#I switched banks a little ways back and I remember I was working with a woman about my age

[starzshopoflove]

Simon "ghost" Riley x Reader

Notes: fem reader! i hc ghost doesn't wear a mask when he's off duty, this is just whatever rot my mouse brain creates, age gap but not to crazy, sfw mostly ,size kink if you squint, literally just me projecting onto reader sorry

no thoughts just ghost meeting cute little civvie reader in a shop when he's just trying to get his shopping done after coming back from a mission just wanting to fill his fridge with enough beer and groceries that vaguely resemble food

Simon watching you struggle to reach the flour from a set high shelf in the aisle, grumbling to yourself about "who fucking needs flour anyway" still trying to reach it and he just pluck it off the shelf and drops it in your cart before making his way to another aisle and your just left looking stupid watching this giant trudge away with a little blue tesco basket in tow

Simon who notices you at the same book shop he frequents, but your perched behind the counter doing god knows what ( vaguely resembles inventory but hey do what you will) calculator in hand as he peeks from behind a bookshelf trying to remember where he's seen you before.

Civvie reader who passes her days working quietly in a book shop and living in a simple one room flat indulging her romantic needs in fiction too nervous to actually talk to men, fictional ones satisfying her needs better. That is until you see some books on the counter sliding over to scan them.

"Your total's 23.55" you mumble looking at the screen "Cash or Card?" you add before lifting your head to meet the brick wall of a muscle man. Oh OH, no thoughts as you just stare at his pecs in your line of sight thanking whatever god you believe in for the sight before you, better then anything your little brain could muster up even with the detailed descriptions authors would spit out onto the pages you read

You violently peel your eyes away from the most beautiful pair of man tits you've ever seen to see what man was the owner, and by god do you wish you werent so bad around men. I mean the wind practically got knocked out of your lungs as you let out a barely audible squeak watching this man fish in his pockets for his wallet

Messy blonde hair that was in that weird phase of curly but not really, a nose that looks like its seen a good fight, deep set brown eyes, and a few healed scars settled on the skin. Aged but like wine, a really really fine wine

"Right, cash" His hands fiddling through the wallet to pull out the bank notes, while you prayed you didnt look like a hunger dog staring at his hands as they placed the cash on the counter.

Simon who watches the little bookshop employee look like she just got punched in the gut and was trying not groan as she quickly rang him up, Do i smell? he thinks to himself

Simon who watches your smaller hands shuffle the cash into the register, noting how they're free of calluses, nailed neat and slightly grown, soft.

Simon who leaves the bookstore thinking of a excuse to go again tomorrow, not to see the bookshop girl or anything, he has his reasons!! he just hasn't thought of it yet!!

You start looking up from your notes for your class when the shop bell jingles hoping to see the mystery man whos built exactly like your favorite webcomic character but with the gruff and mature aura of that mc from the game your friend made you play that you cant quite remember. Only disappointed when its just another customer , until later in the day the man returns again.

But its much later in the day and you've switched on the shops warm lights, turning off the ac letting the place warm up as you hear the door jingle again, mystery man making his way to the counter your eyes following his every step, meaty thighs

You who perks up when his forearms settle at the counter suddenly eyes locking onto yours and suddenly very glad you tidied up a bit today, tinted chapstick, perfume, cleaner turtle neck, lashes, lipgloss, earrings ahm

"Tesco" he grumbles out unmoving

"what" well thats not what you were expecting to hear

"You were the girl , couldnt reach the flour yeah?" oh that was him

"Oh, that was you? thank you?" oh what the fuck were you supposed to say?? oh thank you freakishly tall man who watched me struggle?? let me take your whole cock in my mouth while you call me a good pet feeding your meaty length down my throat??

"Yeah" Simon didnt think to much on what to do now, gaze getting awkward now that hes got his confirmation

"Did you need anything" you finally broke the silence, god its fuckin tense in here and hes so close, you wanna just get a sniff but thats hardly workplace behavior doesn't matter if its your dads shop or not.

"Mhm, ye got any cook books?"

"yeah, section 12, shelf 9" whos he cooking for? his wife? i dont see a ring? maybe a long time girlfriend?? who wouldnt snatch up this actual beefcake

"Thanks, tryna cook something new for myself. Flats been quiet" He mumbled like speaking too much would give him a headache

SImon purchased his books same stare at the girls hand like last time as she took his money. God do something you look like a creep staring at this poor girls hands.

"Got a notepad luv?" again that same punched face returned, is she alright? he thought to himself

Oh he just called me luv oh fuck dont wheeze dont wheeze just hand him the pen and paper like a good employee, come on. Oh god dont stare at his arms, are those tattoos oh my god

Sliding back the notepad simon made pace of grabbing his cook book a slipping out the shop just as quick as he went in

You who looked at the notepad almost slipping back out of your chair

"Simon 44 xxx xxx xxx"

Children were singing, the angels sang their songs, the trees regrew in that parking lot down the street, healthcare in america was just made free, and you just got the phone number of a man built like a double door fridge that you have every intention of climbing

[icallhimjoey]

Im not sure if this is a concept you’d like or maybe it may feel similar to other things you’ve written, but I had a thought…

What if Joe goes to a secret tiny cocktail bar to see his regular guy who makes the best dirty martini’s and helps him switch off. However one day his favourite bar tender has left and in his place is you, completely new and unknowing about the special methods to joe’s martini’s. There’s something about you that he has the patience for so he offers a little lesson while you’re quiet and that then starts a weekly visit from joe rating the martini progression until an eventual private lesson at his house is introduced…

it took me a while to get started on this, to figure out how i was going to DO THIS because i dont know SHIT about mixology, but i think.... i think i've come up with something to make it work, so, here we go Wordcount: 2.8K

---

Mistaken, Not Stirred

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Joe was... just, somewhere else. Mentally he’d clocked out for a second. He banked on just his muscle memory to carry his legs from the tube stop over to the black matte door, all on automatic pilot.

This was what it was usually like. What it had eventually become.

Same tunnels, same stairs, same escalator, same ticket gates, same pavement, same corners– he walked the same path every couple of days and had done for too long now, he thought.

