#I am doing a very bad job of getting myself a Bingo

[you-remind-me-of-the-babe]

Get to Know Me Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @cutestkilla I loved reading your answers 💜

Relationship status: Married for nine years. Hubs and I got married on our 10 year dating anniversary. We started dating when we were 17. So yeah, we’ve been together a long ass time.

Favorite color: Green, and any shade thereof. My eyes are green, so it’s been my fave since I was a kid.

Favorite food: I love bread, though I try to eat less of it now as I get older, as it doesn’t do my body good. Also coffee, cheese and chocolate make life worth living sometimes.

Song stuck in your head: I’m going to pretend it’s not a theme song from kiddo’s cartoon and say Age of Consent by New Order because I adore that song and it came on while watching Paper Girls the other night. (Just started this show and loved the first two episodes.)

Last thing you Googled: “Exit, pursued by a bear.” Was beta reading for @whatevertheweather last night and she used it for a spell and I sadly did not know the reference. Now I do!

Time: 11:05 am

Dream Trip: I would really like to get over my fear of traveling to a non-English speaking country. I’ve only ever picked English speaking locations for vacations for fear of getting lost or not being able to communicate. The only exception was three days in Paris as part of a school trip where we went to London first, and the embarrassment I felt every time I had to ask someone if they spoke English is probably what’s fueling this fear. I live within driving distance of Mexico and have never been, despite taking Spanish in school for years. So yeah, some day I’d like to go to the Mediterranean and just chill if I need to use my phone for help. Or even Mexico. It’s right there!

Last book you read: I’ve got about an hour left of Reputation by Lex Chroucher and am enjoying it. The audiobook narrator does a fantastic job.

Last book you enjoyed reading: Going to pick a different book here and say Boyfriend Material.(Also loved the audiobook narration!) (Very much looking forward to Husband Material!) @bookish-bogwitch crafted an amazing ending bingo for it and I’m SO ready!

Last book you hated reading: I am slogging through the last Mirror Visitor book. I’ve been reading a few pages at a time for months and it is just so slow and boring. I devoured the first three and I can’t tell if Snowbaz brain rot is affecting my engagement or if it’s truly that bad. I turned my friend on to these books and he’s been anxiously waiting to talk to me about the last one and I just…can’t muster the will to read it for longer than ten minutes at a time. RIP. I also hated the narrator who read House on the Cerrulean Sea, so I abandoned that one even though everyone adores that book. Oh well!

Favorite thing to cook/bake: Cookies, scones, bars, pies. I never bake unless it’s a holiday because I can’t control myself if I make something like this and then have a massive amount there. I used to love cooking soups, stir fries and casseroles but having picky children turn their noses up at something I spent an hour or more making really makes me hate cooking these days. The 7 year old is getting more adventurous but the 3 year old hates dinners on principle so I phone it in a lot.

Favorite craft to do in your spare time: Spare time? What is this you speak of? I am not super crafty. I’ve tried a few things over the years but usually abandon these hobbies after a few attempts. I’m frankly shocked I’m still writing fic almost a year later because hobbies don’t usually stick for me. Does weeding and gardening count as crafting? It’s almost an art right? I do like being out in the sun with my hands in the dirt and seeing the way my yard evolves.

Most niche dislikes: This is a fun question. I doubt my dislikes are very niche. I hate the feeling of like a stray hair on my arm or wrapped around a finger. I dislike cilantro. I have a hard time watching a kid attempt a task that is far above their skill level. Watching them struggle when they are almost about to succeed is a joy but watching say, a kid try to open something you know they literally can’t drives me mad. Just give it to me so I can do it and we can move on!

Opinions on circuses, now and in history: What a weird question. Never been to a circus. Closest was a Cirque du Soleil performance which was amazing. I like books about circuses like Water for Elephants and Night Circus. That’s all I got. I feel like this question is trying to get you to say circuses in the past (maybe also now) are bad because of the way they treat animals. And like, you make that decision yourself. You don’t need me to tell you what to think.

Do you have a sense of direction, if not what is the worst way you’ve gotten lost: If I am with someone else I will often miss a turn from chatting and not paying attention so the other person’s ability to co-pilot is critical. I followed @fatalfangirl around in Vegas and just assumed they knew what was up. (Lol sorry I wasn’t helpful!) If I’m by myself I can usually focus and manage. I often have dreams of needing to get somewhere and just not fucking managing because a thousand obstacle get in the way. Worst gotten lost story: some friends and I in our early 20s miscalculated how long it would take to float down a river. We found ourselves with slowly deflating rafts, while it got dark, with no flashlights, and the river had turned away from the roads. We tried to beach our rafts and walk but found a bear instead. Oops, back in the rafts we went. Then we made it to a dam that we had to get out and walk around but we couldn’t find the path, only a path going the other way to the highway so we ditched our boats and followed the path in the dark, ignoring sounds of wildlife. Finally made it to the road and got picked up by a very nice older couple who probably took pity on us because we looked like their kids or something. When we went back to get our boats the next day the path around the dam was very easy to find by the light of day and we were like…a 20 minute float from our campsite LOL. Good times. I can laugh about it now but it was Not Fun when it was happening.

Tagging @fatalfangirl @whatevertheweather @bookish-bogwitch @moodandmist @aristocratic-otter @facewithoutheart @raenestee @martsonmars @sillyunicorn no pressure, only if you want to! 💜

[reyesstrand]

I hope it's okey to vent, because all the theorizing makes me wonder and theorize myself. So Carlos as every single other character here has really simple mindset - as long as I am the one hurt and saved someone else I don't care. We have seen it with TK a lot of times. And as much as Carlos getting hurt seems appealing I can't imagine the scene when TK talks to him about needing to think about himself first, it would be a little of hypocrisy. But what if his action leads to someone else being hurt? I think that would hit Carlos more. Especially if that someone would be TK and Gabriel. I think the scene of Gabriel and TK approaching the house is first (though I can't think of a reason why the two of them would end up working together, and why Gabriel would reach for a gun), then Carlos with a big gun breaching the house. And the 'trips very hard' part could apply to him losing his job, there was the bingo for season 3 where one of the points was Carlos losing his job and it might be probable for them to come back to this. And it connects perfectly with Carlos begins episode, where him joining the police was mainly for his father's approval, maybe even to be more mainly in eyes of his parents not for himself or to help people. In the end he finds his true calling. Maybe opens a bakery hahah

it’s totally okay to vent anon!! (and in a perfect world i think him finding passion in baking would be amazing akdnskdnsjd)

i think there’s a ton of your message that rings true—i feel like we’ve been building up to some case, especially post-bad call, where they can really address the weight of carlos’ upbringing with gabriel’s expectations. they sort of do it in 2x08, but i think they can really go into it more with an extended storyline for carlos where he’s working on a case that is quite important, as the stills seem to be suggesting. ((continuing under the cut for length))

whether that’s carlos risking his job for a case, or perhaps working on one that’s on the rangers’ radar (which immediately brings his dad and his expectations into the fold), or having a personal connection to a case that makes him really take things to the next level, i could see them doing that to really dig into the meat of who carlos is. and ’m personally sticking with my reversal of bad call theory re: the tk and gabriel still aidnskdkd just because i think i’d die if it happened, but i think that something could happen with them in the larger picture of the storyline!! whatever happens to make carlos trip up will almost certainly be work-related, so we’ll have to see!!

but ultimately i definitely think you’re right to say that every single one of these characters exhibit this sense of selflessness, which is one of those things that adds complexity to who they are. while there might be some hypocrisy to a scene like you described, i do think it would be eye-opening for tk, too. not that that should happen at the expense of carlos getting injured, but i think it’s something that would be narratively compelling just before they vow to spend the rest of their lives together: experiencing what that potential loss feels like, and tk coming first-hand with it after carlos and his family have dealt with it repeatedly now ajdnskdn. i also think there’s the chance for an emotional conversation between gabriel and carlos—whether or not one of them is injured—about expectations and masculinity and how gabriel has been proud of carlos from the jump, he doesn’t need him to take down some big guy with a bigger gun to earn his respect. (which is something gabriel verbally needs to say and carlos needs to hear, i think).

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[stupid-lemon-eater]

bweh... fic whining....

i don’t know if i’m just being overly sensitive bc the weather is still fucking with me but it really feels like the last few fics i’ve published have had a lot slower time getting any sort of traction re people reading it than they used to, and then when people do read they aren’t leaving as many kudos as they used to

some fics i get it bc they’re not gonna attract as many initial readers so a lot of the hits will be rereads or they’ll be people who will start and it won’t be their thing so they’ll quit out, but others it’s like... i dunno maybe i’ve done a bad job with the summary or it’s more one that appeals to me than anyone else or something

just kinda disheartening publishing something that i really enjoyed writing and thought would make people laugh and seeing it get like 61 hits and 8 kudos

i know my writing has been changing this year bc i’ve been doing a lot more of it so maybe it’s changing into something people don’t like as much?

i’m not gonna stop or anything bc ultimately i do write for myself and there are still people who are reading and giving kudos so i’m not gonna stop publishing for them (esp the people who already leave bookmarks, which honestly confuses me further lol like am i not writing well or what) but i’m just feeling very..... bah flat today and the “kudos??????” refreshing that comes with the first 48+ hours of publishing a new fic that i can’t help doing just like isn’t helping matters lol

anywayyyyyy between pangxie week and the last of my bingo i have 12 fics left to write this year aha so time to stop feeling sorry for myself and go back to focusing on those!

[princesstillyenna]

I can’t really give any fandom specific hate advice, but my day job puts me in a position in which I have to interact with not-so-nice (sometimes very mean and hurtful) people on the internet on a daily basis.

I was really lucky that my boss had been dealing with that for years before I came in and he gave me a few pointers with how to not go crazy, so here am I passing them on:

1. Try to make a game out of it. This one works better if you have someone you trust to remind you that the things you are reading are not the truth every now and then, but I have a daily ‘hate comment bingo’ and whenever I get bingo I treat myself to something small but that I know will make me happy (honestly, it’s usually re-reading a fanfic)

2. Pretend you are an automatic message machine. Not sure how much this will work in your situation, but in mine I have to respond to every single comment no matter how clearly pointless they are, so I have a “thank you for your feedback, but this is outside my scoop” message that I just copy and paste and it makes people furious.

3. Talk to someone your trust. I know this is basic, but it really helps me. And if I am being honest, I have gotten this fix just by pretending to be talking on the phone and barring my soul to absolutely no one.

4. Positive reminders. If you know which types of messages hurt you the most, you can try to write down the opposite of them and keep it somewhere you can see whenever you might receive hate messages. It works better if you can get someone you trust to write them for you (or text them to you, if that’s more your speed), but during the pandemic I had them written down on sticky notes on my own handwritting and it worked pretty well.

I’m really sorry you are going through this, no one deserves to have hate messages directed at them.

Sharing this lovely anon because it's good advice. I do always read through my lovely anons (this is why the lovely nonnies tag exists!) And honestly most of the time the hateful stuff is like water off a ducks back, it's just because I was ALREADY having a bad day today.

I think honestly the problem I'm suffering from now is the lack of fandom friends. I can whinge at my RL friends but like, they don't get the hockey thing. So being specific about shit is not really possible. I do have one fandom friend who I know will never ever let me down, but like... I don't want to overburden them with my shit.

Honestly, I'll take a couple of days, I'll be ok, I always am :)

[chicgeekgirl89]

The Good, the Bad, and the Very Ugly

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: Carlos Reyes, T.K. Strand, Tommy Vega, Nancy Gillian

Summary: When Carlos is struck down with a nasty bout of the stomach flu he needs rescuing from the best paramedic trio in town.

A/N: I have a Bachelor's degree in Emergency!, a Master's Degree in Royal Pains, and an MD in Grey's Anatomy so I can assure you that everything in this fic represents a very real, accurate depiction of how the stomach flu would hit a perfectly healthy young police officer. I took no liberties. This is science.

Massive thanks as always to @bluenet13​ for beta-ing!

For the @badthingshappenbingo​ prompt “Stomach Flu”

Read on AO3

Carlos was really trying to listen to this woman complain about her neighbors and their noise level, he truly was. He took every call seriously, even completely ridiculous ones like this, but today he was struggling. His stomach gurgled unpleasantly and he had to suppress a burp as the woman told him for the third time about how loud her neighbors were being.

“Ma’am, they are allowed to mow their lawn during daylight hours,” he said.

“Seven am?! Seven am is considered daylight hours?!” the woman cried. “I am trying to do my morning meditations and all I hear is lawnmowers and power tools!”

“Well then I would try headphones,” Carlos said, voice a little snappier than usual. 

Mitchell looked at him with raised eyebrows, clearly amused by the lack of his typical diplomacy. 

The woman glared at him. “I want your badge numbers.”

Carlos and Mitchell both gave them over willingly but it was another ten minutes of listening to her rant before they were finally able to escape and head back to the station. “You all right Reyes?” Mitchell asked as they got back into the cruiser. “You look a little green.”

“I’m fine,” Carlos said, even as his stomach lurched unpleasantly while he pulled the cruiser into traffic.

“You were a little snippy back there. Trouble in paradise?”

“T.K. and I are fine,” Carlos said. “That woman was in the wrong, there was no point in standing there and continuing the conversation.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Who are you and what have you done with Carlos ‘Calm and Patient’ Reyes?”

“Maybe he’s on vacation today,” Carlos told her.

“Mhmm…” she continued to look at him suspiciously, but didn’t say anymore.

His stomach had not improved by the time they got back to the precinct. In fact it seemed to be getting worse. Everything was bubbling and gurgling and cramping and making him extremely uncomfortable, but he set his jaw and sat at his desk to file the paperwork from their morning on patrol.

“Reyes, Mitchell,” their captain walked over and stood by their desks. “I’ve been on the phone for half an hour with a Mrs. Donnelly. Care to explain?”

Mitchell shook her head and rolled her eyes. “She called in a noise complaint. Lawnmowers.”

Carlos would have added to the conversation but he was growing oddly hot and his mouth had filled with coppery tasting saliva. 

“She said you were,” the captain held up a piece of paper and read directly from it, “disrespectful, unhelpful, and bigoted.”

Mitchell snorted. “Okay. Was she describing us or herself? Because I’m pretty sure she ticks all those boxes.”

The captain turned and looked at Carlos. “Reyes? Anything to say?”

Carlos opened his mouth and then closed it again, swallowing hard. “Carlos are you okay?” Mitchell asked with a concerned frown.

Carlos’s stomach squeezed and he knew there was no hope for it. “Excuse me,” he said, then turned and threw up directly into the garbage can beside his desk.

“Whoa!” their captain said. “Reyes what the hell?”

Carlos spat into the garbage can, the acrid taste of stomach acid burning his throat, mouth, and even up into his nose. “Sorry sir,” he choked out.

Mitchell uncapped a bottle of water and handed it to him. He took a careful sip, swishing it around in his mouth before swallowing tentatively. Somehow he felt worse than before throwing up; slightly cold and shaky, and like he might throw up again. 

“Reyes if you’re sick get out of here and go home,” his captain said. “We don’t need you bringing the whole bull pen down.”

“I’m fine sir,” he said and then blanched, doubling over the garbage can again. 

“No you’re not. Get out of here. And don’t come back until you can keep your lunch down,” his captain ordered.

“Carlos are you okay?” Mitchell asked, genuine concern on her face. “You look terrible.”

“I’ll be fine,” Carlos rasped. “It’s probably just something I ate.”

“Looks more like it ate you,” Mitchell said with a grimace as he got to his feet. “Do you want me to call you an Uber?”

“No,” Carlos shook his head, gripping the desk tightly. “I can make it.”

“Well text me when you get home so I know you’re okay,” she said. 

Thank god he only lived fifteen minutes from the station because the drive was so nauseatingly horrible he wasn’t sure he could have made it much longer. His stomach clenched and tightened at regular intervals and he was breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth like it was his job because he really didn’t want to pull over and be sick on the side of the road.

He pulled into the driveway and got his key out with shaky hands, stumbling in the front door and practically falling into the powder room where he once again violently emptied his stomach into the toilet. God, how could there be anything left after the first two rounds? He’d barely had anything to eat besides coffee and half a bagel.

He groaned as he pushed himself up and flushed the toilet, using the sink for leverage to get all the way onto his feet. He felt like shit. He hadn’t felt this bad in…well he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt this bad.

He knew he needed to hydrate before he went upstairs and collapsed into his bed so he slowly and agonizingly made his way to the fridge, searching for a Gatorade, his stomach still sending stabbing pains through his gut at regular intervals.

There were footsteps on the stairs and T.K. appeared, uniform half buttoned. “Carlos? Babe what are you doing here?”

Carlos looked at his watch. It was nearly noon but he’d forgotten that T.K. had a late shift today. “Captain sent me home,” Carlos said, struggling to reach an orange Gatorade tucked in the back.

“He sent you home?” T.K. walked toward him, confusion on his face. “Why? What’s going on?”

