I use is the regular antique Seaguar.  Fluorocarbon is a nearly invisible internal thing of the water any case alternatively if you’re intense approximately stealth move together with the Seaguar InvisX which feels and actions like silk internal side the lessen take a look at lbs.

All 3 strains produce unique merits that I didn’t component out here, rather furthermore have general articles devoted to every out there.

Pairing: The maximum crucial segment of the item is to pair your strains properly. One tip is to test a catfish combo. The line this is getting into your rod is absolutely written (till it’s a reasonably-priced one) on the rod. Although you have to supersede this, I wouldn’t propose going beneath neath the limit.

The thicker/heavier the lure/hook, the thicker/heavier the rod, the thicker the road.  It’s so easy!

Line Tips for Crappie Fishing Finesse Applications For Finesse functions (light, slowly worked lures), begin at 10 lb. Test if the water is wrongly stained and counting on clarity, paint your way right all of the manner right all the way down to four lb. If the water is obvious to 10 ft and the fish are spooky.

Line Tips for Power Applications For Power applications (fast retrieval and casting) begin at 10 lb. Test if the water is plain and works your way up to 20 lb. line if the water is stained.  In muddy water, I prevent stress approximately whether or not or now no longer or not or now not to have a look at the braid and move together with it nearly solely.

Line Tips for Hybrid Applications For Hybrid functions like Skirted Jigs or Spinnerbaits/Chatter baits, use this rule of thumb - the thicker/large the hook, the better up the test lb. you have to circulate on the rod and line. With a 4/0+ gauge heavy-twine hook or better, you choose at least 12 lb. Test.  If you've got emerged as an outstanding deal as five/0 and 6/0 heavy or ultra-heavy you’re going to need 15-20 lb. take a look at fluorocarbon till you get in reality unique at it.

Also, fluorocarbon strains are the very evidence of being placed on because of the reality of outside elements, which makes them long-lasting too. Check out our: Best Fishing Line for Crappie

[blogjmary12]

Why Isn’t My Internet Web Site Ranking

Topics want to be carried out, and that they need to be accomplished so as. (it'll do you no suitable to construct a bazillion hyperlinks if they all go to a internet web page that isn’t capable of convert the traffic.)

It takes time to research, create, and implement a approach and start generating content material. Then it takes greater time for Google to realize changes had been made, after which you need to sit up for the hunt engine to decide in case you are actually imparting new cost. We’ve associated the above video earlier than, however we love to again up our claims like this whenever possible. In it, she states that, in stylish, Digital Marketing Company Perth it takes four months to a year to first positioned into effect improvements after which will begin seeing consequences. In unique phrases, time is something that you could’t keep away from. It’s difficult; however seo calls for staying power. Loose net web site file to appearance how you’re internet site is performing.

Key-word won't suggest what you suspect it has to

That is our revel in with the time period “search engine optimization.”

That key-phrase is glaringly important for us (which we cited in our weblog approximately increasing visitors more than 200%). At one thing, even though, our homepage couldn’t be observed for that term the least bit. We didn’t do whatever to the web page to make it drop out of the rankings; it changed into just long gone within the future. So, we clearly began looking at the environment of are looking for consequences net page for that phrase. We were ranking on the second web page for a long time, handiest ever capable of crack 10 sometimes. And then it disappeared. Our blog web page, however, didn’t. Seems, while you in reality have a look at that first page, it’s clean to see that Google does not agree with people trying to find the time period “search engine optimization” are searching out a employer to do the search engine optimization for them. Alternatively, they’re seeking to offer as an awful lot statistics about what seo is or how it's far completed. That’s why (not collectively with paid effects) nearly each quit result at the primary web page is a guide to seo, a discourse on what seo is, Creative Digital Marketing Agency in Perth and whether or not you need it. Google itself is presently hogging at the least 2 spots on the front internet page. So, for some time, we have been of the opinion that we absolutely couldn’t rank our homepage on the number one page anymore. It’s genuinely no longer what google considers the best technique to the query of “seo”.