His second home. Wasn’t his fault it was so nice. That he liked the place so much.

He turned his head to check for traffic where he had to cross the street but after crossing, he couldn’t even remember if he’d seen cars coming his way. The only way he knew there hadn’t been any traffic to knock him off the road, is because he made it to the other side of the street unscathed.  

The cold wind was fucking brutal tonight. Biting. Hurt his face and made him dig his hands deeper into his pockets.

Time for a drink. One that warmed him up from the inside out. Good thing he was on his way to get one. Well... some. 

A couple good ones and then perhaps whatever else he’d get slid over that he didn’t order at Hush-Hush. His favourite spot. 

Called just a singular Hush, and sometimes even The Hush by people that frequented the place. Joe was one of those. Pretentious, sure, but he liked being a regular too much to care what other people had to say about it.

From the outside, it was just a black door, nothing else. No signs. No windows. No outdoor seating – nothing. 

You had to know someone, who knew someone, who knew someone to know of the place. Or, and like most people did, Joe knew, use Google. Or even Yelp. The bar was easy to find if you knew where to look.  

Hush-Hush was a speakeasy done the way Joe loved speakeasies to be done.

Old-timey and dimly lit. Low music, sort of jazzy, sometimes live on the low stage in the corner where a piano resided on the side. People sat in armchairs and brown leather sofas. And cocktails were served by people who knew what they were doing. 

Joe knew Martin, the manager, well enough by now.  

Martin knew what he liked. Knew what sort of drink he wanted just by the look of him sometimes.

Joe hoped tonight would be one of those nights.

He walked up, jogged the last few steps up to the unassuming door and rang the doorbell. It took a few seconds for the little latch on the door to slide open, and two eyes appeared. Joe got recognized immediately and the latch closed just as quick as it opened before he was granted access inside.  

Down the stairs. 

Around the corner. 

Past the toilets.

Down the dark hallway. 

Into the bar.  

Joe walked straight over to his spot, to his seat, where he always sat. A barstool on the short end of the bar, where he had the best view of the whole place, close to Martin’s workstation, who’d make time for a chat whenever he could.  

Sometimes Joe would bring a friend, and they’d find a table with high-backed armchairs to sink into. But that was only sometimes. He liked going by himself more. He liked his spot by the bar more. Was easier to get his drinks there. 

And Martin made the best drinks. 

Gave Joe half his shit for free. Drinks he was considering to put on the menu. He’d make Joe try them out and then wouldn’t charge him a penny. “Try this,” he’d say, and he’d wait for Joe to give an extensive review.  

It was always amazing. 

Joe always loved everything he got given, and always left a fat tip to compensate.

Would sometimes say, “Little too sweet for me,” but he’d still finish the drink. Would always get onto the verge of being too drunk to make his way home. Martin somehow knew exactly when to give him a glass of sparkling water, and Joe would know; I’ve had enough.

But he always stayed ‘til close if he could. Liked it most when it was just him and maybe one or two other people in there still, when there’d be enough time to properly chat with Martin or other bar staff.  

Sometimes Chloé would ask him how his evening was going, but he mostly spoke with Martin.  

Joe wouldn’t say they were actual friends. 

But he’d definitely say he knew Martin, that they were friendly, in a “Yea, I know the manager.” sort of way. 

Joe liked this friendship that was contained by the location and the job at hand. There were two very clear roles here: barman and barguest. Drink-maker and drink-drinker.  This was just casual small talk, never invasive, always topics he didn’t mind talking about at all. If he didn’t mention his work, Martin wouldn’t either.  

Joe found his spot, sat down and nodded at Martin who was already holding up a classic martini glass.  

See?

Knew what he needed.

Maybe not needed, but definitely what he wanted.

Someone who nearly dropped the glass through slippery fingers and seemed flustered and unsure about what her hands were doing.

About what your hands were doing.  

“Dirty martini,” Martin instructed and hovered close, kept eyes on you, was ready to instruct and help if you did it wrong. 

And… you immediately did it wrong, obviously. 

You were learning still, and this was your second night actually allowed to make drinks. To be behind the bar and mix cocktails. To do them the way they were actually meant to be, and not do them the way you did them at home, where you just did whatever tasted nice enough.  

You were new to this, so of course, you were full of mistakes. 

Yesterday had been a disaster, and you had heard one barstaff tell another, “I’ve not seen it this bad in a while,” and you’d cried the second you’d stepped into your dark, cold flat afterwards.

Contemplated quitting.

Just calling and telling them that, actually, no, this was not the job for you, thanks.

But Martin was patient, and he was the manager, so that was all that mattered.

He just handed you what you needed when you reached for the wrong thing and told you with a little nod and a raise of his eyebrows for you to fill the glass. 

Except you didn’t use a measuring utensil, were about to do a free pour and, no. That wasn’t what you were meant to be doing. Martin stopped you with a hand held over the glass, then pointed at a jigger.

“Sorry,” 

“Always measure – free pouring wastes liquor and makes a drink taste different every time. Keep the control and use a jigger.”  

You had seen Martin free pour all the time.

But okay.

You were told to use a jigger.

So, you used a jigger. Nearly got the wrong side of it though. Martin was able to flip it over just in time. But you used the jigger just like you had been instructed to and only spilt a little vermouth. Nothing crazy, you thought, but you could feel the annoyance practically radiate from this other girl, Chloé, as she wiped her station clean.  

And you felt the burn of judgmental eyes on you from several directions now, because the handsome guest at the bar who you presumed the drink was for was now also watching your fumbling fingers.  

“Oh, sorry,”  

“Sorry! I didn’t see…”  

“Where’s the– sorry, I don’t… what’s next?” 

You were still learning. 

Martin showed you were to find the olives and let you finish the drink. You looked over at Martin for confirmation; was this good enough to serve? Could you just place this on the bar in front of this guy who’d been hesitantly watching you make this drink for him? Had seen you nearly mess up, what, like, eight times?  

Yes. 

Martin gave you a nod. 

You served the drink, smiled and said, “One dirty martini. Shaken, not stirred.” in an attempt to be funny. To get this guy to smile at you.