Carlos straightened up, wincing as his stomach cramped violently. “He thinks I’m sick.”

“He thinks you’re sick?” T.K. repeated, taking a step closer. “Why does he think you’re sick?”

Carlos grimaced. “Probably because I narrowly missed throwing up on his shoes.”

“You threw up?” T.K. snapped into paramedic mode, automatically pressing the back of his hand to Carlos’ forehead to check for a fever. “Oh baby.”

“It’s fine. Probably something I ate.”

“Do you want me to stay home today and take care of you?”

“God no,” Carlos said quickly. The last thing he wanted was for T.K. to see him puking his guts out repeatedly. “No I’m just going to get in bed and ride it out. I’m sure I’ll be fine in a few hours.”

His stomach felt like knives but surely a nap and some electrolytes would take care of that. “Are you sure?” T.K. asked, running a hand down his arm. “I hate to leave you like this.”

“I can take care of myself T.K., even when I’m sick,” Carlos said. “I promise,” he added when T.K. didn’t look convinced.  “I’m just going to go upstairs and sleep it off.”

“Well make sure you hydrate,” T.K. told him. “I’ll call you in a couple hours to check in.” He pecked Carlos on the cheek. “If you need something text me okay? I’ll keep my phone on me.” He said as he walked toward the door, grabbing his overnight bag and shoes. 

“I will. Have a good shift,” Carlos said.

He waited until T.K. had locked the front door to drag himself up the stairs. He fell into the bed and curled himself into the fetal position, begging his stomach to stop its agonizing assault.

The hours passed in alternating blurs of fast and slow. He was hot and then freezing, his body aching, stomach churning relentlessly. Even the Gatorade refused to stay down, sending him staggering to the bathroom to heave up the liquid and then, eventually, nothing.

He tried to read but he was too restless and even the television couldn’t keep his focus as wave after wave of agonizing stomach pain assaulted him. 

He attempted sleep but it was fraught with discomfort; half awake, half dreaming, too hot and then too cold, body tangling uncomfortably in the sheets, never fully sinking into the blissful darkness of true unconsciousness.

He was dragged out of his misery after several hours by the ringing of his phone. “Hello?” he croaked when he finally managed to answer.

“Hey babe, how are you feeling?” T.K.’s voice was slightly distorted, it sounded like he was in the rig. 

Carlos cleared his throat. “Fine. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” T.K. asked. “You sound weird.”

“I was sleeping,” Carlos told him, wincing as pain stabbed at his stomach again.

“Oh good,” T.K. said. “Did you eat something?”

Carlos grew nauseated at even the mention of food. “Not yet.”

“Well try okay? Some crackers or some soup or something?”

“Yeah I will,” Carlos told him. He would not. He didn’t think he could make it down the stairs let alone manage to scrounge up any food. 

Carlos heard the siren turn on. “I have to go. Call or text if you need anything all right? I love you!”

“Love you too,” Carlos mumbled, his eyes already sliding closed.

The next time he woke it was the middle of the night and he felt worse. So much worse. How was that even possible?

His stomach clenched so tightly that he couldn’t breathe. He moaned as he struggled to his feet again, the world spinning around him as he walked unsteadily toward the bathroom, using the furniture to stabilize himself.

He leaned over the toilet bowl stomach cramping and stabbing at him, but nothing came up. Instead he just retched helplessly for god knew how long until the episode passed and he collapsed onto the tile, shaky and sore and freezing. 

He swallowed hard, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes, praying that whatever this was, it would be over soon.

Several Hours Later…

T.K. hung up his phone and sighed, checking his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. It was nearing seven am and he hadn’t heard from his boyfriend in a long time. He was starting to get worried, even as he tried to convince himself he was overreacting. It was early. Carlos was probably still asleep.

“What’s wrong?” Nancy asked.

T.K. looked down at the screen again, as if possibly a call or text had come through in the three seconds since he’d last checked. “Carlos was sick when I left yesterday morning and now he’s not answering. I figured maybe he was asleep but it’s been…a really long time.”

“Do you want to swing by?” Tommy asked. “It’s on our way back to the firehouse if we take the long way around.”

T.K. vacillated with uncertainty. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah dude, we’ll just swing by and make sure he’s okay. Can’t have you worrying about him for the rest of shift,” Nancy said.

T.K. hit the blinker and turned them right. “I’m probably overreacting.”

“Then Carlos will smile and thank you for it like the good, understanding person that he is,” Tommy said with a smile.

The house was quiet when they pulled up. T.K. felt his concern double as he took his key out and strode quickly to the front door. “We’ll wait here,” Tommy said when they reached the stoop. “Call if you need us.”

T.K. left the front door open behind him and strode upstairs. “Carlos?”

There was no answer and T.K. knew, deep in his bones that something was wrong. The bedroom door was open, but the the bed was empty, sheets and blankets mussed in a way that said Carlos had at one point been there, even if he wasn’t anymore.

The smell of vomit and sweat hung in the air. A barely touched bottle of Gatorade and Carlos’ phone sat on the nightstand. “Carlos!” T.K. called again more urgently.

“T.K.?” 

The reply was croaky, weak and T.K. turned in the direction of the master bath. What he found hit him like a punch in the gut. Carlos, in nothing but his boxers, sweating and shivering as he sat on the floor, his back pressed against the bathroom wall. 

T.K. dropped to his knees, hands running over Carlos’ forehead and down his face, fear spiking as the heat of Carlos’ skin seared his own. “Hey baby,” he said softly. “You didn’t answer my calls.”

“T.K. I don’t—I can’t—” Carlos looked panicky beneath his exhaustion and T.K.’s stomach clenched in fear.

“Cap!” he yelled out the door, voice cracking. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re going to help you all right? How long have you been here like this?”

Carlos just shook his head, all his effort apparently going into breathing and remaining conscious.

“T.K.!” Tommy and Nancy appeared in the bathroom doorway, both of them looking concerned. 

“He’s burning up,” T.K. said, panic seeping into his voice.

“Nancy, call it in,” Tommy ordered. “And go get our kits from the rig.”

“Dispatch this is RA Unit 126 responding to a call at 540 Lynwood Avenue,” Nancy said into her radio as she flew out the door.

“Let’s get him on the bed,” Tommy said, getting under one of Carlos’ arms as T.K. scrambled to get under his other side.

Carlos moaned as they walked him out of the bathroom. “I know, I know baby, you’re okay,” T.K. said, voice thick as Carlos shivered violently against him. 

Nancy returned quickly, pulling equipment out of their kits as T.K. and Tommy gently laid Carlos on the bed.

“T.K. check his pulse,” Tommy ordered. “Nancy get a BP.”

Thank god someone else was taking over and telling him what to do because he felt completely shattered right now by the image of his strong, beautiful boyfriend reduced to such a fragile state. “Pulse is rapid,” T.K. said, his own heart rate matching it as Carlos’ eyelids fluttered. 

“BP is low,” Nancy said.

“And temp is up,” Tommy said, lifting the thermometer to look at the reading. “One hundred and two point seven. Carlos, can you hear me?”

There was no response and T.K. thought he was going to lose his mind with panic.

“No rebound tenderness,” Nancy said, palpating Carlos’ abdomen. He let out a moan as she pressed directly on his stomach but she continued her exam with professional precision. “Belly is soft. I don’t think it’s appendicitis.”

“I think we’re looking at a severe case of dehydration,” Tommy said. “Let’s get some fluids going.”

“I got it,” Nancy said, pulling out bags of saline and potassium. 

“Should we take him in?” T.K. asked.

“Let’s just see how the fluids go first,” Tommy said. “I’m sure Carlos would prefer to avoid the hospital, let’s give him a chance to come back on his own.”

The next few minutes were agonizingly long as Nancy and Tommy started the IV’s and they all waited to see if Carlos would come around. He wasn’t completely unconscious but he wasn’t totally with it either, breath coming out labored and harsh, limbs moving restlessly, eyelids fluttering up and down as his head turned from side to side.

T.K. stroked his fingers through Carlos’ damp, sweaty curls, biting his lip as anxiety and guilt ate away at him. “I thought he was all right by himself,” he said. “If I’d known…”

“T.K. this isn’t anybody’s fault,” Tommy said, reaching to take Carlos’ pulse again. “Sometimes it just happens. Carlos is young and healthy, nobody had any reason to suspect he would go down so hard.”

“Yeah dude, you can’t blame yourself for the violence of the stomach flu,” Nancy said, adjusting the IV’s.

Carlos stirred a little more and blinked a few times, eyes trying to focus. T.K. instantly went on alert. “Carlos, babe? Can you hear me?”

“T.K.?” Carlos shifted, and T.K. put a gentle hand on his shoulder to keep him from dislodging the IV’s. 

“Hey Carlos,” Tommy said, giving him a smile. “How are you feeling?”

Carlos groaned and swallowed hard. “Bad,” he croaked. 

“Well we’ve got some fluids going, that should help. Give it a few more minutes and we’ll see how you feel,” Tommy said. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“I uh, I don’t know,” Carlos said. “My stomach just…I couldn’t stop throwing up. And after a while I couldn’t even get off the floor, everything just hurt and I was so cold. I think maybe I passed out a couple times, I’m not sure.”

T.K.’s heart squeezed at the thought of Carlos alone and suffering on the cold bathroom tile. “Do you remember the last time you ate or drank anything?” he asked.

“Nothing stays down,” Carlos croaked, his voice weak and raspy after so many hours of throwing up. “Makes my stomach hurt.” 

“Baby you should have called me,” T.K. admonished him, tears dangerously close to the surface. 

“T.K.,” Tommy said quietly. “Give him a minute to catch his breath. Save the lecture for later.”

Carlos seemed to grow even more aware of the situation and closed his eyes. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Nancy asked.

“This,” Carlos said, gesturing aimlessly with his hand. “This is…”

“Hey, nothing to be sorry for,” Tommy said reassuringly. “Happens to the best of us. The twins both had a stomach bug last year at the same time and it was a total nightmare.” She gave him a smile and then turned back to her team. “Nancy, why don’t you and I head downstairs and get Carlos some Gatorade? We’ll call the station too and tell them we’ll be a little longer.”

“He uh, he likes the orange ones,” T.K. said.

Tommy put a hand on T.K.’s shoulder and squeezed. “Orange it is.”

They both slipped out of the room leaving Carlos and T.K. alone. “Babe what happened?” T.K. asked, still stroking Carlos’ curls. “When I called before you said you were okay.”

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Carlos said. “It wasn’t so bad and then…it was.”

“I’m so sorry, I should never have left you like this,” T.K. said.

“T.K. I took care of myself just fine before you came along.”

“Yes and using the current situation as evidence it’s a miracle you survived.” T.K. was unable to keep the emotion out of his voice.

“T.K.” Carlos tried to sit up, but T.K. shook his head and pressed him back down into the bed. 

“No, no. Do not try and take care of me. I’m here to take care of you. Just rest okay?”

“Are you going to make me go to the hospital?” Carlos asked.

“We’ll see,” T.K. told him. “You really, really scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” Carlos said. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” T.K. bent over and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “This isn’t your fault. It’s nobody’s fault.”

Tommy and Nancy returned, Gatorade in hand. “Any better Carlos?” Tommy asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Carlos said.

It had been about forty minutes since they’d arrived and Carlos was less pale and more alert, but he still didn’t look well. “Are you just saying that so T.K. stops freaking out?” Nancy asked knowingly. “Because T.K. is always going to freak out so you may as well just be honest.”

“Bedside manner Nancy,” Tommy said lightly as she uncapped the Gatorade. “Carlos do you think you can sit up?”

He nodded and T.K. and Nancy helped slide him up against the pillows until he was propped up enough to sip at the Gatorade. He eyed the bottle nervously as Tommy uncapped it. “Just a couple sips,” Tommy said. “If you can’t keep it down we’ll take you to the ER and have them run some more tests. My guess is this is just a particularly violent strain of stomach flu, but I don’t want to leave unless we’re sure you’re on the mend.”

Carlos’ hand shook as he raised the bottle to his lips and he grimaced as he took one small sip and then another, managing a couple tablespoons before the bottle tipped dangerously in his unsteady hand.

T.K. reached out and caught it, removing it gently from Carlos’ fingers and setting it on the nightstand.

“Temp is down to one oh two point one,” Nancy said.

“And your blood pressure is looking better too,” Tommy said. “How’s your stomach?”

“It still hurts,” Carlos said, shifting uncomfortably in the bed.

“But you’re keeping the Gatorade down, so that’s good,” T.K. said, trying to comfort himself as much as his boyfriend.

“I don’t think a hospital trip is necessary unless it would make you feel better to go,” Tommy said.

“No, I’ll be fine,” Carlos said firmly.

“He can’t stay here alone,” T.K. argued.

“Which is why you’re staying with him,” Tommy said smoothly. “Shift’s almost over, you’re already here, there’s no point in dragging you back to the station.”

“Yeah don’t worry about it,” Nancy said. “We all know Cap and I do the heavy lifting on this team anyway. We don’t need your manly self getting in the way. Girl power and all that.”

“Nancy,” Tommy sighed in exasperation.

“I’m just kidding!” Nancy said. “Don’t worry about it Strand, we got you covered.”

“T.K.,” Tommy nodded toward the corner of the room and T.K. left the bed to follow her as Nancy chatted at Carlos and packed up their equipment. “I’m going to leave another bag of saline with you, just in case. If his fever spikes again or his abdominal pain increases…”

“I’ll take him in,” T.K. said immediately.

“And you’ll call me,” Tommy said, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “And call me tomorrow regardless. Let me know how he’s doing.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for everything.”

“You’re family T.K., you and Carlos. We do what we need to for family.”

T.K. walked Tommy and Nancy to the door and then spent a few minutes downstairs heating up some plain chicken broth before returning to the bedroom. “Still okay?” he asked as he set the bowl down on the nightstand. 

Carlos nodded. “Beyond embarrassed, but okay.”

“Stop it,” T.K. said as he settled on the edge of the bed next to him. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I’m pretty sure having to be carried to your own bed in your underwear by your boyfriend and his teammates is embarrassment worthy,” Carlos said.

His voice still sounded rough and there were dark shadows under his eyes. Just looking at him made T.K.’s heart hurt. He wanted nothing more than to take away every second of his pain from the last twenty four hours. 

“They’re just glad you’re all right,” T.K. told him, knowing that was one hundred percent the case. His teammates were truly the best and had proved that once again tonight with the way they’d dropped everything to come to Carlos’ aid. “Besides, we’ve seen plenty of bodies in the field. That they got an eyeful of you…they’ve seen a lot worse. Trust me.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t really make me feel better.”

“Sorry,” T.K. said, rubbing his knee through the sheets. “I think you should try and eat something.”

Carlos grimaced. “My stomach still hurts.”

“But you haven’t thrown up in,” T.K. checked his watch, “thirty seven minutes. I think it’s worth a shot.”

He still looked hesitant. “Hey,” T.K. said. “I’m here now. I’m going to take care of you. What happened earlier won’t happen again, I promise. Just try? Please?”

He picked up the bowl and spoon, offering them to his boyfriend. Carlos reluctantly took hold, hands still not quite steady, so T.K. helped him hold it. He managed about a third of the bowl before handing the bowl back to T.K. “Happy?” he asked tiredly.

“I won’t be happy until you’re better,” T.K. told him. 

Carlos nodded in agreement. “Me neither.”

“How does a bath sound, hm?” T.K. asked. “I’ll put in some essential oils, you can just relax and let some of today go.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Carlos said.

“I want to,” T.K. said. “Let me take care of you, okay? It makes me feel better too.”

“Okay,” Carlos relented. “Yes, a bath sounds good.”

T.K. leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

Carlos spent about half an hour in the bathtub. T.K. used that time to change out of his uniform and do a little bit of cleaning and sanitizing in the bedroom and bathroom. He returned the soup bowl to the kitchen and started the dishwasher, gathering up a few things Carlos might need and then heading back upstairs.

Carlos was standing by his dresser, slowly pulling on a pair of sweatpants, clearly in discomfort. “Whoa,” T.K. set everything down quickly and then moved to stabilize him. “You should have called me.”

“I don’t like feeling helpless,” Carlos said, frustration lacing his tone.

“I know,” T.K. said, gently moving him back toward the bed. “But you’re going to get some sleep now and when you wake up I think you’re going to feel a lot better.”

“What if I feel like this forever?” Carlos asked miserably.

“You won’t,” T.K. smoothed a hand over his forehead. “Your captain called while I was downstairs. Apparently this bug has swept through your whole department. At least twenty people have called out sick and five have been hospitalized. You all got hit with a pretty violent stomach bug. But it seems like a forty-eight hour thing; most of them are on the mend.”

“Oh god,” Carlos said. “I should call him back.”

“I told him you were out of commission,” T.K. told him. “He said to feel better.”

Carlos rolled his eyes. “No he didn’t.”