Ranked 5

(Of course, just to reveal us incorrect, Google began rating our homepage once more. We’re presently the only enterprise business enterprise internet site that ranks on the number one web page.)

The thing of all this is that you could need to rank a fine page for a fine key-word, and however all an appropriate search engine optimization you do, it in no manner quite appears to interrupt for you due to the fact the word way something exclusive to you than it does to Google. Take a better examine the number one internet web page and see if perhaps the varieties of results Google desires to expose are fantastic from the kind you want to offer.

Your internet site may additionally look remarkable, but its beauty is handiest pores and skin deep

You’ve paid plenty for a well-designed and truly modern-day net website online. The entirety about it looks exquisite. You test it out on a each day basis absolutely to understand the layout a bit extra. Why doesn’t Google respect it the manner you do? It’s feasible that your format might also additionally appearance exquisite but hasn’t accounted for every search engine optimization angle. There might be any range of things maintaining you decrease again, which include:

Replica content

Inadequate content material

Vintage, untouched, stale content fabric

Complicated navigation

Split key-word attention, so there are more than one pages that would rank for a given word

Incomplete fundamentals, which includes metas, alt tags, and schema mark up

No weblog or special manner to continually refresh your content

You’ve got long gone not noted via the net at big

Links are despite the fact that a issue, and probable always might be. And while there’s a bazillion method to get them, now not they all are properly worth having, and a few is probably bad. You want an amazing portfolio of hyperlinks from diverse assets. Some must be no-observe, a few need to be from really proper sites, a few should be virtually regular web sites. Searching for links is out of the question. Hyperlink schemes, additionally awful. It’s vital to find out natural approaches to increase the coolest links and avoid those which can enhance flags for Google. Of path, links might be a problem in any other way, too.

As an example:

You’ve been observed via the wrong a part of the net

A few human beings can also begin using a few unethical techniques to your internet site. They don’t really need a purpose to try this. They'll really choose your internet site as a target to inject malicious code. Or they may begin scraping your blog and republishing all your content. Or they may begin building limitless links in your internet site on line from questionable internet sites. Google is pretty nicely at recognizing a horrible search engine optimization attack; however you don’t need to risk the form of penalty that would end result from it, so stay on guard. And this brings us to our next access:

Google also can have positioned you in the penalty container

A guide motion penalty can genuinely do away with your internet website online from Google’s are seeking outcomes. In case you’ve previously ranked in reality well after which dropped drastically (if now not certainly out of the rankings), you'll be on the wrong aspect of a penalty. The great detail you can do is check the Google manual actions document and start correcting the issues. If you have obtained this sort of reviews, Digital Marketing Agency Perth it way a human reviewer has decided that your internet website isn't compliant with goggle’s hints. What might also want to motive a guide movement? In line with Google, you may be penalized if the reviewer determines which you have:

A hacked web website online – a person has uploaded and hidden malicious content material cloth on your internet web page. Customer-generated direct mail – unsolicited mail remarks on boards or blogs. Spammy free hosts – a vast portion of the pages hosted on a carrier are spammy. Spammy established mark up – mark up at the page is outdoor the guidelines, like making some content material fabric invisible to clients. Unnatural links to your website – if you have masses of hyperlinks deemed synthetic, deceptive, or manipulative (which include shopping for links or taking component in link schemes), you may be penalized. Unnatural hyperlinks from the internet site – equal as above, but now they’re popping out of your internet site. Thin content material with little or no added rate – your pages want to offer a few real fee to users. Cloaking or sneaky redirects – i.E., displaying incredible pages to clients and to Google. Pure junk mail – this includes most of the stuff already cited, sincerely greater aggressive and overt. Cloaked snap shots – manipulative use of photographs if you need to get more clicks. Hidden text and key-phrase stuffing – those are oldies but sweets, and apparently it’s however sufficient of a problem for Google to listing it right here.