Except you hadn’t shaken anything, had you?  

“Oh, I mean, stirred, not… I didn’t shake that. Sorry, did you want it shaken? I also didn’t–” you turned around to face Martin. “I didn’t shake or stir this, does it need– did I do it wrong?”  

You saw how the two men looked at each other and smiled. Chuckled, almost. 

“No, no. This is perfect,” the guest sat at the bar kindly said and took a sip.  

You could tell by his face that it definitely wasn’t perfect. He then also immediately tried to carefully swirl the glass around a bit – to stir the drink. Or even to attempt to shake it a little.  

“Next time,” Martin started when you turned back around, and then he tumbled into all the things you had done wrong. It made you feel the burn of failure deep inside your chest.  

You could take the criticism, you told yourself. 

You could. Promise.

It just made you feel very small, and insanely embarrassed, and so fucking dumb. If you got too much about it, made you want to cry.  

But you were trying. That counted for something.

The guy at the bar did say the drink was perfect. That had to count for something, even if he so very clearly had been lying.

And, listen. Martin was just trying to teach you. To avoid you making future mistakes. It was no big deal.

All new beginnings were difficult, and you could deal with this. 

You really could. 

And so you did.

You ignored the prickle of tears behind your eyes every time you heard Chloé huff impatient and frustrated sighs.

You ignored the growing frustration you felt constrict your throat every time Martin went “Wait, wait, wait... hang on, remember what I said last time?”

It was only your second day. Everything was fine.

No matter how annoyed the other bar staff seemed to grow, you held onto your straight face. No matter how many times Martin seemed to have to go over the same things again and again. And again. Straight face.

“Yes. All right. Thanks. How much of this again? Ah. Okay. Will do, next time. Sorry.”

It didn’t help that the bar was dark, that the only real light source seemed to come from Christmas lights that were strung up for ambience.

You fought through the minutes, the hours, the entire evening that slowly dripped into the night, until it got close to closing and people started closing out their tabs. You were better at this. Actually good at this. Knew how to work the cash register, knowledge done up at a previous job, and smiled politely as people tapped their cards or phones against the PIN pad before wishing them a lovely rest of their night.

This was easier work.

Just the machine telling you what people owed the place and then making sure they paid for what they’d consumed.

Martin saw you go around and didn’t interfere, which gave you a little boost of confidence. Made you feel like he hadn’t made an insane mistake by hiring you a couple days ago, even though throughout the night you were sure he must have had that exact thought several times.

Doing this little task meant there were no wrong glasses to grab. No wrong ice cubes to put into glasses the wrong way. Not have the guy at the bar try to hide a smirk as Chloé said something to him, voice low enough for you to just miss it, but the roll of her eyes said enough.

Bitch.

No.

She was probably nice.

You were just fucking up a lot.

You would probably act the same way if the roles were reversed.

Maybe not so openly, though.

But, that was definitely some sort of sneer about you that she made towards a guest, and mentally, you went, “Where’s your Christmas spirit, Chloé?”. But outwardly, you'd pretended you hadn't seen or heard. Smiled your sweetest politest smile when you made eye-contact with him.

Good-looking bastard.

When he was the last guest in there still, you worked out how much money this guy still needed to pay and printed the bill for him. Slid it over just after he finished his chat with Martin, who disappeared onto the floor with a wet dishcloth to do the tables. A task he would have given you had you not already been busy doing something else.

“That will be 104,93 for you, sir.”

For a moment Joe just... looked at it. Was halfway through putting his coat on and froze, one arm stuck in a sleeve, eyes on the little white piece of paper and the number down at the bottom of it.

104,93 quid?

What... what were you doing?

You didn’t falter, however. You knew you got this right – you’d managed to keep count on this guy. Hadn’t found his tab in the system, so you’d created one for him, and then... had just, seen what he’d had.

Not that you’d been staring all night. But, you’d kind of been staring all night.

Men didn’t get to be this charming and then expect not to be looked at, you know?

He was also right there.

And you’d seen him watch you too.

Having someone watch you fuck up added another layer of nerves to everything, so, of course you’d seen him watch. Had felt him watch.

You set the PIN pad to the correct amount and held it out to him.

“Here you go.”

And listen. It wasn’t as if Joe had a leg to stand on here.

That was the correct amount.

He had consumed all of those drinks.

But, this... shit. This wasn’t how it usually went.

Usually, Martin wouldn’t charge him for half the shit he’d drink. And then Joe could tip and feel good about himself.

You were charging him like he wasn’t a regular. Like he had asked for all the drinks that Martin had made for him without him asking. Like he hadn’t helped Martin out by giving his honest opinion on every single one of them. Like he wasn’t Joe Quinn.

And then you smiled?

All innocent and sweet? Like you hadn’t practically cost the place money tonight, instead of making it some?

Joe got his phone, tapped it to the pad in your hands and tried to come to terms with how this made him feel on the inside.

Again, he had no leg to stand on.

He couldn’t really go, “Oh no, I don’t... I never pay for what I drink in here.”

So he paid.

Shook his head a little as you passed him the PIN receipt and told him to have a lovely rest of his night. Couldn’t help but smile at how silly this felt.

Just before Joe left the bar and made his way back upstairs into the cold, he stopped right in front of the hallway that would lead him there and found Martin close enough to say goodbye to.

“See you later, mate,”

“Yea, see you in a few,”

Joe looked back at you behind the bar, where you were trying to spin liquor bottles so all their labels faced out, nearly making one slip from its spot. You caught it just in time.

“And hey,” Joe added, nodding his head towards you for Martin to see. “Good luck with that one.”

Martin smiled, remained professional and just shrugged.

Joe was less tactic about it, what with the alcohol in his blood and him being the last guest in now anyway, and added,

“She’s lucky she’s cute.”

You pretended you didn’t catch that.

Pretended there were lots of people in still, and that the music was still going, and that where he was stood was way too far for him to be in earshot.

But you’d heard that.

And you would have cried if you disagreed.

But all you’d really heard him say was that he thought you were cute.

The handsome man who had sat the bar all night, who Martin just said he would see in a few days, had just called you cute after he’d watched you make mistake after mistake. After you’d served him mediocre drink after mediocre drink.