“Okay,” T.K. said. “Technically he said, ‘Nobody who’s barfed their guts out in the last day is allowed in the office without a doctor’s note.’ But I think the sentiment was the same.”

“That sounds about right.”

He grimaced as he settled under the covers. “Come here,” T.K. said, sliding in next to him and pulling his head into his lap, fingers running gently through his hair. “Close your eyes.”

Carlos did so, body relaxing into T.K.’s touch. “I love you,” T.K. said quietly. “So much.”

“How can you say that after you just cleaned up my vomit?” Carlos asked, eyes still closed.

“Because that’s what love is,” T.K. told him. “Love is being here with you. Through it all. Every day. For every moment. The good, the bad—“

“And the very ugly,” Carlos murmured.

“You’re far too pretty to be ugly,” T.K. assured him. “Even when you’re barfing.”

“Oh god stop,” Carlos moaned. “Don’t make me laugh, it hurts.”

“Go to sleep,” T.K. told him again. “I’ll still be here when you wake up. And I will happily clean up your blood, your sweat, your tears, and your puke every day for the rest of my life if I need to.”

Carlos cracked an eyelid. “I know you’re trying to be sweet, but that’s pretty disgusting.”

T.K. shrugged. “Like I said before, I’ve seen a LOT on calls. You can’t scare me off Carlos Reyes.”

Carlos closed his eyes and snuggled closer into T.K. “Good to know.”

[engie-ivy]

Remus is the uptight, swotty Prefect who's always getting the popular and beloved troublemakers Black and Potter in detention. Remus doesn't care what people say of him, and he absolutely doesn't care about Black's blinding smile.

A Book By Its Cover

Remus pulls his jumper closer around himself against the draught in the large, empty halls. The corridor is dimly lit and he hears nothing but the sound of his own footsteps. Everything is quiet. Too quite.

A loud clang suddenly sounds from behind one of the tapestries. Remus almost smiles to himself. Bingo. In a swift motion, he pulls away the tapestry.

Startled, Black whirls around. He’s surrounded by what appear to be paint cans and rope. His shock only last a moment, though.

“Lupin!” He exclaims, a beaming smile appearing on his face. “What a pleasant surprise!”

Remus crosses his arms over his chest. He makes an effort to keep a firm expression on his face, to show he’s not affected by Black’s notorious, blinding smile, like everyone else is. “Only pleasant if you like detention. And as for a surprise, I am a Prefect. I am supposed to be here making my rounds. So what are you doing here?”

“Preparing a prank,” Black says simply.

Remus doesn’t know whether he should be insulted Black doesn’t seem to take his authority very seriously, or glad that he doesn’t insult his intelligence by coming up with an excuse.

“Right,” Remus says, before taking out his notebook and pen. “Out of bed after curfew and engaging in illegal activity,” he scribbles down. “And where’s Potter?”

“Aw, am I not enough for you, Lupin?” Black pouts.

“I figured you could use some company in detention,” Remus replies smoothly.

Black clicks his tongue. “So thoughtful.”

“If you’re here setting up some prank, then it’s a given Potter is setting up that prank somewhere else in the school as well. So, where is he?”

Black shakes his head. “For you’re own good, Lupin, you don’t wanna put James in detention right now. People won’t be too pleased with you if the school’s football star misses the upcoming match against Slytherin thanks to you.”

“So thoughtful,” Remus repeats Black’s words, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But please, don’t concern yourself over me. I’ve never cared what others think of me, and I don’t plan on starting now. And you basically just admitted Potter is currently doing something that would warrant me giving him detention, so you might as well tell me where he is.”

Black sighs. “This is why people call you uptight.”

Remus’ expression hardens. “If people care so much, they should be mad at Potter for risking the football match in the first place by playing some stupid prank.”

Black gasps dramatically and clutches his chest. “Stupid? Our pranks are not stupid! They’re works of art! Jumping out of a cake on miss McGonagall’s birthday? Hilarious! Making a zip line to go from one floor to the other? Brilliant! Filling the gym with stray cats, many of whom were eventually adopted? Genius! People love our pranks. They make people laugh and bring some excitement in their lives. Much needed excitement, because let’s face it, school is boring. Sitting there, listening to old people tell you things you already know.”

“For you maybe,” Remus mutters.

Black scoffs. “Don’t pretend you’re not one of the smartest people in our class, Lupin.”

Remus just glares harder at Black, to show that no, he doesn’t care that Sirius Black, whom people are always falling over themselves for to get even a bit of his attention, has apparently noticed Remus’ academic achievements. No, he doesn’t care at all.

“Even the teachers love our pranks,” Black continues. “They put some life into this place!”

“We’ll see what miss McGonagall has to say about it when I report you tomorrow,” Remus says calmly. “I’ll go finish my rounds, and when I get back, you better have cleaned up this mess.”

As he turns around to leave, Black suddenly grabs his wrist. “Join us!”

“Wha...” Remus turns back, and his traitorous stomach flutters at how close Black is suddenly standing.

“Join us for one prank,” Black says.

Remus blinks at him. “Why in earth would I do that?”

“Because it’s fun! And honestly, Lupin, to me you always look like you can use a bit of fun.”

That catches Remus off guard. It’s true. Between struggling to get top marks, doing everything he can for extra credit, making sure he has a spotless record, excelling at his Prefect duties, and worrying about his sick mother, lately he often feels like just throwing his hands in the air and say ‘screw it all!’, and just do something crazy, something dumb or irresponsible. But he definitely never wanted for Black to notice that.

“Come on, Lupin,” Black says, as Remus stays silent. “Be part of the fun for once, instead of putting a damper on it.”

“Your childish pranks aren’t my idea of fun,” Remus bites back, feeling himself getting defensive.

Black just grins. “You won’t know that unless you join us for just one prank!”

“Why would you even want me to join you?” Many people would be lining up to be a part of one of Black and Potter’s infamous pranks. It’s beyond Remus why Black would ask that one stuffy guy who puts them in detention almost every week.

“Because I like you,” Black shrugs. “I like how hard you work for everything and how you don’t care what anyone thinks of you. And I think you secretly have a talent for it,” he adds with a wink, that absolutely does not make Remus’ knees go weak. “I bet you have a wicked side to you underneath all that swotty stuff.”

“But I’m a Prefect!” Remus argues. “I’m supposed to discipline rule-breakers, not break them myself!”

Black rolls his eyes. “You shouldn’t take that job so serious.”

This rubs Remus the wrong way. “Not everyone can afford to treat everything in life as a joke,” he says coolly.

Black folds his arms over his chest and stares. “A fancy title and a badge and suddenly you’re better than us?”

“It’s nothing like that!”

Black huffs. “Then why is that bogus job so important to you?”

“Because some of us can’t afford to have even one note on their record if they ever want to get anywhere in life!” Remus snaps. “Because some of us need perfect scores and every bit of extra credit they can get if they want universities not to immediately bin their applications! Because some of us don’t have a last name they can flaunt, a daddy who can make a phone call, a mommy who can throw some money around, and suddenly you’re top of the list! Because some of us can’t just look at their rich parents and rely on them to always give them everything they want!”

The change in Black is instant. He takes a step back, and instead of his usual easy smile and bright eyes sparkling with mischief, his face becomes an ice-cold mask. “Fuck you, Lupin,” he hisses. “You don’t know a thing about me.”

He pushes past Remus as he storms off, leaving him behind feeling very confused. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Yes, the system is unfair and Black is privileged, but Remus supposes that isn’t really Black’s fault. He knows Black isn’t actually a bad person. His heart is in the right place, and he’s usually kind, only ever mean to people who, quite frankly, deserve it.

Remus just wishes Black would stop with those bloody pranks.

Remus just wishes Black would continue with those bloody pranks.

Or do anything really that makes him seem more like his old self. Remus never thought he’d miss that loud, barking laugh, that infuriating smirk, those lame puns so much.

Ever since everyone returned from Christmas break, Black has completely withdrawn. He hardly talks to anyone, he just sits silently, his eyes staring off in the distance and his expression blank. Potter is always by his side, softly talking to him or just throwing him worried glances.

Since then, it has been the talk of the school, and even in the papers and on the news: Sirius Black has been removed from his parents’ custody. It was a messy affair, the police has even been involved. Black’s father was arrested on grounds of child abuse. Apparently, Orion Black, the noble and well-respected patriarch of the prestigious Black family, has a habit of beating his son. It must’ve been going on for a while, but over the break it escalated. People just can’t get over how Sirius Black’s life wasn’t as perfect as it always seemed to be.

Remus feels bad for Black, and especially feels like an idiot, having said the things he said. He knows he owes Black an apology. It has been a couple of weeks since the break ended, and the apology is beginning to be long overdue. Though he also knows that Black has probably not been waiting for an apology from the uptight twat that always gets him detention.

Maybe it’s more to ease his own consciousness that he hesitantly approaches the table where Black is sitting. Potter glares at him the moment he sees him, and half gets out of his seat, probably to tell him to piss off, and rightfully so. However, after a quick glance at Black’s face, who’s looking up at Remus, he sits back down, as if he sees something on his friend’s face that makes him chance his mind.

“Bla- Sirius,” Remus says, realising a tad late that Sirius might nor want to be reminded of his family name right now. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “I said some shitty things to you, and I shouldn’t have. You were right, I didn’t know anything about you.”

“It’s okay,” Sirius says softly. “You had good reason to be angry, it’s a rather fucked up system. And you didn’t know. Didn’t know that I would’ve gladly given up all that privilege to just have parents who... who love me...”

Sirius’ voice falters and he trails off. Potter is staring at him wide-eyed, and also Remus is surprised. He knows Sirius hasn’t talked about it to anyone, and he feels almost guilty he’s saying it to him of all people. He’s also surprised at the overwhelming urge he has to pull Sirius into a hug, hold him and tell him they never deserved him anyway. He has to leave before he does anything stupid.

“I should go,” Remus says quickly. “If there’s ever anything I can do...”

As he turns around to leave, Black suddenly grabs his wrist. “Join us!”

Remus turns back to look at him.

“Join us for one prank.”

“Why would you want me to join you?” Remus asks, much like the first time.

“Because I like you,” Sirius replies, much like the first time, only where he had then sounded nonchalant and slightly amused, he now sounds pleading and vulnerable.

“Yeah,” Remus says hoarsely, because his Prefect duties suddenly don’t seem so important compared to helping Sirius come back to his old self. “Yeah, I’ll join you for one prank.”

And then the most amazing thing happens: for the first time in weeks, Sirius Black smiles. It’s only a small smile, but the room already seems a bit brighter. In a moment of vivid clarity, Remus knows that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to make that boy smile.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

[agirlunderarock]

I'm a little late but for the ship bingo, I'd like to request Sasi-Wan 🥺 And/or Han and Leia

a;jga;dfgdofig

Okay first of all you’re not late. I’m probably late on answering this because I am always late on answering these things. Second, you hear me ramble about them all the time ;-; But I’ll tryi to summarize them

OH WAIT LOOK I GOT BINGO!!

Sasi-Wan

First of all Sasi-Wan, is a ship between my shape shifter OC Sas, and Obi-Wan. If you’d like to read more about Sas, you can do so right HERE. My buddy Ducky @bisexual-sea-shanties was the genius behind the ship name, not me. I was in fact very reluctant to make them a ship for a couple of reasons. 1. I am asexual/demiromantic. I often talk about fanfic and media including more asexuals and aromantics. I really want more asexual love stories because I feel they’re often sidelined or the characters are done poorly, or the character ends up alone to show they’re ace or aro, as if thats the only way to prove thats the case. I almost feel bad putting these two in a romantic relationship because I almost feel hypocritcal- even if I write Sas as biromanic/demisexual and  Obi-Wan as demiaro/ace. Like it makes me feel conflicted, because they don’t have to be romantic, they could just as easily be platonic, and in the writing that I have planned thus far, they’re very platonic. But I’m also so tired of not finding any kind romance that can be seen between ace characters. I feel like at its core romance starts with a platonic love, and how people define romance depends on the couple themselves, which is very much the case with these two. They have to actively choose to try romance and figure out together what that means and I honestly love that about them. I like that they can go either way, but again it does make me feel like I’m contradicting myself at times. I don’t know, does anyone else ever feel like this?

 I’m not doing a really good job of hyping up my own ship... Let me try again.

Look I’ve loved all the pairings I’ve done bingo for, but this is the only one to get my whole heart, and the “Its complicated” checked off. I’ve already explained that part- which really has nothing to do with the couple themselves and more to do with my personal feelings. Honestly though, I’ve come up with ocxcanon pairings in the past for other fandoms, but this one is my absolute favorite. I like hat theres a lot of layers to them. I like that they can be platonic or romantic- I like that they realize they need to have difficult conversations about it, even if they would prefer not to. Romance between these two is a really fine line, almost nothing changes between the time they love each other platonically, and deciding they want to try to have a romantic relationship. They have an understanding with one another that, even if they are romantically involved, thats not necessarily their first priority. They absolutely would fight tooth and nail to defend and protect the other, but in the grand scheme of things he’s going to put his duty as a jedi first, and she’s going to put the conflict on Zolan first, and thats not necessarily anything they’d want to change about the other. Sas doesn’t just fall in love with Obi-Wan, falling in love with him means falling in love with the jedi as a culture and a people. She works with a lot of them during the clone wars and become friends with a good number of them it would make sense for her to learn and grow from them. Obi-Wan doesn’t exactly get the same exposure to Clawdites and Zolan, he was only on planet for about a week- but he falls in love with her passion, determination, but also, her compassion and the genuine love she has for the people she encounters. They have very different ways of processing their situations- but I think for the most part they compliment one another’s way of thinking. I know I make them sound very serious- but they’re kind of not. Naturally theres a lot of banter between them, some easy flirting from time to time. I think what this comes down to, is that this a pairing looks at the current state of romance in their media and sees that one partner giving up a major part of their personality or a core belief or goal is romantic, and tells it “No, why would I ask he person I love to give up something so important to them without considering giving up that for myself?” In this case, she would never consider asking him about leaving the order, nor would he tell her to put down the Zolan conflicts, instead they meet in the middle and just try to support one another,  give each other a place to escape for a while, and if it doesn’t work out romantically- then at least they’re still in each other’s lives. I think the saddest part is that after 66 they both lose it all anyway. The Jedi order falls, and because Palpatine fears Clawdite spies infiltrating the Emperial army, he has a blockade put around Zolan. Obi-Wan’s home and people are destroyed, Sas can’t go home and is separated from the people she loves most- the only thing they have left is each other.

Han/Leia

I almost checked off its complicated for these two. After going off for too long about my own made up ship, its going to either look like I know nothing about Han and Leia or just don’t care. Thats not the case, its just I’ve gone through weird phases with this ship. Heres the thing, I love them alright. I love he back and forth- the bicker flirting. The problem is I grew up projecting on Leia, and developed the FIGHT ME method of flirting. I think they’re an interesting pair. I think its hilarious how I grew up thinking Han Solo was probably a playboy, but literally we never see him interact with another woman in the OT and is wild to me hat I ever got that idea. I enjoy the Empire Strikes back- its my favorite out of the OT- but not so much for the scenes on the Falcon, or even the “I love you” “I know” bit. Theres a small bit in Bespin, where Han and Leia are just waiting around for Lando, and she’s kinda pissed and Han is trying to keep her calm, and he just lightly kisses her forehead and keeps talking. Thats the Han/Leia moment that gets me. Not the other big things, its that little moment, because its just so much more gentle than any of their other moments. Theres no big dramatics. They’re both just anxious and waiting, and he’s doing his best to let her know its going to be fine, even if it really isn’t. I don’t know what it is, but like when I think of Han and Leia, thats the moment I think of.

I almost forgot that I checked off wasted potential for them- but really it has nothing to do with them, and more about how the sequel trilogy did them. I need to do a rewatch of them, because its been a while, but I don’t remember the movie ever giving us a reason why Han and Leia were separated. I don’t remember anything about how any of their actions established anything major within the new republic that would have led to the First Order. I remember feeling like there were a lot of gaps that their story should have filled, but it didn’t, and none of the other characters really talked about it. There was talk about Luke’s legacy as a jedi, and why Leia stopped her jedi training, but nothing about actual things she was doing with the New Republic. It felt like it was just suddenly war without explanation. Like I said I need to do a rewatch, but I feel like theres big chunks of story missing that would have laid the groundwork for what Rey, Finn, and Poe were really dealing with. So not really wasted potential in their romance, just in the story telling, but honestly thats kinda the sequel trilogy as whole for me. I’ve talked about that too much already though this was supposed to be about Han and Leia and their romance.

[year2000electronics]

Malcom Challender and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good Very Bad Day

(just a little goofy ficlet set after episode 2 bc i wrote day 11 when i wasnt feeling very good about myself so i think my cool and awesome sona should be able to hang out with vils cool friends :^) )

The sun shone through the crack in Malcom’s windows, and he waved off the pigons that had somehow slipped into his apartment- as they often did, with his bird-whisperer of a roommate around. He swore it was like Player let them in on purpose sometimes. He squinted, avoiding the light as he transferred himself from his bed to his wheelchair, kicking the brake back in.