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Criminal Minds s02e04 Psychodrama review

Episode 04 – Psychodrama

Hey guys! So last episode was really rough on me. This episode’s name suggests maybe theatre is involved? I sincerely hope so. Anyway, let’s see what this one brings.

Let’s see what happens.

Oh shit! A cop is beaten up! Fuck!

Is that a bank robbery? Damn.

Hey! I knew that naked man! He played the senator on the first X-Men movie and the attorney general in Castle!

Shit! Why the fuck is he hurting those people? What is wrong with him, the fucking moron?

Wait. Hold up. He undressed them, then forced two couples to have sex in front of everyone? What the fuck is wrong with this sick puppy?

A serial killer in the making? Oh shit, that is the worst thing I’ve ever heard come out of Gideon’s mouth.

Why is Hayley going to visit Aaron in the office?

Shit! He forgot his son’s tests. Oh my goodness, I’m so sympathetic, my baby. Oh god, Aaron’s remorseful face is seriously getting to my heartstrings oh shit.

Oscar Wilde: “Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.” Wait, is this straight out of The Picture of Dorian Gray? Oh snap. I mean, I don’t personally believe it’s true, cuz I personally strive to always tell the truth (if it benefits me), I don’t need to hide behind a mask.

A stripper bandit? I’m with JJ, that makes him sound almost comical. And Derek, I’m so sorry they stopped you before you managed to say the word ‘asshole’. I feel you.

Okay, so Hotch and Elle are at the LAPD  to go over the security tapes because there were issues with them and they don’t show the actual sexual acts the robber forced those couples to perform? Yikers.

JJ and Spencer are at the LAPD, too, trying to figure out where the fuck the unsub could be from.

Derek and Gideon are at the scene, trying to run down the unsub’s movements.

Bam. We got a dream team right here.

Hahahahaha, Elle is so sarcastic and in your face she has to be from New York, dude, you totally nailed it.

And popcorn? Really? You eat popcorn while watching S&M porn? Elle, you naughty girl.

Okay, so Derek’s profiling goes as such: the guy is efficient, a multiple bank robber, and something about a guy in uniform is seriously ticking him off – bam, he used to be in prison. Oh shit. Derek, you are good, and this sort of thing shouldn’t be turning me on. But it does.

“I got access to four bank robberies with security badges. What do I get to do with them?” “You know your … digital perspective whatever software?” “Digital perspective analysis rendering?” “Yeah.” “Honey, not only do I know it, I helped develop it.”

Boom. Don’t mess with Garcia, she is the wiz of all knowledge. And Hotch, don’t you ever dare forget it, get it babe?

“Honey, if he opens his mouth, I’ll give you the length of his teeth.”

I love how sassy and on point she is. This is the reason I fell in love with this series. Well, that and Shemar’s butt.

“Just keep it clean, and don’t call me honey.” Ha! Oh Hotch!

Oh god, that guy is seriously unhinged and whacky.

Fuck. He forced everyone to watch the act, and just … gross. I’m sorry. Forcing people to commit sexual acts is just so gross.

“Are we ready for something completely weird?” “How weird are we talking, Garcia?”

So there are height difference between the unsubs? What the fuck is going on?

Oh wait, it’s not the guy form X-Men and Castle. Sorry.

Wait. The bank manager erased some of the tapes to get the images of him fucking another woman in front of their kids out of the records. Oh god. He just tampered with evidence.

Hahahaha, oh god Garcia pacing is my new favorite thing about this show.

“There is nothing wrong with my software. My software is perfect, isn’t it? No, it isn’t. Why must your beauty be so painful? God!” And epiphany, because my cupcake goddess is beautiful and perfect and genius and I love you.

Also, let’s talk about the fact that Penelope is wearing leopard-print stilts! I love her!