Cute.

Dirty martini.

Fun. You had a goal now.

You were going to learn how to do the perfect dirty martini, and you only had a few days.

“You just watch,” you mumbled to yourself as you covered the little dish of lemon slices with clingfilm that didn’t stick to the sides just before Chloé took it from your hands and redid it. Properly, this time.

Sigh.

No.

Dirty martini first.

Clingfilm after.

“You. Just. Watch.”

---

The Taglisted

@adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @chrissymjstan, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @miserybeans, @nadixq, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

[mrprettywhenhecries]

don’t waste your time (on me) [g.t]

02. | Just a Coincidence, I Guess

Gator Tillman ✘ Win Lewis (OC)

⇾ w.c. 5.3k words ⇾ warning(s). canon x oc pairing, f!oc, masturbation, slight misogyny, attempted assault, pervy!gator, inexperienced virgin!gator, subby!gator to switch!gator pipeline, nipple play, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie ⇾ a/n: I know a lot of people write dark/dom!gator, but he's the subbiest sub to ever sub to me

Gator just keeps turning up, like a bad penny, but when he happens to be in the right place at the right time, saving Win from a would-be assailant, she can’t help but be grateful.

[ masterlist • win bio ]

“Oh fuck yeah, fuck, that feels so good, baby.”

Gator’s hand slipped down his length, fisting himself to the grainy video playing on his laptop screen.  Several days later, their run-in was still fresh in his mind.

“Fuck, Winnie, you’re such a dirty girl, ain’tcha?” he drawled under his breath, his hips jerking up into his hand.  “Suckin’ me off right out in the middle of the road.  Shit—“ he groaned, remembering all too well the sweet way her doll eyes had flicked up to him, moaning as he’d flooded her velvety mouth with his spunk.  She’d been feisty to begin with, but by the end she’d obeyed so nicely, showing him the mess he’d made before swallowing it down like a good girl.

Gator’s phone vibrated across the desk and he swore under his breath, speeding up desperately, not wanting to stop when he was so close, even though he knew Roy’d be pissed if he didn’t pick up promptly enough for his taste.  

Squeezing his eyes shut, he drew his bottom lip between his teeth, thinking hard of Win’s sweet mouth and seconds later he tensed, hips jerking as he spilled his load over his hand, shuddering as he milked the last of it and immediately grabbing his phone with his free hand and answering it, panting hard in the receiver.

“What took you so long?  You go for a run or something?”

His father’s voice filled his ears and Gator fought to catch his breath.  “Yeah, something like that,” he answered, wrinkling his nose as he reached for something to clean himself up with as Roy sighed through the phone, launching into the reason he’d called. 

Gator listened distractedly, his mind still swirling with thoughts of her and how he might go about seeing her again.

“You listenin’ to me, son?” 

Roy’s voice once more jerked him back to attention and he grimaced, sitting up in his chair.  “Yeah, yeah, I heard yeh.  I’ll be right there.”

It had been several days since Win’s little traffic stop, and ever since, it seemed every time she turned around, there was Deputy Tillman–in line at the bank when she stopped to deposit her paycheck, stalking the convenience store aisles while she payed for gas at the Revere, in the booth next to her at the shooting range, and finally, at the bar she worked at.  At first he just watched, as if working up the courage to talk to her.  It was kind of pathetic, though she supposed she couldn’t exactly blame him for not knowing what to say.

What did you say to the girl who sucked you off to avoid getting a speeding ticket?

Unable to take it any longer, Win set a beer in front of where he sat at the bar, fiddling with his vape pen.  “Y’know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were stalking me, Deputy.”

Gator jumped slightly, his brown eyes snapping up to her face before his brows pulled down and he grabbed the dark bottle in front of him.  “What do you mean?” he asked, hunching over slightly to lean his elbows against the polished wood of the bar top.

“Cut the shit, Gator.  You’ve been turning up everywhere I’ve been for the past few days,” Win scoffed, watching him expectantly, just waiting for him to deny it.

Gator shrugged, bringing the mouth of the bottle to his lips.  “Just a coincidence, I guess,” he drawled, taking a swig and Win nodded, expecting it.

“I know what you’re doing, okay?  And it ain’t gunna work,” she huffed, throwing him a level glare.

Gator’s brows rose and he spread his hands innocently, a hint of a grin gracing his features.  “And what’s that?”

“You’re just following me around, hoping to get lucky again,” she answered, and Gator’s grin grew.

“You offering, Lewis?” he asked, tilting his head coyly.

Win crossed her arms over her chest as she rolled her eyes skyward.  “Stop tryin’ to be cute.”

Gator blinked at her, his dark eyes flashing mischief.  

“You think I’m cute?” he taunted, cocking an eyebrow at her.

Win opened her mouth, a scathing comeback on the tip of her tongue despite the warmth that rushed to her face, but before she could loose it, another patron stumbled up to the bar, interrupting them.

“Hey sweet thing,” he exclaimed obnoxiously, grinning at her as he leaned heavily against the bar next to Gator, ignoring him completely.  “Think I could get a refill, doll?”

“Alright, this is your last one though,” Win sighed, grabbing the bottle of Jack from the shelf behind her and pouring a splash in the bottom of his tumbler before sliding it across the bar back to him.  He caught it with a grin, but didn’t move to leave the bar just yet.

“So, I was wondering when your shift ends, and if you’re doing anything later,” the man drawled, looking pointedly at Win, causing Gator’s brows to furrow deeper, a scowl marring his features.

“Hey fella, we’re kinda in the middle of something here, actually, “ he huffed, turning on his barstool to size up the other guy.

“Yeah well, I wasn’t talking to you Deputy,” the man sneered back, noting the badge hanging against his chest.

Gator’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t respond, bringing his vape to his lips and taking a hit.

“So what do you say, doll?” the guy asked again, flashing Win a grin that didn’t impress.  

“Sorry, I’ve got plans,” she replied and Gator couldn’t help but smirk at the look on the other guy’s face.  

“You heard the lady, she’s not interested.  Now if you’ll excuse us–” he drawled, blowing his cloud of scented water vapor at the man and lifting an eyebrow expectantly.