...Yes, he slept in his clothes. Don’t lie! You do it too, sometimes!

Malcom made his way into the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. He pondered to himself where his housemates had gone off to, but he decided against questioning where they went. They were more active than he was, certainly- Player, when he wasn’t feeding the birds in some park, was off using his gym membership or playing bingo with some old ladies. Darnold was probably attaching rocket boosters to things that weren’t supposed to have rocket boosters.

And they were both video game characters that had become real.

God, Malcom’s life was fucking weird.

He could at least take the day to relax- after all, he didn’t have a stream until the weekend. Summer was right around the corner, which meant he could start using all his outdoor gimmicks for streams. Neo had even suggested doing a carnival stream! How would that even WORK?!

He shrugged it off. Malcom was sure Neo had some crazy ideas in his head, anyways. That was just how the dude worked.

Malcom’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud banging on his dining room window. His head jerked up in surprise when he heard some especially loud banging. Someone was… knocking on his window? From THIS high up?!

And it was…

No.

No fucking way.

That beautifully-styled curly brown hair. That signature sleazy moustache. That suave all-black ensemble. That surprisingly sleek ship they rode.

CAPITAL M?!

They said… well, they said something. Malcom couldn’t hear them through the window.

Both of them paused for an incredibly awkward while, until eventually, Malcom quietly rolled the window down.

“As I was SAYING. HELLO, GAMER BOY! AS YOU CAN SEE, I HAVE CAPTURED YOUR PRECIOUS FRIENDS!” Mothra shouted, cackling.

Malcom was… unimpressed. All there was were a bunch of birds flying around the ship, with some of them landing near Malcom in a panic.

“Why the hell are you BACK? And second of all, is this some kinda fucked up psychological warfare to say I don’t have friends?! I do have friends, asshole! I have good traits! I know cos my therapist told me!” Malcom shouted in a huff.

“Oh- No, these are- Okay-” Capital M fumbled, hauling a giant, futuristic-looking gun out of vil’s storage compartment. “So first of all, I was just at a resort. And some… people there got me back into the groove.”

“AND SECOND OF ALL!” He posed with the gun. “BEHOLD! MY GUN THAT TURNS PEOPLE INTO BIRDS!”

“AHAHAHAHA!”

“...Birds,” Malcom said in disbelief. He looked down at the birds currently waddling around on his table. They were… unremarkable. Of course they were, they were birds!

“Yes. Birds. It’s perfect cos Player will never allow it to be changed back. Ever.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

Malcom snorted.

“Yeah, well, what. Are you gonna turn every world leader into a bird so you can demand ransom or something?” He said flatly.

“That’s exactly it! PREPARE FOR A GLOBAL DEBT, MALCOM CHALLENDER!” Capital M proclaimed, pointing at him.

“That is…” Her face twisted into one of mischievous glee. “Unless someone were to… stop me…? Hmmm?”

Malcom sighed. “Dude.”

“We need to get you some superhero friends or something.”

“I am a TWITCH STREAMER. I have JOBS I do for MONEY. And I have NO POWERS.”

“PAH! You have your silly stupid power of friendship, don’t you?!”

“..Besides. I know for a fact you don’t stream today,” Mothra muttered.

“...Are you following me on Twitch…?”

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, gamer-boy.”

“AND NOW I DEPART!” Capital M shouted, flying off and leaving Malcom with a lot of birds.

“Great. So, uh, who’s who?” He asked the group. “...Nevermind that, actually. No way to tell.”

It was just then his phone rang.

‘DO NOT ANSWER is requesting FaceTime…’

Malcom sighed, picking it up as a squished-together group of scientists took over his entire screen.

“Hey, Doc. Half of us got turned into birds by Capital M,” Malcom said. “You wouldn’t have anything to do with this, would you?”

The mad scientist’s face lit up. “Birds?! Oh, splendid, splendid! They really are coming back with a bang!”

“I’d GREATLY prefer it if they came back with a bang elsewhere? Maybe to the universe where people actually have powers? Like the admins, maybe??” Malcom shouted, as one of the birds let out an angry tweet.

The taller, purple scientist behind Doc guffawed. “Sorry, man. You’re the biggest dork here, so you’re easy pickings. Maybe vil just likes you.”

“It’s a great honour to have a nemesis, you know!” Harold piped up.

“AND HOW!” Doc and Sleepless both chirped.

God, they were all such a happy family. It was contagious. BLECH.

“Either way, I’m not smart enough to make an anti-bird gun. So can you guys PLEASE come over and fix this mess?” Malcom said with a sigh.

“I WOULD like to see how Capital M is doing… When we parted ways, it seemed like things were off to a good start…” Bubby mused.

“Yeah, they’re real excited about this. Just like usual, I guess,” Malcom said with a chuckle.

“Hey, is B’s service cooperating? Can we get him over too?”

The old man shook his head. “I’m afraid his feed was more like… a mosaic.”

“Damn that 2002 phone he has,” Malcom grumbled. “Oh, well. I’m sure you guys can help just fine. C’mon over.”

“Will do! We’ll bring the arsenal of weapons, too!” Tommy said excitedly.

“Like my new invention, BETTER TOASTER!” Doc yelled, holding up a toaster with mechanical spider legs and what looked like a flamethrower.

“Or the evil saxophone!” Sleepless said, and Malcom knew that was his sign to log off, as he cut them off mid-note.

“Okay, Malcom. Your friends are birds and your other friends are Saturday morning cartoon villains. Wonderful.” He sighed, sitting back in his wheelchair.

“And your OTHER other friend sure has a weird way of showing their appreciation.”

He laughed.

“Damn, I love being me.”

[spacedikut]

“i want to love someone and be loved” ; spencer reid - part 2

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: spencer decides it’s time to tell you, but he needs some help. 3887 words. part 1

a/n: THIS is the longest fic ive ever written but im actually kinda proud of how it turned out? i hope this is a good sequel :)

Spencer chickens out of telling you the next day.

He avoids you all weekend, actually. You resisted texting him the day after Rossi’s because you assumed he’d be busy – with his big plan involving a girl that isn’t you. You’re not bitter – but Sunday comes around and you message him not long after you wake up and six hours later there’s no response.

Twelve hours later - there’s no response.

Monday, you don’t have time to say hello to anyone – there’s a case waiting for you, somewhere in Florida.

Reid avoids your eyes. His body language tells you something is wrong, so you assume whoever he confessed to didn’t reciprocate (they’re insane) and he’s dealing with it. So you don’t press.

Spencer pretends to sleep the entire jet ride. He’s avoiding everyone, not just you.

He spent the whole weekend beating himself up. He drove to your apartment on Saturday, sat outside for so long a neighbour knocked on his window and asked if he was lost, but couldn’t bring himself to step foot out of his car.

So he locked himself in his room, away from you and your loveliness and away from his phone because he knew you texted him and he knew you’d send some soft message about being there for him if he needs anything and he didn’t need to be reminded of how beautiful and out of reach you are.

Derek seemed to be waiting for him Monday morning, arms crossed as he held a cup of coffee. It was weird seeing him in before Spencer.

“How’d it go?” He immediately asked.

“How’d what go?” Spencer mumbles, flinging his bag on the floor by his desk. He slumps in his seat.

Derek raises a dark eyebrow, “You know what, pretty boy. You had a big thing? Big plan?”

“Didn’t work out.”

It doesn��t take a profiler to realise Spencer is very clearly saying leave me alone. Leave it alone.

Derek isn’t one to leave it alone. Especially when it comes to Spencer.

He sighs and moves a little closer to Spencer’s desk, just in case someone overhears them.

“What happened?”

“That’s exactly it,” Spencer slams open a file, “Nothing happened.”

“And why did nothing happen?”

“Because I’m an idiot that can’t even tell a girl how I feel.”

“Whoa- hey!”

Derek spins Spencer’s chair so they’re face to face. Derek takes one look in Spencer’s eyes and knows what’s going on – he got too into his head and backed out at the last minute.

“You’re not an idiot. Why didn’t you do it?”

Spencer shrugs, “I got to her apartment. I had flowers, too. I don’t know.”

Derek’s evidently concerned – Spencer’s beaten up over this, over whoever this girl is, and he deserves the chance to experience love. Spencer deserves a lot more than he himself thinks he does.

“You seemed really excited, man. You can still do it. Just cause you try once and it doesn’t work out doesn’t mean you can’t ever try again.”

Spencer stares off into the distance, accidentally ignoring Derek as his thoughts slip out of his mouth, “Yeah, it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway – I was stupid to think I could get someone like her.”

“Hey, no.” Derek nudges Spencer’s shoulder so he looks at him again, “Don’t talk like that. You’re one hell of a guy, Reid. All you gotta do is get that confidence that you had Friday night back, and you’re all set. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Spencer gives a feeble nod. Derek moves back to his desk, knowing he isn’t convinced, but he isn’t done yet.

+++

Later, in Florida, Spencer’s making a coffee in the precinct’s kitchen after waiting twenty minutes for you to leave. Luck’s on his side, for once, and you’ve been working non-stop with Prentiss going crime scene to crime scene so he hasn’t had to actively avoid you. You smile at him every chance you get, though, and it distracts him.

Someone clears their throat behind him. It’s Penelope, whom Spencer didn’t realise was invited on this case.

She looks guilty. Spencer recognises that face; the face she has when she’s done something she shouldn’t have or knows something she isn’t really supposed to. Given current circumstances, Spencer bets it’s the latter reason.

“Morgan told me something he shouldn’t have.”

Bingo.

He leans against the kitchen counter, stirring his coffee absentmindedly.

“What did he tell you?” He asks, feigning tranquillity. Inside he’s screaming non-stop.

She’s got her hands clasped together in front of her, almost innocently, and fiddles with her fingers, “He told me you needed assistance in the love department.” Before he can object, she continues, “And I am willing to do anything if it means our resident weirdo-slash-genius falls in love and gets to experience some much needed cuteness.”

There’s no point in lying to her. There’s also no point in being mad that Morgan told her about his situation – they’re kind of a package deal. And, who knows, Garcia might be able to help.

“So…” She sways, trying (and failing) to appear nonchalant, “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Spencer shuffles on the spot, scuffing his shoes against the floor. He debates whether he should tell her, since, you know, you’re in the next room over, but Spencer worries that Garcia is so good at her job she’d somehow find out through hacking Spencer’s phone, or maybe somehow hacking his dreams. His subconscious. He’s terrified of Garcia and her abilities.

“You can tell me.” She insists, “I’m much better at keeping secrets than Morgan.”

Spencer turns away from her, she steps closer, and he mumbles your name.

“What?”

“Y/N.”

“WHAT?!”

Spencer spins, hands coming up to tell Garcia to shut up and Garcia immediately covers her mouth in both shock and hopefully so she doesn’t shout again.

“Since when?!” She screeches. “How could I not have known?! Oh God, almighty Doctor Reid, I feel like I’ve failed you by not realising earlier.”

Her enthusiasm makes him smile, for the first time in far too long. Garcia has that power – this innate skill to comfort those around her and make them feel special, make them smile when the world feels like its collapsing.

“Let me help!” She requests.

Spencer’s clearly hesitant. He knows it’s a bad idea.

“Please!” She begs, “I just- I have so many ideas of how you can go about this. Let me brainstorm, get back to you, and if I’m too over-the-top you can tell me no and we’ll pretend it never happened!”

He takes a deep breath. Yes, Garcia is the definition of over-the-top, but that’s one of his favourite things about her. It’s your favourite thing, too. And he did tell Morgan he had big plans. Anything involving Garcia is a big plan with big payoff.

“This is between us.”

“I’ll take it to the grave. Unless you realise how amazing my ideas are and use one to tell Y/N how you feel and then years later I get to commend myself during my maid of honour speech at your wedding.”

She looks ecstatic, hands now together under her jaw as her eyes twinkle. Spencer can’t help but laugh at her eagerness.

+++

The next day, the team returns to Quantico after a semi-successful case. The general mood is good and Morgan invites everyone out for drinks – Spencer declines, but you have your first full conversation since last Friday.

“C’mon, Spence,” Your head rests against the jet seat and you blink sleepily at him, “I feel like I haven’t spoken to you for years!”

Spencer gives you a small smile, “I promised my mom I’d call her tonight. Sorry, Y/N.”

You nod in understanding, “Will you tell her I say hi?”

“Of course. She loves you.”

You grin at eachother, immediately lost in your own world. You’ve missed him more than you realised, and you have no idea what’s going through his head, but you’re happy that you’ve had this – a Spencer Reid smile that makes you feel at home and on top of the world simultaneously.

Spencer has to tear his eyes away before he blurts something stupid, like she’s not the only one that loves you.

+++

“Spencer!” Garcia greets, Cheshire cat grin on her face. “I need to see you in my dungeon, please. Immediately.”

Spencer drops the file he’s holding. Unfortunately, Penelope’s request caught the attention of the whole team.

“What business do you have in the villain’s lair, Reid?” Derek asks. You’ve looked up from your computer, Emily smirking and leaning back in her chair in expectation.

“Uh…”

“Important nerd business. Go away.” Garcia says, eyes narrow as she tugs Spencer’s hand. He’s whisked away from any further questioning, leaving the befuddled team behind.

He isn’t sure what to expect when he stumbles into Penelope’s second home, but the display in front of him explains why he overheard a conversation about missing evidence boards earlier. Penelope’s obviously been using the new printer in her cave to her advantage – there’s at least twenty different pictures printed out on one board titled “date ideas”, then the board on the right has a picture of Spencer and you in the centre with a perfectly drawn heart around it. Under and around that is a mixture of love quotes, including song lyrics and quotes directly from romantic movies. He notices “The Parliament of Fowls” on there – Garcia remembers that he mentioned it’s considered the first Valentines poem?

“Whoa,” Is all he can say.

“I know it’s a little intense,” Garcia squirms, “But! I started scrolling through Pinterest and couldn’t stop. I don’t know what came over me, maybe some type of love deity, but I started thinking about you and Y/N in a classic love film in, like, black and white and I…”

She’s out of breath from animatedly explaining.

Spencer laughs through his nose, almost a scoff, but he’s impressed. He shouldn’t have expected anything else from the Penelope Garcia.

As Spencer wanders towards the first board, Garcia follows him like a shadow, “My personal favourite is-“ She points to a picture of chocolate fondue with faceless people in very little clothing, “-this one.”

Spencer awkwardly clears his throat when he begins to think of you and him like that.

“A little much for your declaration of love, though, I get it,” Garcia nods.

He scans the board – heart speeding up when he moves from idea to idea and picturing you and him in each one. He can’t help but think no, that one would be good for our anniversary – ah, she’d love to do that one for her birthday.

“What’re you thinking?” Garcia asks quietly. She knows his brain is whirring like her computer drive, so she approaches him gently.

“This one.” He says. “Where should we do it?”

Garcia grins behind him. The one he’s referring to shows a dinner table set up outside, brown wooded table with white wooden chairs opposite eachother. There’s flowers at the centre, a bottle of wine already poured in each glass in front of a basket of cookies, and the area around is shrouded by shrubbery, fairy lights hanging delicately from every-which-way.

It’s perfect. You love fairy lights, Spencer loves cookies, and the set-up looks private enough for Spencer to feel confident when he empties his heart and soul to you.

“The roof.” Garcia says wistfully.

“We have access to that?”

“Yes.” They both know they don’t. “Leave it to me. Oh… one more thing.” She adds, hesitantly, “Can Morgan help? I’m a lot of things, including emotionally strong and your love guru, but physically I’m gonna need some assistance.”

Spencer doesn’t even need to agree – Morgan’s gonna involve himself no matter what.

+++

Five o’clock is quickly approaching and you’re slumped over your desk, lost in your work. You need to be lost in it, because ever since Garcia released Spencer from her office right after lunch he’s been sneaking glances at you (he’s not sneaky) and has made several attempts to approach you but decided against it, sharply turning and pretending he meant to go another way instead.

You are beyond confused. You assume it’s to do with the girl he’s been trying to get over – you hope he’s been trying to build the confidence to tell you exactly what happened and maybe, you really hope, he’ll invite you over for the weekend so you can slip back into your old routine.

“Psst.”

You assume they’re not trying to get your attention, so you don’t move.

“Psst!”

You still don’t move.

“Y/N!”

Your head snaps up to Spencer leaning over the divider between your desks. He looks alarmed – which is odd, given he’s the one who called you – and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he finally speaks.

“Are you busy tonight?” He sits back and, if he wasn’t so goddamn tall, all you’d be able to see would be his eyes. His added height means you can see his eyes and his nose. You wanna kiss it.

You smile – this is an olive branch, “I am completely available for whatever it is you might need.”

You sound incredibly eager, which you are. You miss him.