“Pals, don’t be ticked, but I think I may have missed the sort of glaringly obvious here. How would you make yourself taller without being a different person entirely or having some sort of weird Chinese surgery?” oh my god, I love this show.

“Heels.” “Right, sunshine, but we would have seen heels, unless the unsub had them hidden inside his shoe. The point is, lifts.” Bam! You are amazing!

“With a little fancy footwork, pun emphatically intended, Garcia here managed to dig him out.” Oh my god, someone just praise the writers of this amazing show. I love you, Penelope, Kirsten, both of you.

It would be wrong to write him off as crazy? Really, Hotch? Cuz that pretty much defines craziness for me.

Told you he’s nuts.

So what they’re describing is actually happening right now? Fuck.

“How far away are we from the bank?” “Without traffic? Ten minutes.” “Let’s avoid traffic.” Bam, Hotch just bypassed every traffic jam like a boss.

So he’s an attention whore? Damn.

That kid is seriously brave, but stupid. The fucking psycho robber just caught him with a phone, and is probably gonna kill him.

Did he just fucking punch a traffic officer? Oh shit.

Please catch the fucker. Derek, help them.

Aww! Jack is so fucking cute!

Derek, how can you be so disconnected? Oh yeah, you’re still young. It’s fine. You’ll get there. Hopefully with Penelope XD

So they are now suspecting a pimp? Damn.

Wait, the pimp raped his girls in front of their little sisters as punishment? Fuck.

10 rock a day monkey? What’s that? Oh drugs. Okay. I really don’t like the lingo of drug dealers. It’s seriously weird.

That’s not the guy, dudes.

“Give me a pot of coffee and I’ll go all night with this fool.” Yeah, you show them, Derek. Except, that’s not the guy.

Oh fuck! He just started shooting at a restaurant!

And he shot a kid?

Called it! It’s the wrong guy!

He forced the kids to hit their moms? Fuck. He killed them for not doing it? Shit. The poor kid.

I’m totally with Hotch on this, but I just think he’s underestimating the level of psychosis on this sick bastard. I mean, for real? You just saw it on tape. I know you can’t believe it cuz you’re a daddy now, but come on.

So there is something he isn’t telling the FBI? Come on. Just tell them. So they can catch that sick asshole.

The robber apologized? What the fuck? There’s something wrong here.

And what did they make that guy do that was so awful?

Actors on a stage, it’s a play. Yeah, a psychodrama. That’s just sick.

“Thanks, mama.” I love you Derek.

Lady, we know you know where your son is. Come on!

Oh god, she’s doping up? Fuck. That lady is completely cuckoo.

“Key?” “No, I got one.” Bam, kicking down the door. Lord I love you, Shemar. Oh my goodness.

Crystal meth. Fuck.

He left the mask behind. Shit.

Please catch him soon.

He’s on foot. Damn.

Oh god that kid is way off the reservation. NO! DON’T HURT THOSE FUCKING KIDS!

Oh shit. That is a fucking birthday party. Damn.

Shit.

Fuck fuck fuck.

They’re at the wrong party!

Yup, there’s a bouncy castle on the other side of the fence. That’s there.

WHAT! NO! he’s making the kid shoot his mom. No! Please, no!

Yes. Thank goodness. Thank god Aaron is a good shot. Fuck.

I love you, Aaron, and I love emotional Hotchner. It is just the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.

Go to hell, you fucking junkie.

Milan Kundera: “The basis of shame is not some personal mistake of ours, but that this humiliation is seen by everyone.” Who is this person? I’ve never heard of them. But they’re good.

Oh god, I love emotional self-questioning Hotchner. You see him as this tough SOB in the first season and now they’re humanizing him, and of course everyone else, and it’s just so amazing. I love the progression of this series.

 Overall? Amazing episode. Right amount of yuck, humor, emotional substance, character development. The whole shebang. Seriously. How the fuck are they getting this good so quickly? I just love this show so fucking much and am so glad I have the entire day to this XD