Grabbing his glass, the man sneered, looking between Win and Gator.  “Ain’t like she’s going home with a loser like you,” he scoffed.

“Enough!” Win snapped and the man shot her a confused look.  “I think you should leave,” she added, her voice level, though she was almost as surprised at herself for the flash of anger that had filled her when he’d called Gator a loser.

“You can’t make me!” the guy scoffed incredulously and Gator got to his feet.

“No, but I can,” he exclaimed.  “So why don’t you get scarce?  Unless you want me to drag you outta here in handcuffs?”

For a moment the man didn’t back down, puffing his chest out and holding Gator’s hard gaze before letting out a heavy snort and finally turning away, leaving his empty glass on the bar.  As soon as the door shut behind him, Win let out the breath she’d been holding and turned her gaze back to Gator. 

“Thanks,” she murmured, running her hand through her hair in relief.  “I thought you were gunna actually have to cuff him for a second there,” she laughed.

“Me too,” Gator chuckled, finishing off the rest of his drink.  “Y’know, if you really wanted to thank me, you could, uh, you know, take me home with you,” he said nonchalantly, leaning against the bar, a hopeful look on his face, and Win groaned, her amusement shifting to disgust.

“Really, Gator?” she exclaimed, throwing his empty bottle in the trash bin with more force than necessary.  “And here I was starting to think you might actually be a half decent guy, but apparently you can’t even do anything nice without expecting something in return.”

Gator quickly opened his mouth to defend himself, but Win didn’t give him an opening, barreling on.  

“Maybe your daddy shoulda named you after a different animal, you pig!”

“Win, wait!  Shit–” he hissed under his breath as she stalked away to the other side of the bar, ringing the bell for last call while defiantly avoiding his gaze.  

“Fuck,” he grunted, running his hand over his slicked back hair as he decided what to do, finally heading for the door.

Win watched him leave, chewing her lip.  God, but she needed a cigarette.

For a moment, she wished she hadn’t stood up for him.  He was a loser, but the hurt look in his eyes had felt like a kick in the stomach, and Win had acted on impulse.  As much as she wanted to hate Gator, she couldn’t.

For a moment, he’d seemed so earnest, and then he’d gone right back to his misogynistic asshole self, and Win began to wonder which was the real Gator, and which was an act he put on.

Sighing, she put it out of her head.  She needed to focus on closing up.

By the time Win stepped outside to lock the back door, all was quiet.  A few lone cars sat parked in the lot, their occupants sleeping off their buzz before driving home, and Win paused to dig for her pack of Marlboro’s out of her jacket pocket, tapping one into her hand as her boots clicked across the asphalt.

Lighting her cigarette, she took a deep draw, watching the cherry burn brighter before a dark shadow waiting by her car brought her up short.

“Who’s there?” she called, wishing she hadn’t left her pistol in the glove compartment.

“Just waitin’ for you to get done, doll,” a voice drawled, the man from earlier stepping out of the darkness, showing his face.

“I told you, I already have plans.  My friends are waiting,” she lied, discreetly positioning her keys between her knuckles as he took another step closer.

“I could show you a real good time,” he said, sucking his teeth, his voice slurring slightly.  “You wouldn’t regret it.”

“Wish I could, but I’m already late,” Win replied, glad at least her voice didn’t waver, giving away how scared she was, her heart beating against her ribs like a bird in a cage.

“Aw c’mon, don’t be like that, darlin’,” the man cooed, spreading his hands as he circled her.

“Stay back, I’m warning you!” Win exclaimed, getting ready to make a run for it.

The man’s smile only seemed to turn more predatory and fear shot through her like a bullet.  Suddenly, a pair of blinding headlights flooded the night, and the rev of an engine was the only warning before the vehicle it belonged to charged straight at Win’s assailant, the bumper grazing him as he frantically dove out of the way.

Win stared at the car that had saved her, ‘Stark County Sheriff’ emblazoned on the driver’s side door before it opened and Gator stepped out, tipping his hat to her before circling the cruiser to grab the guy by the collar, punching him square in the face and knocking him out before cuffing him.

“Jesus fuck Gator!” Win cried, finally finding her voice as she hurried over, Gator throwing his arm out to keep her behind him as he reached for his two way, calling the dispatcher.  

“10-26, I’ve got an assailant in custody outside Frankie’s Tavern, but I’m off duty.  Can you have someone come pick this asshole up?  The victim’s pretty shook up, I wanna make sure she gets home alright.”

Win opened her mouth to argue that she could drive home just fine, until she realized with chagrin that Gator was right, she was shaking like a leaf.  The adrenaline that had flooded her veins moments ago was leeching away, leaving her shivering.

“You okay?  He didn’t touch you, did he?” Gator asked, shrugging his leather jacket off to drape around her shoulders.

“No.  No, he didn’t get close enough,” Win murmured distractedly, jumping slightly when she felt his jacket wrap around her, warmth seeping back into her, the scent of Gator’s Axe body spray filling her nostrils.  “Thanks,” she mumbled distractedly, pulling the sides of the jacket tighter around her.

“C’mon, let’s get you home,” Gator murmured, leading her to the cruiser’s passenger door as another sheriff’s vehicle pulled into the parking lot.  “I gotta go talk to my officer for a sec, I’ll be right back,” he said, holding the door open for her before going to meet the other cop, helping him haul the unconscious cuffed assailant into the back of his SUV.

Win couldn’t make out what the two were saying, but Gator glanced over at her several times, so she figured it had something to do with her.  

It wasn’t long before the other officer nodded to Gator and the two parted ways, Gator climbing into his seat and shutting the door.  “You doin’ okay?” he asked, his eyes flicking to Win as he put the car in drive.

“Yeah, m’fine,” she murmured, keeping her gaze on the dark windshield.  “You know where you’re going?” she asked, wondering if he knew already exactly where she lived.  She wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

“It’s on Euclid, right?” he asked, turning off the main highway.

“Yeah.”

Gator nodded, drumming his fingers idly against the steering wheel.