His cheeks move upwards, a smile, “Can I talk to you, later, on the roof? Uh-“ He clears his throat, “-I need to tell you something.”

You raise an eyebrow, “You’re not gonna push me off, right?”

“No,” He laughs.

“Promise me.”

Now he guffaws, “I would never, Y/N!”

“Promise me, Reid!”

“Alright, alright! I promise!” He’s jokingly raising his hands in a form of surrender.

You give him another smile and turn back to your work. You feel at ease, now, thinking he’s finally gonna tell you what happened on the weekend – finally you’ll be able to help him and go back to normal.

Spencer, on the other hand, is the exact opposite of ease. He’s about to pour his heart out to you.

He takes a deep breath and looks back to his computer, which is open on a tab titled “How to Tell Someone You Like Them.”

Step 3: Be Confident.

Spencer opens a new tab and searches, “How to be confident.”

+++

Garcia hacks into Spencer’s computer to open a document and type that the roof is ready. She wishes him luck, tells him she loves him, and calls dibs on being the godmother of your future children. As if she doesn’t have enough godchildren as it is.

He clears his throat and your head snaps towards him. You’ve been done for a while, playing Tetris on your phone, waiting for Spencer to take you to the roof where he swears he won’t kill you – you’re not entirely convinced.

“Um-“ He scratches his neck, “You ready to go?”

You nod and give him a weak smile in hopes it gives him some type of reassurance.

“Whatever happened, it’s okay, Spence.”

All he does is nod in return, gathering his coat and bag. He doesn’t really register what you say, or he would’ve been very confused.

You follow him up to the roof. The elevator ride is silent and Spencer is jittery; his hands twitch and tap against his legs, he’s bouncing on his toes and he keeps looking at you through the corner of his eye. You’ve taken several deep breaths to calm your racing heart – you hate heights, and this is the closest you’ve been to Spencer in a week. This will be the longest conversation you’ve had with him in a week, too.

The second the doors open, Spencer leaps in front of you.

“Wait!”

You jump back in surprise, “What? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Completely fine. Just… when we get there, let me explain first, okay? Before you say anything.” He’s pleading, as if you’ve already told him no. You look at him with furrowed brows and mumble an ‘okay’.

You’re visibly confused as you trek up the flight of stairs to the roof. Spencer pushes open the fire door and the first thing you notice is how bright the roof is – you always assumed it’d be dark, little light, especially at night like this.

Wait.

There’s fairy lights… everywhere. You’re pretty sure this isn’t the norm for the FBI roof.

Spencer is equally as awed at what he sees before him - it’s exactly the photo he saw in Garcia’s cave brought to life, but he’s too distracted by you to fully appreciate it. You look like a child on Christmas; eyes wide, pupils blown, mouth slightly agape. You’re gorgeous.

“What…is this, Spence?” You wonder, noticing the set table, fingers grazing the roses that sit in a vase in the middle. They’re fresh and smell wonderful.

He stands a little behind you, fiddling with his hands, and clears his throat, “Would you like to take a seat?”

You do. When he finally sits, he pours you a glass of wine and you immediately take an anxious sip. Although Rossi is a big fan of wine, you rarely take interest in it only when Spencer’s involved. You’ve come to associate wine with him – a smile peeks out from your glass as you stare at the man opposite you.

“I need to get something off my chest. But there’s cookies, if you want one,” He picks one up from his plate, breaking it in half and giving it to you. He’s stalling, but you seem to take the bait and bite into it.

“Are these from the bakery two blocks away?”

“Yeah,” He replies, but he isn’t really paying attention. He doesn’t know where to begin.

You wait patiently for him to open up. You’re still unsure of what to make of all of this – the beautiful setting, the wine, the flowers, the lights. God, the lights are dazzling in the Virginia night sky. You need context, and you need it now.

“Spence-“

“Listen.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, I just…” He trails off, “I need to say what I need to say before I back out again.”

You fold your hands in your lap. You’re ready for whatever’s to come.

“Do you know how long we’ve known eachother?” He asks. His head tilts like a puppy.

“Nearly five years. Our friendaversary is coming up, you know.”

You realise, then, that this must be a celebration for that – that explains the… typically romantic setting. Before you can open your mouth to ask if that what’s this is, Spencer speaks.

“Four years, three-hundred and sixty days. That’s how long we’ve known eachother.”

“If we were dating, we would’ve been my longest relationship the second we passed a year.”

You don’t know why you said it, but it flusters him. He has to pause to take a breath and collect his thoughts.

“I’ve been in love with you for four years and three hundred and fifty-eight days, Y/N.”

It’s silent as you process and he figures out how to continue.

“I knew you were special when you were introduced to us. Hotch already had such a soft spot for you, and you had this way about you that made us all fall in love instantly. I remember Garcia did a background check the second she found out your name and she said you remind her of me and I… that freaked me out, to be honest. I thought you’d try to replace me.” He huffs a laugh, but can’t bring himself to look you in the eye, “I realised I was in love with you when you drunkenly defended me. Do you remember that?” His eyes flicker to yours for half a second – you’re wide-eyed, “You’d known me for two days at that point, but we’d already done a case together so we were celebrating. And these guys at the bar were whispering about me, acting like I couldn’t hear them, and the second you realised what was happening you stood up, stormed towards them and gave them a piece of your mind. It was incredible.

“You barely knew me, at least personally, but you thought so highly of me you scolded a group of drunk bodybuilders without a second thought. You made them apologise – it was hysterical watching someone half their size force them into submission like that – and when you were done you asked if I wanted to leave and go get ice cream. We couldn’t, cause you vomited on the way there, but I knew in that moment I loved you and I feel so hard, so quickly, I didn’t know what to do. And you never… you never indicated you thought of me as anything other than a friend so I didn’t try. Then you dated Greg who, in my opinion, sucked on his best days, and you encouraged me to date Abigail and I…”

He’s run out of breath and of things to say.

“I just love you, Y/N. I’m in love with you.” He adds, “I hope that’s okay.”

He finally looks at you, then. You’re just staring and he panics when he can’t make out what you’re feeling. He’s always been able to read you, you’ve always hated the saying that eyes are the windows to the soul because your eyes are always your tell, but now they’re… glassy.

You’re crying.

“Spencer…” You gasp, throat tight.

“It’s okay.” Spencer gives a tight-lipped smile. He knows what’s coming. He should’ve expected it. He has been expecting it.

“I love you too, Spence.”

Spencer chokes on air. He takes a gulp of wine.

You give him a teary smile in disbelief, “I’ve always loved you, Spence. I thought you knew that – I thought that big brain of yours knew exactly how I felt and… you didn’t do anything about it so I thought you didn’t feel the same. Spencer…”

He slowly moves a hand to place it palm-up on the table. Immediately you place your hand in his, your grip tight as you lovingly stare at him. This feels unreal.

“I’m in love with you too, you idiot.” You half laugh, half cry, “If you’ve really loved me this long, we’ve wasted so much time! God, we’re both idiots.”

Spencer’s crying too, now, and he starts laughing with you.

You’re two idiots in love, sitting opposite eachother on the roof of your place of work in a dream-like surrounding filled with fairy lights and flowers, and you could’ve been doing this for years.

Spencer sniffles, looking at you through his wet eyelashes, “Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

“If I say yes, will I get more dates like this?” You tease.

“Well, Garcia has a whole evidence board of date ideas she stole from Pinterest. We have enough ideas to last a lifetime.” He giggles.

“Penny was in on this?!”

Spencer gives a heh, “This is all thanks to her, so yeah.”

“She’s always had our backs.”

“She’s also now going to be convinced she’s cupid.”

You laugh again, and can’t help yourself when you lean across the table, still gripping Spencer’s hand, and letting your lips fall on his. Spencer leans into you, lips moving against yours as you both try to suppress grins.

You pull back slightly, Spencer’s lips following you, and whisper, “I would love to be your girlfriend.”

He kisses you again. And again. And again, just cause he can.

Big plan, big payoff. You’re worth every little stress and more.

[myelocin]

iwaizumi hajime, 27, athletic trainer.

synopsis: maybe sometimes getting locked out of your own apartment at two in the morning and being too kind to slam on the door and wake up your neighbors might have advantages of its own. the advantage being? iwaizumi hajime, 27, athletic trainer. 

characters: iwaizumi hajime, 27, athletic trainer, you

genre: fluff n a little banter also iwaizumi is hot tq very much

wc: 1200+

a/n: this serves as req #21 for stories in passing, for 💛 anon

-

Today was not your day, you decide.

It’s 2:18 AM, and you’re standing outside your apartment door where you and your roommate just moved into and you find out that she accidentally bolted the lock from the inside, effectively locking you out of your own place.

“Why didn’t you just call me?” you could practically hear her voice chide you already, but at the same time, you’re ready to show her the thirty unanswered calls all from your phone to hers registered in your call log.

You know she’d probably just smile at you all sheepish, like she does when she forgets to pick up the one thing you ask for her to when it was her turn to get the groceries and that would be enough for you to forgive her just like that.

“Because you looove me,” you hear her voice chime out to you once again, and you groan, running your face over your hands as you will yourself to not kick and pound at the door to force her awake.

You sigh; as much as you love her and the thought of sinking into bed after a long night out, you also love the reputation you have with your neighbors and pounding at the door when it’s two in the morning would just about to the trick and erase that.

So you retort to sitting on the floor with your back pressed against the door and a migraine threatening to brew in your temples.

Except, of course, the universe wouldn’t let you catch a break because as soon as you slide down and face up, you’re face to face with the tenant living across you with his keys in one hand and a look of confusion etched on his face.

You suppose you should explain yourself when he opens his mouth, but he beats you to it.

“Let me guess,” he starts. “Either you locked yourself out, or your roommate locked you out from inside and now won’t answer your call because they sleep like the dead?”

“The second one, bingo,” you comment dryly, raising your phone and showing him your call log.

“Damn,” he laughs. “Good job on not waking up the neighbors though.”

“I’m a considerate woman,” you shrug, leaning against the wall.

“I guess I should be a considerate man then and at least let you wait in my apartment?” he offers, unlocking his door and holding it open for you.

“Inviting a stranger into your house? Is that a good idea?” you laugh.

Your neighbor looks at you, smirking. “I’ve noticed you since you moved in and haven’t even introduced myself despite living literally right across you. This is the least I could do.”

“I don’t know,” you say, balancing yourself on the door frame as you stand up. “Sounds like something a serial killer would say before they do the do.”

“Do the do?” he snorts, chuckling at your choice of words. He pushes the door open and stands to the side as he motions for you to enter first.

“Yeah, like, when they go in for the kill or something,” you snort.

“But here you are anyway, inside a stranger’s apartment anyway at two in the morning because you got locked out,” he laughs, crossing his arms over his chest as he faces you.

“Kidding,” he laughs. “Take a seat and make yourself feel at home.”

“Will do, serial killer,” you bite back with a laugh, taking a seat on the couch to your left.

Glancing around the space, you look around the room, automatically noticing the stack of comic books haphazardly tethering on the edge of the shelf next to a few DVDs of the different Godzilla movies. A few framed photographs lined the wall—mostly of the same group of people just in different poses and locations.

Looks like he had himself a group of lasting friends.

“Beer?” he asks, gesturing to the cans he placed on the center table as he takes a seat on the armchair to your right.

You tell him a quiet thanks as you grab one of the cans, pulling the tab open, and clinking it against his as you watch him take a sip and lean back on the chair.

“So do you usually invite strangers to have beer with you at your apartment at two in the morning?” you question, mirth in your tone.

“Iwaizumi Hajime, 27, athletic trainer,” he announces, facing you.

He laughs when stare back at him, mouth hanging open, undoubtedly a question at the tip of your tongue.

“Now you know my name. We’re not strangers anymore, so now, you’re just sharing beer with someone you know at 2 in the morning. Makes it a little less weird if you look at it that way.”

“Does it?” you laugh, tipping back the can and taking a hefty gulp.

“You could always just wait back outside indefinitely,” Iwaizumi jokes.

You laugh, leaning back against the seat, as you return his stare with a pout. “Kidding! I’m (y/n), nice to officially meet you after a few weeks of moving in.”

“Cheers to that,” he laughs, raising his can as you laugh and clink yours with his as you meet halfway.

-

From the three hours that your friend decides to peacefully sleep through, it’s sometime a little over five am where the two of you jolt to some frantic knocking at your newfound friend’s door.

“Nice of you to remember that you have a roommate,” you comment, holding open the door and standing to the side as Iwaizumi leans against the frame and laughs at her apology.

“It’s alright, (y/n)’s not that bad of a company,” he laughs, winking at you.

“You’re making it sound like I’m barely just passing your standards,” you groan as you step out into the hallway and push your friend towards the entrance to your own apartment.

“Thanks for the company, and uhh, beer,” you smile. “I did not expect for her to sleep through three more hours.”

“Don’t sweat it, you have my number now don’t you? Don’t hesitate to ring me up if she ends up locking you out again.”

Iwaizumi across you laughs and crosses his arms over his chest, a habit of his you took note of. You didn’t mind though, he looked good. Anyone with eyes could easily come to that conclusion. Tan skin, green eyes, strong build, spikey hair, and a witty mouth to boot.

Safe to say, your neighbor seemed to be just your type.

“Again?” you tease. “It’s like you’re hoping that I’m gonna get locked out again just so you could keep me company.”

“Conversation with you isn’t bad, I guess,” he laughs before waving at you when you laugh and motion to shut your door.

It should have been the other way around, you think. Conversation with him, wasn’t bad. He was witty with his mouth, but was polite where it counted. Knew his boundaries too.

Three hours passed by rather quickly through a plethora of jokes, interesting topics, and talks about nothing. You smiled.

“I know that smile, (y/n),” your friend comments, yawning as she makes her way back to her room. “I’ll be sure to lock you out again if you need me to!” she finishes with a laugh.

You roll your eyes at her words, then think back to your neighbor.

To Iwaizumi Hajime who was 27 and was also an athletic trainer.

You decided that maybe, something about today was going your way for once.

 -

[holylulusworld]

Sharing is caring

Request: Can you do ‘bed-sharing’ with Wolverine? He’s grumpy and you believe he doesn’t like you, but he can’t stop himself from sniffing at your neck and it can be smutty or just fluff. You decide.

Pairing: Logan x Reader

Characters: Scott Summer

Warnings: angst, language, arguments, smut, unprotected sex, bed-sharing, cuddling & snuggling, fun

6000 Followers BINGO CARD kink: Bed-sharing 

6000 Followers Celebration Masterlist

It’s late, too late to drive back to the mansion. Now you are stranded in the middle of nowhere, only thirty bucks in your pocket and a very grumpy Wolverine at your ass.

“I told you to not drive that fast.” Grumbling the tall mutant glares at you. “You could’ve killed both of us!”

“You mean I could’ve killed myself as you don’t die that easily, old man!” Smirking you glare at Wolverine as he tries to find a snarky comment.

“I got thirty bucks. Let’s call it a day, sleep a bit, and tomorrow we can call Scott to pick us up.”

“Great. Now I have to spend more time with an annoying brat.” Wolverine’s eyes narrow and you throw your hands up in surrender.

“Please forgive me Wolverine for trying to not get caught by those sick bastards. I didn’t want to end up as a slave like the other mutant girls.” Shuddering you try to shake the memories away. “I didn’t want them to touch me.”

“I would’ve protected you.” Snorting you flip Logan the bird.

“Sure. The big bad Wolverine would’ve saved me. I don’t think so. You hate me after all…” Storming toward the reception you can't see the confused look on Logan’s face.

Do you believe he hates you?

“Only one bed. Great. Can my day get even more miserable?” 

While Logan is busy to puff one of his cigars outside of the only room you could get you to try to find a way to tell the grumpy mutant that you’ll have to share a bed.

“Why are you muttering loud enough for anyone to hear?” Logan steps into the room, dropping his bag as you pace around the bed. “Y/N?”

“There’s only one bed! I told that idiot we’ll need two but he was busy staring at my ass!” Teeth gritted Logan balls his hands into fists, close to ripping the guy ogling you apart.

“That vulture stared at your ass, kiddo? Where is he? I’ll teach him some manners.” Wolverine seems to be angry and you look at him, blinking a few times to process he would defend your honor.

“I think he went home or crap. Still, there is only one bed.” Pointing toward the queen-size bed you sigh. “What do we do?”

Laughing Logan locks the door before he shrugs his jacket off his shoulders. He doesn’t miss the looks you give him when he removes his shirt.

“We will have a shower. Eat something out of the mini-bar and share the bed, kiddo. I won’t bite your cute ass. Promised.” Logan’s smile is almost charming and you nod silently, not showing the tall mutant you are beyond nervous close to him.

“I’ll go first! You are taller…more to wash and all…” Smirking you open your bag to fish fresh panties and a shirt to sleep in out. “Tomorrow we need to explain I crashed the car. Scott will be pissed…it was his car.”

Logan smirks amused. “I bet he’ll pee his pants, Sweetie. If you want me to, I’ll take the blame.” Gaping at Wolverine you search his face. You assume he tries to trick you, tries to make a fool out of you so you refuse to take his offer.

“I am a grown woman; I’ll face the consequences of my doing. I drove too fast as I got scared so I’ll have to pay for the repair and crap.” Grabbing your clothes, you storm toward the bathroom.

“Y/N, I meant it. He won’t go at me like a missile! Especially as I might use these.” Logan grunts as he slides his claws out. “Could rip him a new one.”

“No. It’s my fault so stop pretending you care.” The door slams shut behind you and Wolverine still got no clue why you believe he hates you.

Snuggling into one of the scratchy pillow you try not to look at Wolverine who sits at the table, only in his too-tight jeans, sipping at a drink. “Do you want one too, Sweetie?”

“I do not drink.” Ogling Wolverine for a moment you lick your lips as your eyes roam his firm chest, his abs, and biceps. “I’ll sleep now. Try not to slice me open in your sleep.”

Logan nods, a dirty grin on his lips as he saw you staring at him once again.

“Night, kiddo. Do not cuddle me at night.”

“As if I would ever cuddle your old ass.” Grumbling you turn around to face the wall. “Idiot…”

“You know, I heard that.”

“Whatever…” 

Sleep didn’t come. Lying still on your side of the bed you can hear Logan sip at his drink, rummage in his bag or walk around the room.

It takes him ages before the bed finally dips and you hold your breath as Logan lies too close for comfort. His breath fans over your neck and you whimper as he buries his head into the crook of your neck.

“You’re so warm, Y/N.” One arm wraps around your waist to bring you close to his chest.

A tiny moan escapes your lips feeling his erection prominent press against your ass. “So pretty and soft.”

You don’t know what to do or how to react. Logan is cuddling you and your heart starts to race while he’s just holding you in his arms, whispering soft words into your ear.

“I can feel your warmth every time you are close to me. I wish I could just drown into you, make you mine and never let you go.” Whimpering you feel Logan’s breathing quicken. “You’re awake…”

“Logan…” One hand becomes brave as he can feel you relax in his arms. “What are you doing?” His hand slipping into your panties answers your question and you feel your cheeks heat up as he will find you dripping.

“Such a wet little cunt.” You always assumed Logan is a dirty talker but hearing him husk dirty promises into your ear let you melt into a puddle. “All for me, kiddo?”

“You…oh—god!” Two thick fingers slip into you, roughly rubbing over your g-spot.” Logan…you…oh…fuck…”

“I think that’s what I’ll do with you my disobedient brat. If I tell you to stay behind so I can concentrate on killing those assholes trying to touch what’s mine and you just throw yourself into the line of fire…”

Wait…did Logan just call you his? Listening closely to the curses leaving the tall mutant's mouth you stick your ass out to grind against his growing bulge. “I did my job! I was the bait, Logan!”

“No. You were my backup, Y/N. Now be good and let me just…” His fingers leave your slit and you whine as he rolls you onto your stomach to slice your shirt open with his claws. 

“Hey! I liked the…” Your panties are gone seconds later, and you squeak as Logan brings you onto your back. You are not against manhandling but, damn,  Wolverine is strong enough to throw you around like a ragdoll.

“Shush…let me just…” His lips wrap around one nipple and you can help it - a giggle leaves your lips as his beard scratches your sensitive skin.

“Uh—I think you are in trouble when Scott gets to know you railed his sister.” It’s your turn to give Logan a dirty grin but he braces himself on his forearms to grin back at you.

“Oh—Sweetie. When I am done with you your brother is lucky if you can even remember your name. I may be old, but this means I have a lot of experience. Now be silent and let me have a look at my prey…”

“Prey?” Squeaking you watch Logan spread your thighs to inspect your pussy. “What the? Am I an exhibition, Logan?”

“Looks good. I think tomorrow when we are back, I’ll feast on you for hours but I am tired and only have enough energy to pound this tight little pussy for a few hours…” 

“Hours?” Your eyes round at Logan’s words but he doesn’t seem to care as he slides his boxers down to reveal his throbbing length. “I am not into marathon fucking.”

“Shame. I’d like to break you…” Smirking Logan kneels between your thighs, giving you a wink as he moves his hands over your thighs before he bends down to place a searing kiss above your belly button.

While you grasp for his hair, Logan kisses his way up your body to finally claim your lips in a heated kiss. “You’re mine. No one touches my girl.”

“Jesus…” Teasingly running his tip up and down your slit, Logan hums as you whimper his name. “Please…”

“What was that?” His hips snap forward, and you are full to the brim as he bottoms out with one forceful thrust. “Did you want my dick?”

“Holy hell, Logan! Warn a girl if you plan on ruining her.” Spreading his legs wide, kneeling between your legs Logan places his right palm next to your head and his left forearm next to your shoulder to gently caresses your face.

Your hands move to his back, holding tight onto Wolverine as he slowly starts rolling his hips. His lips ghost over yours, he’s breathing praises against you to let you know this is what he wanted for years.

“Always wanted you.” Nodding you struggle to breathe as every thrust makes you cry out. Logan is slowing down, more grinding than thrusting to rub his pubic bone over your clit. “You’re so beautiful and warm.”

Your nails dig into his flesh as you feel the heat in your abdomen spread through your body. Moans leave your lips as he speeds up to push you over the edge.

“Logan…please…”

“Come for me, Y/N. I want to feel you choke my dick.” Laughing at his words you press your lips to Logan’s. He’s slamming his hips against yours, curses your name as he can feel your walls contract around him.

“I love you…” Your words let Logan lose all control. He’s cupping your face kisses your fiercely the moment you feel his cum float your belly. 

“Love you too, brat…”

“So…” Sliding your fingers over Logan’s chest you glance up at him. He’s humming against your temple, not wanting to let go of you. “Did you mean it?”

“Yes, you are a disobedient brat.” Grinning he raises one eyebrow when you slap his shoulder. “…and I like to piss your brother off by fucking you.”

“That’s not what I meant…” Resting your head onto his chest you want to hear those three words again. “I meant it…”

“I meant it too, Sweetie. I love your cute ass, even though you are one annoying girl.” Nodding you wrap your arms around his waist, not wanting to get up.

“We should call them…”

“Nah, we can stay here forever and ruin the mattress some more…” Logan snickers but you give him a death glare. “Maybe we test mine at home?”

“Better.”

“Did he behave?” While Logan carries your bags toward the jet your brother tries to check on you. “Did Logan hurt you?”

“Hurt me?” Licking your lips, you glance at Logan’s ass. “He would never hurt me. Or he would but only in a good way…” 

“Good way? Oh—for fuck's sake!” Scott grunts before he storms toward Logan. “You touched my sister! I’ll kill you! No matter what I have to do, I’ll rip you apart!”

“Relax.” Logan smirks as your brother tries to attack him. “You can be my best man at our wedding…”

All works Tags

@yolobloggers​​​​​​

@shikshinkwon​​​​​​​

@miraclesoflove​​​​​​

@mogaruke​​​​​​

@shatteredabby​

@soryuwifeyxx​

@letsdisneythings​

@i-love-superhero​

@psychicforest​

@thevelvetseries​

@deanmonandnegansbitch​​​​​

@sabascio​

@goodgodimaweirdperson​

@that-place-called-middle-earth​​​

@the-broken-angel-13​​​

@trumpettay​

@zxph-yr​​

@belovedcherry​​​

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

Marvel Tags

@stuckys-whore​​

@notyourtypicalrose​

@voltage-my2dlove​

@officialmarvelwhore​

@randomgirlkensy​

@juniorhuntersam​​

@lumar014​

@doctorswife221b​

@sister-winchesters99​

@sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​​

@the-soulofdevil​​

@chonisberonica​

@redroomproperty​​

@natura1phenomenon​

@chaoticfiretaconerd​​

@heartislubbingdubbing​

@hhiggs​

@sea040561​

@midnightsilver16830​

@rvgrsbrns​

@fandom-princess-forevermore​

@amandamdiehl​

@grincheveryday​​

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Raise the Stakes, Part 11

Let's mainline some angst, shall we?

(Don't forget to check the Master List for previous segments)

Pairing: David Finlay x OFC x Jay White

Word count: 1,483

Content advisory: language and some toxic relationship stuff that some might find disturbing/ upsetting

You smack your arm on the corner of a crate of equipment as you pass. It hurts and it’s probably going to leave a bruise but you don’t care. There are other people around but you hardly see them. If any of them is trying to talk to you, you can’t hear them because the blood pounding in your ears blocks everything else out. You’re on a mission. You’re going to kill the son of a bitch.

It occurs to you that maybe you should grab something so that you might look a little threatening. If there wasn’t still action going on in the ring, you’d run out and see what was stashed under it. That’s where all the potential weapons are kept, right?

You keep replaying the backstage scene in your head. One minute Juice and David are there, pumped from winning their match and talking about challenging for the tag titles again and then they’re just ambushed, a coward’s attack.

Son of a bitch. You’re going to murder him when you find him.

His voice gives him away, always too loud because he wants to make it impossible to focus on anyone but him. And although you can’t hear much of the sound around you, that voice cuts right through. You find him sitting with Chris Bey, of course, the two of them laughing and carrying on. He turns to face you, smile still plastered on his face, but his eyes are predatory. He wanted this showdown. You’ve played into his hands but you don’t care because he’s taken things too far.

At first, David had withstood the attack well enough, he’d gotten some blows in. But it wasn’t a fair fight. Jay had been fresh and knew what was coming. Even then, he’d resorted to smashing a heavy palette with equipment cases right into David’s prone body. It was at that point that you’d covered your face but the sounds were bad enough.

As soon as you’d made sure that David was off to get checked by the doctor, you’d started hunting down his nemesis. Your nemesis.

“Uh-oh, looks like he sent his muscle after you,” Bey croons as you enter the room.

“Damn right. She’s the scary one,” Jay laughs.

“You sleazy bastard,” you snarl. “You pompous little chickenshit. What the hell were you trying to prove?”

“Look out man, I think you pissed her off.”

“You think this is pissed off? This is what she’s like when she’s happy.”

The two of them crack up laughing again.

“Get the hell out, Chris,” you seethe. “I have to talk to your new boss alone.”

He glances at Jay who gives him a little nod, then makes his way out of the room, acting like he’s scared of you.

“Are you not enjoying the show tonight, angel?”

“If you ever pull anything like that again…”

“That’s the job. If he can’t handle a few punches then maybe he should go work as a crossing guard or a data entry clerk or something. Might be easier for him, now that I think about it. Less chance of being a complete failure.”

“The job is to make audiences believe in what they’re seeing, not to actually hurt people.”

“Hey, I’m the one getting hurt. He stole my shot at the title in Japan. He stole my girlfriend. You should be feeling sorry for me, not him.”

You aren’t quite able to hide the surge of feeling you get when you hear him call you his girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend, you tell yourself.

“You leave him alone. Have your big big blow off match since that’s what you want so much. Then you get on a plane back to Japan and stay there. You don’t come near him otherwise.”

“Strange that they haven’t told you yet.”

He knows something you don’t and although you hate to play into his hands, you can’t help but do so.

“Who hasn’t told me what?”

“New Japan. They’re doing more shows in America. A bunch of them. So they needed to bring in some star power. I guess they’re trying to figure out who’s going to do all this liaising or whatever you’re calling it.”

“I can handle a little extra work.”

“You’re not going to be doing it.”

“Is that your way of saying you’re going to get me fired? And I’m supposed to be all scared like I could never get any other job?”

“Fired? Of course not. You’ll always have a job as long as I’m around.”

He stands and moves closer to you, running his fingers up your forearm with an unkind smirk.

“Stop that. I don’t work for you anymore.”

“Believe me, I know. I think about it all the time.”

You back away, trying unsuccessfully to avoid getting pinned against the wall.

“I am going to beat him. I am going to humiliate him. There’s nothing you can do about that.” He leans in close and continues, “But whatever else happens, that’s up to you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I told you: I can make it so that he can’t get work at anything larger than a midwestern bingo hall. But I’m a generous man, so I’ll leave it in your hands.”

You stare at him, hoping he’s not implying what you think. His cheeks are flushed with excitement. He’s winning and he knows it.

“You come back to work for me. You forget this silly fling you’re having and get back to what’s important. And if you do that, I’ll let your little boyfriend keep his job.”

“Are you for real? That is sick, Jay, even by your standards! You want me to whore myself out to you to protect the man I love? What sort of tacky 19th-century melodrama are you living in?”

At the sound of the words “the man I love”, you can see something dark pass over his features. It takes him a long moment to compose himself before he takes both your hands in his and presses them to his lips, kissing them and letting his tongue slide over the skin.

“I know it’s my fault. You felt neglected and so you ran to the person you knew was desperate to please you. And when I got you back so quickly-”

You flinch the second you hear that but you grips your arms tight and continues.

“I clearly didn’t express some things well enough. If my reactions seem extreme, it’s actually because I want the drama over with. Sweet though I’m sure he is, David Finlay is a distraction for you. So consider this me protecting you from your own bad instincts.”

This is one of those moments, and there have been a number of them over the years, when you wish that Jay would haul off and punch you the way he would if you were a man; like somehow it would be easier to take if the two of you could just get in a fist fight than engaging in this sort of dialogue. The wounds would heal faster.

Everything he’s saying is about his ego, manipulative and self-serving and yet you know it would be so easy to lean in, to let him kiss you which you can tell he wants to do. He still occupies a space inside your head, big enough that no matter what sort of bullshit he’s spouting, you feel obliged to consider it.

“No,” you snap, twisting to get out of his grip. “Not this time. Get your hands off me.”

His hold on you tightens.

“Jay, I’m serious, let me go right now or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Let her go.”

David’s voice slices right through, an unusually dark tone behind it.

Jay laughs a little and waits for a few seconds before releasing you and stepping back to allow you to leave. You scramble clear and grab hold of David’s arm, gasping like you’ve been held underwater. At first you don’t notice the look passing between them but when you do, it almost frightens you. There’s real violence in it, real hatred. You’ve been watching the two of them bond and square off for years, you’ve seen the bitterness, envy, and insecurity they’ve raised in each other but never anything like this. They’d look like animals preparing to tear into each other if the emotions on their faces weren’t so uniquely human.

“Come on,” you whisper, gently tugging on David’s hand. Every muscle is tensed, all the way up to his neck and you’re worried that you’re not going to be able to stop a fight. “Please,” you whimper.

David relaxes just a little and leans back without ever taking his eyes from Jay’s. He doesn’t move to leave on his own but he lets you lead him away very slowly. It feels like a long time before you’re able to pull him close to you.

[lillywillow]

Sinners ‘n Saints

Summary: When private detective Steve Rogers is hired to investigate the wife of a client who claims she is having an affair, he discovers some things are not quite adding up.

 Word Count: 2208

 Square Filled: 1940’s AU

 Pairings: Helmut Zemo x Female Reader/ Steve x Female Reader (later)

 Warnings: Infidelity, smoking, drinking, mild language, 40’s slang

Written for @star-spangled-bingo

New York City. The Big Apple. The city where dreams were made. For all her glitz and glamour, Lady New York held some dark secrets. Steve Rogers knew this well from his years of working as a private investigator, covering everything from missing persons to ransom cases.

 One quite afternoon, Steve was pounding away at the keys of his typewriter, taking some time to document some of his toughest cases when a man entered his office. The gentleman’s hair was nicely combed; he was well dressed in a finely tailored suit, expensive Italian shoes and obnoxiously overpowering cologne. He walked over to Steve’s desk and sat in the vacant chair. He lit a cigarette and took a drag before addressing the detective.

 “You are Detective Steve Rogers of ‘Rogers Private Eye Agency’, yes?” He spoke with an accent that Steve couldn’t quite place.

 “I am. How can I help you?” he asked, pouring the man a glass of bourbon from the decanter on his desk. He thanked him and took a sip before introducing himself.

 “My name is Helmut Zemo. I suspect my wife is having an affair...”

 “I see... and what brought on this suspicion?” Steve always hated this part of the job. When spouses came to him with accusations of being unfaithful.

 “It is just a hunch... for now. I would like you to find evidence soon.” Helmut placed an envelope full of cash on Steve’s desk. “Here is half of what I am willing to pay. You will receive the other half when you complete the job.”

 Steve took the envelope and was shocked to see how much was in there. Helmut finished the drink, cringing as the amber liquid burned his throat and stood up.

 “You may start this Friday. My wife will be singing at my club The Baron.” With that, he left.

 The name suddenly clicked in Steve’s head. Helmut Zemo was a wealthy socialite who owned many nightclubs and made it into the gossip rags. There was something that didn’t sit right with Steve about the man; however, he would take jobs where he could.

That Friday, Steve went to The Baron for his night of surveillance. He took a table somewhere in the middle; close enough to see the action for himself but far enough back not to be noticeable. Steve looked around the joint, taking notice of his surroundings.