“How often you drive past my place?” Win asked, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

Gator snorted, his lips twitching.  “Only a few times, had to make sure you weren’t getting into trouble,” he chuckled, sparing her a wry glance.

“Uh huh, sure,” Win countered doubtfully.  “You sure you aren’t stalking me, Deputy?”

“I don’t care for that insinuation, Miss Lewis,” Gator drawled, the yellow light of the street lamps overhead illuminating his face as they passed.  “I’m an officer of the law.  My concern is purely professional.”

Win barked a laugh.  “Professional, right,” she scoffed.  “That’s rich, coming from the guy who accepted a blow job in exchange for a speeding ticket.”

“Hey, you were the one who offered,” he pointed out, reaching in his pocket for his vape pen.  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were the one trying to seduce me.”

“As if,” Win muttered, glad it was dark in the car so he couldn’t see the flush that rose to her cheeks.  “Bet you just loved saving my ass tonight,” she huffed bitterly, shaking her head with a sigh.

Gator was silent for a moment, turning his face away to exhale his plume of sweet smelling vapor.  “Ain’t gunna lie and say it didn’t feel good,” he admitted, adjusting his grip on the wheel, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.  

“That don’t make you any less tough though,” he murmured, finally glancing at her, his words taking her by surprise.

“Hell, you’re probably one of the most capable girls I know.  I’ve seen you at the shooting range, your aim’s about as good as mine.”

Win snorted, a grin tugging at her lips.  “Almost?  It’s better than yours,” she teased and Gator rolled his eyes, though he shared her grin, not refuting the fact.

Falling silent, he pulled into her drive and threw the cruiser into park.  “You gunna be alright by yourself or…?” he asked after a moment, watching Win wring her hands silently in her lap.

“Uh…” she hesitated, waging an internal battle with herself for several seconds before cracking.

“Look, this isn’t because I owe you or anything, but… would you come inside with me for a bit?  I just don’t wanna be alone right now,” she admitted, certain if she looked up, that he’d be wearing a smug grin, no doubt already thinking he’d be getting lucky, but Gator merely nodded, a concerned expression on his face.

“Yeah, course,” he murmured, turning the car off and unbuckling his seat belt.

As silly as it seemed, Win couldn’t help but feel a little safer as Gator’s shoulder brushed hers as he escorted her to the door.  Fumbling with her key in the lock, she swore under her breath, hating the way her fingers trembled.  Finally, the deadbolt turned and she shouldered the door open, reaching along the wall to flip on the light switch.

Gator’s eyes traveled the small living room that opened to an equally small kitchen and dining area, taking in every little detail and filing it away.

“Nice place,” he murmured, shifting his weight as Win locked the door behind them and toed off her scuffed boots.

“Thanks,” she replied, handing him back his jacket.  Gator seemed to notice the way her hands shook and frowned.

“Why don’t you go change into something more comfortable and I’ll make us some coffee or something.”

Win hesitated, unsure if she should get too comfortable with Gator in her house, but she felt dirty after what had happened, and the idea of her pj’s did sound nice.  

“Alright.  Holler if you need anything,” she said, leaving him in her kitchen.  She could feel his eyes on her back as she walked away, but she fought the urge to glance back at him, and eventually she heard him turn on the tap and pop a coffee pod in her Keurig.  

Stopping in the bathroom, Win splashed some water on her face and scrubbed her hands before heading to her room to strip, keeping her back to the door as she dressed, figuring she’d be quick enough not to bother shutting the door completely.

“I didn’t know how you took your coffee, but I saw some creamer in the fridge so I used that—“ Gator said, his words cutting off as he stopped in the doorway, two steaming mugs in hand, unabashedly watching as Win reached for her tank top.

A low whistle left his lips and Win quickly pulled her shirt over her head before turning to look at him, fixing him with a level look.

“Perv,” she muttered, though there was no heat to it and she took one of the mugs from his hand before sitting down on the edge of her bed.  “Want some whiskey?” she offered, reaching for the half empty bottle on her night stand, unscrewing the lid and pouring a splash in her mug.

“You’re something else, you know that?” Gator chuckled, joining her at the edge of the bed and letting her spike his coffee as well.

Win shrugged, blowing on her drink before taking a sip.  “I guess.”

“Really.  I don’t think I’ve ever met a girl like you before,” Gator murmured, wetting his lips, brown eyes flicking to grey.

“Bet you say that to all the girls,” Win teased, a sigh of relief leaving her lips as she wrapped her hands around the mug, the warm liquid burning pleasantly down her throat, warming her inside and out.

Gator snorted into his mug.  “Why do you always doubt me, huh?  It’s hurtful,” he exclaimed, placing a hand over his chest, his eyes dancing with amusement.

“Maybe I like messin’ with you,” Win murmured, the whiskey dulling her inhibitions.  “You get cute when you’re all huffy,” she admitted.

“I’m not cute,” Gator scoffed, his expression twisting in offense, though a dusting of pink crept up his neck.  “Cute ain’t manly.”

“You seemed to be fine with me calling you that earlier,” Win pointed out, rolling her eyes and taking another drink.

Gator grimmaced.  “That was different.”

Silence fell and Gator looked down at his mug, searching for something else to say, not wanting the moment to end yet.

“Noticed your sweet gaming setup out there,” he said, nodding toward her living room.  “Didn’t know you were a gamer.”  He sounded kind of impressed.  

“I wouldn’t say that, but I do enjoy a good first person rpg,” Win replied, a small smile tugging at her lips.  “Lemme guess, your game of choice is COD?”

“Nothin’ more satisfying after a long day than kickin’ some ass and rackin’ up some headshots,” Gator boasted, making Win snort in amusement.

“Oh my God, you are such a dude bro.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Gator exclaimed, gaping at her.  “You’re the one who thinks I’m cute!” he pointed out and her mouth fell open.

Setting her mug down, she poked him in the side, grinning as he yelped, and soon she was trying to fight his hands away in his attempt to get her back, the two of them ending up falling back to the bed in laughter.

For a long moment, Win laid there, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath, heat washing through her as she watched Gator’s face.  He really was cute, especially when he laughed.  

He’d managed to take her mind off the events from the night, and now all she could think about was how close he was.  All she had to do was lean in and she’d be able to press her lips to his.  His eyes flicked up to hers expectantly, pupils dilating with want, but he didn’t move, waiting for her to decide.

“Oh fuck it,” Win whispered, her lips crashing into his before she could think better of it.

Gator groaned, reacting instinctually, his hands clutching at her hips to pull her closer as he kissed her fervently, swallowing her surprised moan as his tongue invaded her mouth, writhing and rolling against hers.

Overwhelmed by his eagerness, she bit down, just hard enough to elicit a hiss from him before sucking on his tongue, a strand of saliva connecting them when she finally pulled back to gasp a breath.  Gator chased her retreating lips, not ready to break the kiss yet.  

Hungry for more, he nipped at her bottom lip as his hand slipped under her tank top, his palm greedily sliding up her stomach til it found her warm breast, her nipple already a hard peak, nestled between two smooth ball bearings and he moaned deep in his throat.

“Didn’t know your tits were pierced,” he breathed, pushing her shirt up the rest of the way, wanting to see them.  Tweaking her piercing, his mouth fell open as Win let out a gasp that turned to a moan as his mouth descended hungrily on her nipple, his tongue swirling around it before flicking it playfully.

“Gator—“ she whined, grinding against his thigh that found its way between her legs, the lean muscle putting just enough pressure against her aching cunt to earn her a little relief, but not enough.

As soon as his mouth left her nipple to switch to the other breast, the cool air against his left over saliva sent Win’s skin pebbling and she arched against him, running her fingers through his slicked back hair, uncaring if she messed it up, her nails biting lightly into his scalp.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Gator mumbled as he sat up to get a look at her, her arms thrown back against her head and her bare chest heaving. “Want you so bad,” he groaned, his voice breaking.

“Strip,” Win ordered, pulling her own shirt off and tossing it away before slipping her pyjama pants and damp cotton panties down.

For a moment, Gator didn’t move, his gaze trained on her naked body until Win tugged at his tight black t-shirt, practically ripping it off him as he fumbled at his belt and cargo pants.

Knowing what to expect when his cock finally sprung free, Win swallowed, her mouth watering, remembering the weight and feel of it on her tongue and she couldn’t help but wonder how good his girth would feel inside her, stretching her.  Despite her reputation, it had been a while since she’d slept with anyone.

“Like what you see?” Gator boasted, noticing the look on her face and Win pulled him closer, her lips colliding with his to shut him up as she grabbed his hand and guided it between her thighs, needing to be touched.

“Oh fuckkk,” Gator groaned into her mouth as his fingers explored her dripping folds.  “You’re so wet,” he marveled, his cock twitching against her stomach and Win opened her legs wider for him, rolling her hips against the heel of his palm.

For a moment his thumb slipped up too high and Win let out a frustrated huff.  “Here,” she breathed, guiding his fingers to her clit.  “Right there, little circles,” she gasped, electricity coursing through her as he obeyed, careful to follow her movements over her sensitive nub, exploring and tucking the knowledge away.

When his digits delved deeper inside her, his own hips grinding desperately against her, slick pre cum leaking from his pink head, Win gasped.  “Curl them,” she instructed, moaning loudly when his fingertips grazed her spongy g-spot.  “That’s where you wanna hit with your fingers or cock,” she breathed, kissing him deeper, tasting the warmth of the whiskey from the coffee on his tongue.  

“Want you inside me, Gator,” she whined, wanting more than his fingers, her entire body aflame with need.

“Yeah?  Want my cock, Winnie?” he drawled, kissing down her neck as he continued to pump his fingers into her, her cunt squelching noisily around them.  “You’re such a little slut for me, aren’tcha?” he teased, latching onto her pulse point and sucking hard, his teeth sinking into her soft flesh before soothing the sting with his tongue.

Win let out a hiss.  “You leave a mark where anyone can see and I’m decking you, Tillman,” she grumbled, but her threat was undermined by the moan that bubbled up from her chest as she said it.

“What?  Don’t wantin’ anyone knowin’ I own this pussy?” Gator chuckled darkly before yelping in surprise as Win pushed him to his back and threw her leg over his hips, straddling him.

“You don’t own me, Gator,” she growled, slipping his length between her folds only to grind against him, not letting him into her yet.  “No one does,” she added, watching with pleasure at the way his brown eyes pleaded with her, a string of needy moans leaving his pretty mouth.

“What was that?” she cooed condescendingly and Gator’s fingers bit into her hips where he grasped her.

“Jesus Christ, just fuck me, Winnie, please!”

“Oooh if your daddy could hear you now,” she teased, but relented, reaching between them to grasp his length and position it at her entrance.

Whatever retort Gator had ready on his tongue was quickly swallowed as Win lowered herself slowly onto him, allowing her time to adjust while careful not to make him cum too soon.  That would be a waste, and though she’d deny it, she wanted to show him a good first time.  She’d never taken anyone’s virginity before.

“Holy shit—“ Gator whined, trying to buck up into her impatiently, his eyes rolling up into his head as she sheathed him.  “Shit, oh shitttt you feel good,” he breathed, a flush creeping up his neck and chest.

“You’re so cute like this,” Win whispered, leaning in to steal a quick kiss before moving her hips, riding him in earnest.

Gator couldn’t seem to formulate words for a moment, a slew of needy whines and groans the only sounds leaving his kiss swollen lips.  His hands roamed her body, slipping up her hips and around her back, pulling her down against him as she ground down on his cock, relishing the friction where their bodies came together.

“Need to feel you,” he mumbled, kissing her sloppily as he held her against his chest, the warmth of her feverish skin against his exactly what he wanted.  “Oh Win,” he whimpered, moving in time with her, the way he moaned her name going straight to her head. 

Fuck, but she wanted to ruin him, wanted to be ruined by him.

With a gasp, Win fell to her back, Gator rolling atop her, taking the lead while she was distracted.  “Wanna fill this pretty pussy,” he growled, taking her by surprise by his sudden burst of dominance and Win’s breath hitched.