 The place was classy. The furniture was polished with the highest sheen and drinks were served in the finest crystal. The large stage in front was obscured by a velvet red curtain which would no doubt be drawn when the entertainment would begin. As he scanned, he noticed a lot of high powered men who were rumoured to be part of a crime syndicate. Steve’s attention was broken when the announcer spoke.

 “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage our very own nightingale Ms Y/N!”

 As the curtain went up, the band began to play. Lying on top of the piano was the most stunning women Steve had ever seen. Her hair was done up in curls, pinned back with a diamond hairclip. Her lips were painted sinfully red and the second she opened her mouth, her honeyed, velvet voice poured out. Her black dress sparkled under the spotlight. As she sat up and crossed her legs, the split in her dress moved up, showing off her supple thigh. Men called and whistled at the sight.

 Y/N gracefully jumped off the piano, her dress smoothing down her sides, the bottom pooling at her feet. He could now see the way how nicely it framed her curves; curves that would put Mae West to shame. Y/N made her way into the audience, her hips swaying seductively as she walked. She would place her gloved hand on the shoulder of one of the patrons, fingers running over the length of it before moving onto the next person. As she moved a little closer, Steve could see more of her diamond and pearl jewellery and smell her expensive perfume. A dame like this would certainly have no trouble attracting any man she wanted. When the song ended, she made her way back to the stage and finished up. The crowd burst into raucous applause and gave a standing ovation.

 After the show, Y/N made her way over to the bar. Steve followed, placing himself far enough away not to be noticed. She ordered a drink and while waiting, a gentleman approached her.

 “Hey, doll. Can I buy you a drink?” he smirked.

 “No, sir,” she cooed, giving him a playful tap on the nose before taking her ready drink and heading backstage. The man was about to try further to coax her when his friend grabbed him.

 “Are you crazy?! That’s Zemo’s missus. You want to be found on the bottom of the Hudson with cement shoes?!” The man’s eyes widened and headed off.

 Steve pretended he didn’t hear the conversation and ordered a whisky neat.

 “What’s the deal with the singer?” he casually asked the bartender.

 “Oh, I wouldn’t waste your time with her. She’s only got eyes for her husband. A husband I might add with a mean jealous streak in him,” he said, pouring the drink and giving it to Steve.

 This information made him think. If this information was true, why would Zemo contact him to find evidence of infidelity? Was Y/N the type of woman who liked to play dangerous games? From what he saw on stage, he wouldn’t put it past her. However if this were the case, why would she turn down the gentleman’s offer? Perhaps some things would be clearer in the light of day.

...

 Throughout the week, Steve followed Y/N wherever she went at a distance. She filled her days with perfectly mundane tasks such as shopping, cleaning the house or the occasional trip to the salon. Every interaction she had with men was normal and innocent enough, all conversations at appropriate length. There were no signs of the captivating temptress Steve had observed at the club that night.

 Her evenings were just as ordinary. The most exciting thing to happen was when she hosted a card game with her lady friends. Y/N spent most of her nights alone and when her husband did finally come home, she was greeted by a cold kiss on the cheek. Steve found this rather odd.

 One night, Y/N was sitting at the table with dinner freshly made, patiently waiting for Helmut to come home. The phone rang and she happily ran to answer it. Her expression went from smiling to looking sad as she spoke to the person on the other end. When she hung up the phone, she returned to the table and held her face in her hands crying. Steve assumed that was her husband telling her he would not be home for dinner.

...

  The following Friday, Steve went to the club once more and watched Y/N’s performance with fresh eyes. Yes, she was just as enticing but she was also professional. Steve suspected that this was the act of a strong woman who was trying to keep her marriage from falling apart while doing her job as the sultry nightclub singer. After the show, he noticed someone heading backstage with a large bouquet of flowers, presumably for Y/N. He quickly intercepted them and went to deliver them himself. Steve knocked on the door and waited for permission to enter before going in. Y/N was dressed in a silky robe and taking her hair out of its style. There was a red haired woman helping her that Steve saw around the club.

 “Delivery for ma’am,” he said, holding out the flowers to her.

 “Oh, thank you,” she smiled, taking them from him. “They’re beautiful.”

 “Probably more guilt flowers,” Nat said bitterly.

 “Nat, please...”

 “Oh, wake up and smell the coffee, Y/N! Helmut is cheating on you!”

 “Enough! He gives me flowers because he loves me! I’m one of the luckiest gals in the whole city! My husband showers me with jewellery and imported perfumes and-and expensive clothing because he loves me! Helmut loves me Natasha...” her voice became reverent and Steve wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince her friend or herself. How could he be so wrong about her? This was not a woman having an affair. This was a woman who was trying so desperately to believe that her husband was still faithful to her.

 “Are you still here? Get out!” Nat barked at Steve, going to hug Y/N. He took this as his cue to leave. Maybe he should take a closer look at his employer.

...

 Sure enough, as soon as Steve began to follow Helmut around, the evidence was as plain as the nose on your face. He saw the man with multiple women who were not his wife. He took pictures of them kissing and/or locked in a passionate embrace. Steve felt bad for Y/N and decided to go to her with the photographs.

...

 Steve arrived on the Zemo’s doorstep, taking care to come over at a time he knew Helmut would not be home. Y/N was understandably surprised to see him but invited him in nonetheless.

 “Mrs Zemo, my name is Steve Rogers and I’m a private detective. I... I’m afraid I have some bad news about your husband,” he said, handing her the envelope with the pictures. As Y/N looked through them so many emotions flashed across her face.

 “Did Nat put you up to this?”

 “No... Your husband did.”

 “Wh-what?”

 “He hired me to investigate the infidelity on your end but...”

 “That bastard! First he disrespects the confines of our marriage bed and then he hurts me further by treating me like a common whore?!” Y/N threw a nearby vase against a wall in anger. Tears started flowing down her face

 “Why would he do such a thing?”

 “The fidelity clause... I come from a rich family and owning so many businesses, Helmut was rich too. Our lawyers though it was a good idea to protect our respective assets. If one of us was proven to be unfaithful, they would be able to take the other for everything.” Y/N dropped to her knees.

 “I knew for a long for a long time I just... I thought if I told myself it wasn’t true, wished it hard enough that it wouldn’t come to light...” Steve carefully hugged her. She allowed him to, leaning into his warm touch. “He never used to be like this. I know he loved me once but I don’t know what happened.” Steve gave it some thought.

 “I... I know someone in the paper. If you will allow me, I could give the story to him. He’d approach it tastefully...” Y/N was quiet for a few moments.

 “Do it. I want him to feel as humiliated as I do. I want his name dragged through the mud as he has done with our wedding vows...” Y/N softly removed herself from Steve’s embrace and stood up, wiping her eyes and sniffling.

 “I apologise for making a scene...”

 “It’s alright. I’m sorry for dropping this information on you. My job is to fund the truth not fabricate stories.” Y/N offered him a small smile.

 “Thank you. Steve was it?”

 “Yes, ma’am.”

 “You’ve got a kind heart. I appreciate what you’ve done for me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a few arrangements to take care of.” Steve nodded and headed off, hoping that he would see her again one day.

...

 It was the biggest scandals of the year. In the months that followed, it was discovered that not only Helmut was cheating on Y/N but he was also involved in illegal activities; often involving crime syndicates. That was how he earned his fortune. As far as Steve knew, Y/N got everything in the divorce.

 One afternoon, Steve had a surprise visitor.

 “Detective Rogers?” Steve looked up to see Y/N knocking on his door, already having entered the room.

 “Y/N? What are you doing here?” As she crossed the room, he could see how much more confident she looked, like the woman she portrayed herself to be on stage.

 “Helmut owed you a debt and I intend to pay it,” she said, placing the envelope full of money on his desk.

 “I... I can’t accept this...”

 “Please. He hired you to find proof of unfaithfulness and as far as I’m concerned, you found it. You have done your job, sir.” Steve looked at the pay-packet on his desk.

 “I know this is a little forward but... may I take you out to dinner?”

 “I would like that very much. Pick me up at seven,” Y/N warmly smiled.

 Steve couldn’t wait until then. After all that she had been through, a lady like Y/N deserved to be out with a true gentleman.

[fablesrose]

Tell Me a Story 3

Summary: It’s go time

Word count: 2,188

Pairing: cop?!Dean x mafia!reader

Square filled: Crack

Warnings: shooting

Masterlist ~ Bingo Masterlist

A/n: For @girl-next-door-writes​ make me feel bingo. This only has a little bit of crack, but it was sure fun to write! One more part after this!

“Hey Angel.”

“Hey Hot Shot,” I smiled as I held my phone to my ear, the nicknames had settled in for us over the past couple of weeks, and I couldn’t deny that I liked using them. “The next monthly meeting is tonight, you ready to put on a show?”

He laughed, “Like it’s ever an act with you sweetheart.”

I snorted, “Yeah, sure.” I sighed, “Alright, for real though, be a loving boyfriend, but don’t be stupid.”

“Roger roger.”

“I guess I’ll meet you there.”

“Yup.” He hung up the phone promptly, leaving me in silence.

I rubbed my hands all over my face, “He’s a professional who’s only acting this way to make it natural and so he can get some sort of promotion. Don’t look too far into it. You’re probably going to go to prison anyway once this is all over with.” Despite telling myself this over and over, it really didn’t make a difference. I groaned and tried to force my face to relax from the smile I was wearing.

I banged my head once against a nearby wall, “Okay, time to get ready to get this over with.”

Before I knew it I was watching Dean pull up and park near my apartment as I walked to the meeting building.

“Have I ever told you how much I love your car?”

“Only every time you see her,” Dean fell into stride beside me.

“I thought we were gonna meet there.”

Dean grabbed my hand, “And how would that look, the boyfriend not escorting his very important girlfriend into an extremely dangerous crowd?”

“Fair point,” I squeezed his hand, smiling softly to myself.

The door squeaked as we opened it, giggling at nothing.

“Glad you love birds could join us.” Chuck sat at the front of the room, looking rather impatient.

I took my place, Dean beside me, and nodded soberly.

“Let’s begin.”

Naomi stepped forward, “Of course, sir. I have some things that need to be looked-”

“I don’t care about that,” Chuck waved his hand as he cut her off.

It took everything in me not to laugh.

“Some of my… sources, have told me that Doctor Hess wants to make a deal with me.”

There was a couple beats of silence before Meg got brave, “Uh, and who is that?”

“The leader of the Lettermen, obviously.”

The room erupted in laughter.

“Letterboys? Really?”

“Yes,” Chuck snapped at us, trying to shut us up, “and Y/n is going to set it all up.”

That sobered me up quickly, “Pardon?”

“You are going to set up the deal. You’re gonna be our middle man.”

I felt my insides shrivel. What he means is that I’ll be the scapegoat.

“Sir, I’d like to accompany her on this assignment if you don’t mind,” Dean said as he took a half step forward.

“I do mind. Starling will be working this alone, directly with me.”

“But sir-”

I placed a hand on his arm, “Dean.” I shook my head, telling him it wasn’t worth it.

He set his jaw and didn’t press any further.

“So, It’s settled then,” Chuck clapped his hands together once, “that’ll be all, you’re dismissed.”

I glanced at Naomi who looked annoyed at not getting her business done, but she wasn’t brave enough to get snapped at again.

It wasn’t much time later when me and Dean were walking back, alone again.

“Why did you do that?”

“Dean-”

“Why did you stop me from pairing up with you?”

“Because, you were doing a great job at being a loving boyfriend, but I also told you not to be stupid. What you were about to do was incredibly stupid.”

“So you’re gonna do it alone?!” Dean sounded angry, I wasn’t exactly sure why.

I turned to face him, “Yeah, I am! I’ve done stuff like this before, and I’ll have to do it again! But do you understand what this means for us??”

“No, I don’t.”

I grabbed him by the shoulders, “We can do something with this… Maybe I can…”

“We can do some sort of sting operation,” Dean quieted down like he was understanding.

“Exactly! I’ll set something up, I’ll feed you all the information...” I nodded my head, “we can do this.”

“Fine,” he turned and started walking again, “you’re still going to be doing most of this alone though.”

“Don’t worry Dean, I won’t mess it up.”

I thought I heard Dean mumble something, but I didn’t ask what it was. The rest of the walk was quiet until we reached where his car was parked.

I ran my hand along her, looking for scratches that didn’t exist.

“Stay safe, alright? I can’t be losing you now, Angel.”

“I will, don’t you worry Hot Shot.” I smiled at waved as he started her up and drove away.

Let’s cut to me probably doing something stupid, but it is the fastest way to get stuff done in these situations.

“I think you’re on the wrong side of town, ma’am.” A group of boys approached me as I walked a quiet street, deep in Lettermen territory.

I sighed, “You’re probably right, but I also heard through the grapevine that a Doctor Hess wants to make a deal. That ring any bells?”

They all glanced at each other before one addressed me, “Stay here.”

I leaned against a nearby building, choosing not to answer him vocally.

After a while, a man closer to my own age approached me.

“Doctor Hess?”

He laughed, “No, my name is Mick Davies. I’m more of a spokesperson. And I’m assuming you’re not Chuck.”

I smiled back at him, both of us keeping our distance, “Yeah, you wish. It’s Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

His smile dropped into a more serious expression, “You are correct when you mentioned a deal. Details are still in need of some finalizing, of course, but the basics are, if you share with us some of your… resources that we hear you have, helping us get on our feet, we’ll give you a part of the profits and keep our boys on our side of the line.”

“Intriguing...” This could be big. If I played my cards right, I could maybe bring down the mobs on both sides of the city. Now to play some cards… “If we come to an agreement of terms, Chuck wants a face to face settlement to seal the deal.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem.” He pulled out a card from his pocket, “My contact information, so we can work out the details before the deal.”

I stepped forward and took it, “Well, it’s been a pleasure, hope I see the least amount possible.”

“Likewise.”

And like that we both turned and went out opposite directions.

That wasn’t as bad as I thought it was. Maybe this will be easy.

But now to convince Chuck.

“They want the sealing of the deal face to face or it won’t happen.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

That wasn’t as bad as I thought it was. Maybe this will be easy.

Now to tell Dean the good news!

“Dean, call me back.”

“Dean, I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Hot Shot, if you don’t answer this damn phone I swear I’m not going put this meeting up.”

Why was this not easy.

The meeting was set. It was to happen in an isolated location just outside of town, two weeks away. Chuck was going to bring the goods, loads of weapons and drugs. I had to be there to back Chuck up, as I’m sure Mick would be there to do the same for this Doctor Hess.

“Dean, I sent the information to your phone, please be there with as many men as possible. From your old job, just to be safe.”

I wanted to actually talk to him. I shouldn’t want that. I’ve gotten too close. It doesn’t matter anymore though. He’s stopped talking to me mid job. The worst case scenario is that I somehow get found out and killed. The absolute best case scenario is that everyone goes to jail except me. The one I was fearing most though was the one where I never see Dean again. Unfortunately there were a bunch of options where that happens.

I kept telling myself that it was just a job to him. That this would benefit him. That he would never want to associate with someone from the mafia in normal circumstances.

Maybe going to jail would be good for me.

My phone rang with an unknown number popping up on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Hey Angel, sorry, I broke my phone.”

“God dammit!” All that worrying for nothing. All the stress that he was somehow dead or leaving me to deal with Chuck by myself. Wasted.

“What?”

“I have been trying to reach you all day. I got the meeting set up, its in two weeks. I’ll send you the place. Both Chuck and Doctor Hess are going to be there with a metric ton of damning evidence in the form of illegal weapons and drugs.”

“That… is awesome!”

“I know right?? I’m gonna need you to bring in all your people.” I soaked it in for a couple of breathes, “I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he’s arrested.”

“You’re not going to be there.” His voice was firm, it was commanding like there was no room for argument.

“Dean...” I spoke regretfully, oh how I wish I could listen to him, “if I’m not there, this all falls apart. This isn’t a personal choice, I have to be there.”

“You could get hurt.”

“Same with every day of my life.”

He sighed, “Fine, but you’re gonna wear a wire so we can communicate.”

“Dean, Chuck may be stupid enough to let you in as a cop, and he may be stupid enough to do this meeting face to face, but he’s not stupid enough-” I paused, “I take that back, he may be that stupid.”

“So it’s settled, you’re going to wear a wire, and I’m gonna bring in all the law enforcement fire power you could ever dream of.”

I laughed, “Deal.”

The meeting came all too quickly. I was wearing a wire, like Dean asked me, but I did not enjoy it, it seemed to be all that was on my mind. Everyone arrived separately. It was decided that I would arrive first and scout out the area, kicking out any lurkers. Then Mick was to show, then the bosses.

Dean was talking in my ear, telling me that they were ready, that anytime now Chuck and Doctor Hess was going to be arrested.

“The profits of the supplies will be split 70/30 right?” Chuck was chatting with Doctor Hess, me and Mick farther out.

Hess huffed, “That’s hardly enough to cover our other expenses, 50/50 split.”

“Come on Doc, there has to be something in it for me, 60/40.”

Her stare was withering, but Chuck was always an idiot, “Fine.”

They shook on it and Chuck directed her to the product a little ways away.

“Chopper is coming in to get eyes, then we’ll fall in,” Dean said.

I hummed discretely to tell him I heard and started to glance around the dark sky, supposedly looking for stars.

Eventually the helicopter flew in with a spotlight shining down on us.

“Finally,” I spoke out loud, glad this was going to be over.

But I might have spoken a bit too loudly since Chuck pulled out a gun, “You bitch!”

I faced him, my arms crossed against my chest, “Been called a lot worse you motherfucker.”

“FBI! Drop the weapon!” Dean was at the front of the group in an FBI vest, aiming his gun at Chuck. The rest of the agents surrounded the area and quickly started arresting Hess and Mick.

Chuck hesitated, but in the end he shot at me. I tried to move quickly but he still grazed my shoulder. Chuck looked like he wanted to shoot me again, but Dean took two shots before he could, one to the hand holding the gun and another to his leg, effectively making him drop the gun and fall to the ground. Dean directed a couple of agents to Chuck while he ran over to me.

“Man, you really are a hot shot Hot Shot.” I laughed as I pressed a hand against my shoulder.

“I can’t believe you just stood there as Chuck aimed a gun at you. That is so dangerous,” he made sure I was comfortable before he called for a medic.

“Chuck isn’t that great with precision weapons, look, he just grazed me!” I laid my clean hand on his arm, “Thank you. This means so much to me, I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

The medics came and started to push Dean back so she could get to me.

“You helped get Sam out, how ‘bout we stay in touch and we’ll call it even?”

I nodded, “You got it Hot Shot.”

“They’ll take good care of you, Angel.”

Best Buds: @kitkatd7​ @snarky--starky​ @confetti-its-an-imagine-blog ​ @kaogasm​

Dean: @akshi8278​ @msmarvelouswinchester

TMAS: @flamencodiva

[echo-three-one]

Chapter 28

The boys are back... (High School Musical, probably)

THE ROAD SO FAR

Docked and Loaded

Alexander "Alex" Collins

MacTavish Residence, Glasgow Scotland

Alex loved the idea of sleeping beside his significant other. It felt great to be loved, especially after all those months when he couldn't stop thinking of her. 

Yet today was different, he woke up alone. He turned to the bathroom door to check whether Samantha took a shower, but it was too quiet. So he decided to put on his grey tank top and sweatpants to go look for her.

He pulled the door open to see Samantha carrying a tray containing two meals, one was a fluffy pancake with maple syrup and the other one was a meaty sandwich.

"Hey, you. Good Morning." She greeted, her voice was always angelic in Alex's ears.

"There you are…" he sighed as he stepped back, letting her in.

"I was only gone for a few minutes. You don't have to worry that much." She grinned, guiding Alex back to the bed, teasingly pushing him as he plopped on the soft mattress bouncing as he slowly backwards crawled until his back hit the headboard.

"I'm just not used to waking up without you in my arms." he grinned as Samantha placed the tray on his lap, grabbing a slice of the sandwich and pointed it at his mouth.

"I thought the pancake was mine." Alex said, looking puzzled.

"No, that's mine. What you're supposed to be eating is this very healthy, dietician prescribed meal." She emphasized. Alex frowned. 

"I want the pancake." he complained playfully. 

"Too much sugar is bad for you." she teased as Alex finally surrendered and opened his mouth wide. He wasn't a huge fan of the wheat bread. 

"Say, aside from Alex. Did you use any other names while undercover?" Samantha slowly plopped herself beside him, locking her hands against his and leaned on his strong biceps.

"Oh hmmm.." he hummed, softly chewing and finishing his sandwich.

"I had a few… like James, Chad, Mike or Michael…" he said.

"Okay. Which was the most sophisticated?" Samantha asked. Alex looked at her in the eyes and saw that she was really interested in his answer.

"Nathaniel." he chuckled and Samantha looked confused.

"What's funny?" 

"I don't strike as a 'Nathaniel'. I just used it once." Alex defended despite not being attacked.

"Now that you say it… yeah." she laughed as soon as she realized the content of his words.

"What's the funniest? And why?" her eyes sparkled, or has it always been that way then he looked at her eyes. Alex never knew, but he liked it.

"Ummm.. I once went by 'Ray'. It's funny because… it just is. It's too short and I often mistake someone thinking that they're calling me. It has a lot of rhymes you know…" he answered, her eyes never left her stare.

"Ray's a nice name." Samantha mused, this actually made Alex a little curious.

"You're making me jealous over my previous name." He sneered playfully.

"Oh don't be. Alex is a very perfect name. It sounds... handsome." she said, making Alex smile in excitement. This was it. He was truly madly and deeply in love with this woman.

Alex leaned for a kiss to which Samantha eagerly accepted, but as soon as their hands started to roam around, a knock on the door was heard.

"Oi, Alex! Price wants us for a briefing." Soap's muffled voice roared from behind the door.

"I'm coming!" Alex shouted as she gave Samantha one quick kiss before leaving the bed.

Alex felt underdressed for the briefing as Roach and Soap were wearing collared shirts. So he hid behind them and listened eagerly to Captain Price.

"Alright boys, Laswell left us a gift. There's a port near the English Channel, where a lot of cargo ships are suspected to be operating under Shadow Company's name, and it might lead us to Shepherd. 

The plan is simple. Sneak in, gather everything we can using our cameras and sneak out. This place will be swarming with hostiles and all we have are pistols with few ammo. Soap, you take care of our ride and comms. Alex and Roach, you're with me." They all nodded in agreement.

"There are about approximately three ships and the Shadow Company shipment is mixed along with civilian cargo. We have to be there before 3 am tomorrow as it's scheduled to be unloaded that day." Price sprawled printout of the cargo's travel ticket along with other solid intel.

It was official. They're back in the grid, a wave of excitement and fear overwhelmed the former CIA. Excited because they're one step closer to ending this thing and scared because he knew Samantha's going to worry about him.

Port of Dover, London UK

1734HOURS

They were too early for the transfer but as they say, "The early bird gets the worm." The team positioned themselves on a rooftop of a nearby building, Price scanning the area with binoculars.

"Three huge cargo ships and one party packed cruise ship." he muttered. The rest of the team sat patiently waiting for the perfect opening.

"Hm. This is odd." Price added, noticing the convoy of expensive cars slowly parking themselves near the ship.

"It is. There's a party here tonight… and it says here SC Security Services was hired as the events' security team." Gary added, scrolling through his phone.

"SC. Shadow Company. Sneaky Bastards are using the party to cover their real agenda!" Soap pieced the puzzle together.

"And we're here to stop em on their bloody tracks." Price nodded and resumed scanning.

"How are we going to get in?" Alex asked as trucks of Shadow Company troops flooded the area. It looked like they had good reason to swarm the place. It was a sneaky yet effective tactic.

"I got one ticket." Gary raised a QR code from his phone. Price looked at the black and white blotches of squares in question.

"What's that supposed to do?" Price asked.

"It's a digital pass. The DJ performing tonight is a good ol' friend of mine." he said. 

"It's going to be a semi-formal party with a masquerade theme."  He continued, scrolling through the e-invite.

"Then you're going in there. See what's up. These cargo ships may just be decoys. We take one ship each. Always stay on comms. Once Roach successfully gets in, he'll find a shortcut from the inside." Price planned and everyone had no objections. 

"Wait. Maxine told me that she brought something useful." he scoured the contents of the duffle bag.

"Is it food?" Soap asked innocently as everyone looked at him.

"Bingo. Three Shadow Company Uniforms from Russia." Gary grinned and everyone looked delighted.

"Guess we're taking the easy way in." Price muttered as they put their plan to action.

Roach stopped at a local thrift shop for his attire. He wore an awkwardly tight tuxedo with rubber duck printed tie and a magenta masquerade mask. It wasn't too shabby and it did the job, as the rest of the group were already inside the premises.

"Stay on comms, Roach. Keep us posted." Price muttered as the team split to each of their ships. Walking casually like regular guards, except they didn't have guns.

"Aye aye, Captain." Roach muttered as slow booming could be heard from the distance. He was approaching the party.

Alex's ship was the farthest from the cruise ship but that didn't mean it was the least guarded. For a party, the place was overcrowded with security. Alex confidently nodded at every 'ally' he passed along the way, overhearing conversations of a supply drop around 3 am tomorrow, confirming Laswell's speculations.

"Hey!" Someone called from behind and Alex turned cautiously.

"You left your rifle at the office?" he asked and Alex nodded. The man pointed to the cargo ship and it gave Alex the free ticket to investigate it. He was lucky enough for an easy pass.

The cargo ship was indeed large, he didn't know where to start, but as soon as he claimed his issued rifle, he immediately looked for the ship's logs.

"I'm in. Got myself a gun." Alex reported.

"Good. I'm also in. Trying not to get tempted by the buffet." Gary replied.

"They're looking suspiciously at my haircut." Soap muttered, frustrated.

"My ship's empty, but I could feel footsteps. I'm being followed." Price warned. 

"Mine's full of stuff. It's impossible to look through these without a shipment log." Alex sighed, opening another door that contained useless stuff.

At the last door of the hallway, Alex heard a bizarre noise, he carefully crouched and checked on the room. A Shadow Company guard was snoring loudly, a computer monitor showing a live feed of the rooms in front of him.

"Ahem! Sir, you are needed on the cruise ship!" Alex roared, surprising the sleeping guard as he quickly got up to his bearings and exited the room. 

"Alright guys. I got eyes on the whole thing." He told comms while scanning the thick book of the ship's cargo.

"Good one." Gary said.

"Finally, these muppets stopped talking about my hair. I'm Oscar Mike." Soap muttered while Price's end remained quiet.

"Just what is Shepherd up to…" Alex mused, fingers scrolling through the ship log. He doesn't have all night but he's doing his best to look for it under pressure.

Next Chapter : Docked and Loaded - Part 2

Notification Squad my Beloved

@enderio @samatedeansbroccoli @smokeywhalee @whimsywispsblog @beemybee @ricinbach

[misssophiachase]

For @klarolinefallbingo “Broomstick” 

What a month it has been! Thank you @eliliyah for organising this (and all your stunning graphics) and all of your hard work! I don’t think I have any more left in me but thank you everyone for being so supportive and kind. 

I also got 3 BINGOS (almost 4 if I do one more) which isn’t too bad I thought lol. I’ll do a master past soon : )

Thank you also to @helpfulfairy for her awesome quidditch knowledge, whatever would I do without you, luv?

Everything She Does is Magic

Witch and wizard Caroline and Klaus can’t stand each other according to school gossip. Although, news of her addition to the quidditch team is going to make things much more interesting and complicated.

Wednesday

“I think I misheard you,” he offered, a slight smile playing on his crimson lips from across the wooden, dining table. “You’re starting in this weekend’s quidditch match?”

“Did I stutter,” Caroline shot back, rolling her blue eyes in his direction.

As someone who made over-achieving an art form, Caroline was determined to master everything the school had to offer, including quidditch. She figured that all the pain and bruises from an extra circular activity would be worth it to secure good, future job prospects.

She was always thinking ahead. 

Obviously, Klaus Mikaelson didn’t share her view. Not that she was surprised given he’d made it his main aim in life to terrorise her since she started attending Hogwarts School of Magic two years earlier.

Just because he came from a rich and powerful family didn’t give him the right to make her life difficult.  

“I just wouldn’t want you to falter and fall off your broomstick, Forbes, that’s all,” he chuckled, a stray dimple appearing without notice.

Why did he have to look so good insulting her?

Ass.

“Funny, I thought that would be you, Mikaelson, given last week’s pathetic loss,” she muttered, trying to avoid the urge to throw a french fry in his direction. “Gryffindor is going to wipe the floor with Slytherin this weekend and clearly you’re worried.”

“Me? Worried? Highly, bloody unlikely.”

“We’ll see about that,” she argued. “I’ve got moves you haven’t seen before.”

Caroline wasn’t sure she was talking about quidditch anymore and given the way his dark, blue eyes clouded over briefly she wasn’t sure he was thinking that either.

“Bring it on, love.” His husky tone only confirming her suspicion. He was gone before she could reply, no doubt on purpose. 

Maybe it was a ploy to distract her before the match but Caroline was struggling to decipher whether they were enemies or something else completely. 

“He wants to nail you and I’m not talking in a competitive sporting type way.” 

“Why thank you, Lorenzo,” she drawled, swatting her best friend away from her personal space. “I’m just glad he didn’t hear you.”

“Why would you care if you didn’t think it was true?”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

“Which translates to you wanting to jump his bones,” he teased. “If he swung my way I’d have joined the quidditch team myself.”

“I did not join the team for him,” she huffed, gathering her books and attempting to make her getaway. 

“Whatever you say, darling.” His unconvincing tone wasn’t lost on Caroline. Either way she was going to wipe the floor with him and enjoy doing it. 

Saturday

“Niklaus? Hello?” The repetitive sound of his inquisitive, and annoying, younger brother’s questions were wearing on his last nerve. 

He was trying to get into the zone before the quidditch match. Seated in the Slytherin locker room, it wasn’t something he struggled with usually but today was very different and he knew why. 

Caroline Forbes.

He teased her, sure, and pretended he hated her but that wasn’t the case. Not by a long shot. He was head-over-heels and pathetically in love with the blonde witch who’d stolen his heart when she turned him into a toad during charms class. 

Not the love at first sight scenario most would imagine.

Sure, he should have been furious, and he’d acted that way, but it only made him want her more. 

Then she decided to join the Gryffindor quidditch team. 

Klaus wasn’t averse to anyone playing the game but he’d been surprised when she’d admitted it during study hall. He’d been arrogant, because that was his defence mechanism, but only really to mask his real feelings. 

It didn’t help that she was a chaser just like him. 

“Niklaus!”

“I heard you the first time,” he barked, looking at Kol in frustration. 

“Wow, I was only letting you know the game was about to start,” he joked. “If I’d known you were going to be so uptight, I’d have stayed away.”

“I’m not uptight,” he uttered through pursed lips. 

“Oh, that’s right,” he offered. “You’re scared your girlfriend is going to whip your ass.”

“I am not.” Klaus didn’t mean for it to come across so abrupt and childish but decided to blame it on his brother’s bad sense of humour. “Enough talking, I’m ready.”

Klaus wasn’t sure if he was but decided that bluffing was his best way of deterring his annoying brother. 

45 minutes later 

Slytherin had the lead, although Gryffindor was attempting to even the score. Caroline felt the wind whip through her hair as she competed, her attention solely focused, well except for the annoyingly handsome idiot on the opposing team. 

If she knew playing was going to feel this good she would have taken it up two years ago. She’d always been competitive but this was next level. 

Her persistent opponent was certainly not going to let her forget it though. He was so close she could smell his spicy scent So much so, that after a particularly rough tackle, Caroline felt herself spinning out of control. 

The blue sky above and green grass below were playing on uncontrollable  repeat, Caroline not quite sure what was happening until she felt someone catch her before she hit the ground.   

In fact, she dropped onto something which helped cushion her fall and she was madly trying to get her bearings. Feeling her surroundings, Caroline could make out a set of toned arms, not to mention the hard abdomen she was straddling. 

The sound of a muffled groan was enough to wake her from her daze. Caroline’s eyes opened, not expecting Klaus Mikaelson, of all wizards, to be lying beneath her. 

“If you wanted me, all you needed to do was ask, love.”

“You wish,” she growled, attempting to stand but failing miserably given their hard fall. “Hang on, why are you here?”

“Because I’m stupid obviously,” he groaned, his pain evident. Then she remembered the strong grip that caught her fall. 

“Did you, of all people, really break my fall?” She waited for his response, not realising she was holding her breath. 

“If I wasn’t in so much pain, I’d argue you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, sweetheart.” 

Clearly that was a yes. 

Caroline wanted to argue because that was her immediate instinct when it came to him but he looked so vulnerable. It also didn’t help that she was straddling him in a not so innocent way. 

But the way he was staring up at her, dark blue eyes trained on hers, was causing her to falter. 

She hated him.

Or so she thought. 

“Caroline?Klaus?” She was broken from her trance by their teacher, clearly concerned about their wellbeing splayed out on the field. “Are you both okay?”

Their gaze hadn’t deviated at all, both clearly okay with their current and extremely close predicament. It took another question for them to finally separate. 

“Can I help you?”

Caroline immediately felt lost when they did eventually separate. Given the look on his face, she knew Klaus felt the same way. 

Slytherin won that match but Caroline promised to avenge the result the following week, secretly hoping she’d find herself wrapped around her opponent again. 

Not because she liked him at all but so she could tell him what an ass he was. 

Or that’s what she told herself.