Desperate to finish, his hips snapped into hers, the room filling with their staccato breaths and the slap of skin on skin.  Afraid he was gunna cum and leave her hanging, Win quickly slipped her hand between them to desperately rub her clit, letting out a cry as the added stimulation drove her to the precipice.

“Holy shit—“ Gator hissed as Win’s cunt clamped tighter around him, her velvety walls fluttering and contracting deliciously.

“C-can I—?” he choked out, his thrusts turning jerky.

“Yes!  Cum inside me.  On the pill,” she managed to stutter, that familiar heat licking up her body as her muscles tensed, the spring inside her gut snapping and spilling over.

“Fuck, Gator—!” she cried, her back arching as she came and he pounded into her until his cock swelled, suddenly spilling his load inside her, a high pitched whine leaving his lips as he tensed, twitching and spasming before he collapsed atop her, completely spent.

Realizing he was probably crushing her, Gator rolled off her to his back, panting heavily as he caught his breath, his dark hair in complete disarray and a sheen of sweat coating his pale skin.  

“How was that, huh?” he asked, rolling to his side and propping himself up on his elbow as he watched Win pull the sheets up around her chest, a hint of insecurity hiding behind the bravado in his voice.

Win laughed, letting her head loll against her pillow as she turned toward him.  “It wasn’t bad,” she replied, a small grin playing at her lips as Gator’s brows furrowed.

“Not bad?” he huffed, gaping at her.  “You were practically screaming my name by the end!” he pointed out smugly and Win rolled her eyes, her fingers trailing mindlessly down his chest, counting the small moles that littered his body.

“Yeah yeah, don’t let it go to your head, Tillman,” she murmured.  “I was the one doing most of the work, remember?  Better not go fallin’ in love with me just cause I took your virginity,” she joked.

“I’m not!” he spluttered, hesitating, his brows scrunching up further.  “I just… wanna know if it might happen again, that’s all,” he mumbled, avoiding Win’s gaze, which turned distant at his words.

“I don’t know… It would probably be better if it didn’t,” she muttered, sitting up and reaching for his vape pen, needing a hit of nicotine to calm her sudden rush of nerves.

“Why?” Gator countered, pushing himself up as well.  “What’re you so afraid of, Winnie, that you might actually start to like me?” he scoffed, a bitter note to his low voice.

“Oh c’mon, you’re exactly the sort of guy that I should stay far away from,” Win huffed, letting her eyes flutter shut as she exhaled, the vapor curling lazily around her parted lips.

“Yeah?  And why’s that?” Gator demanded, not backing down, a hurt look contorting his face.

Win fought the urge to look at him, knowing if she did, she’d lose her nerve.  “Hell, Gator, look at us.  It ain’t like we got all that much in common!” she pointed out, chewing her lip.

Gator snorted, glancing around her room at the band posters covering her walls, many of them bands he himself listened to, thinking of all the other little things they shared in common.  “From where I’m lookin’, it kinda does,” he muttered, his eyes boring into her back and Win growled in frustration.

“I mean, like our fundamental principles,” she exclaimed, shaking her head.  “I shouldn’t like you,” she insisted quietly, more to herself than to him and Gator watched her, realization dawning on him.

“But you do,” he whispered.

Win grimaced, finally looking at him, not wanting to admit it, and a grin slowly spread across his face, tugging at his chapped lips.

“You like me,” he repeated, his voice turning insufferably smug once more.

Win felt an angry rush of heat fill her face and quickly looked away again, not wanting him to see.  “Will you shut up?” she huffed halfheartedly, but Gator only laughed, reaching over to turn her face toward him, his grin melting away.  

“Give me a chance, Win.  Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

Helpless, Win searched his face as she bit her lip, knowing he already had.

“Alright,” she finally breathed, heaving a heavy sigh.  “Don’t make me regret this.”

“I won’t.”  Gator leaned in to kiss her softly, grinning against her lips as his callused thumb brushed her cheek.

“Think you’re up for round two?” he murmured, arching an eyebrow at her when he finally pulled back.

“Jesus Gator, you’re insatiable,” Win huffed, but she didn’t protest when he rolled her to her back, reaching between her legs with a needy groan.

⇾ taglist. @super-unpredictable98 @b1tchy3lf @heartbreak-sandwich

[mlm-writer]

Wrapped Around My Finger (Scott Lang x GN!Reader)

Pairing: Scott Lang x Gender Neutral Reader Rating: General audiences Words: 1492 POV: Second Summary: You and Scott have a date at build-a-bear Note: I have seen this man only in the Antman movies and idc what happens in the crossover movies. I ain't watching em. Tags: fluff, return of my OC Daylen (only real members of the Thicc Court remember him), build-a-bear, established relationship and mentioned accidental fisting (just putting the tag here to fuck with y'all lmaoo)

All it took was one look. Just one look and you were in love. Just one look and Scott could not imagine a life without him. ‘Him’ being the frog at build-a-bear. “Look!” You both exclaimed before you even entered the bright-lit store. You looked at each other, looked at where you were pointing and like a cartoon you both realised you were in perfect sync. 

Your boyfriend almost trampled a toddler to get to the frogs. He pulled out two lime green, limp plushies from the basket and held them up next to his head. You two did not even bother bringing Cassie along to pretend you were going for her. You swerved around the poor, startled toddler to take one of the frogs from Scott. “They are so cute,” you scream-whispered, trying to hold onto some sense of adulthood. He nodded in agreement. “Shouldn’t we look at other options as well?” You questioned. Scott closed his eyes and shook his head aggressively. You giggled, getting the point; you two were going to bring these two frogs home. 

You already agreed before coming here you would add a voice message to each other’s plushie. Scott brought the one for you to the other side of the store so you would not hear it until later. You stared at the small device, still no clue what you were going to say. You just pressed the record button, hoping your heart would speak for you. “Scotty bear,” you started, “you may drool on me any day and I will never get angry at you for shoving your whole fist into my mouth while you sleep. Love you.” You giggled when you were done. What an odd thing to say, but you meant every word of it. When you returned to the lady that helped you out with it, you found her smiling from ear to ear with Scott. “He said something really stupid, didn’t he?” You questioned as you switched devices with Scott. 

She shook her head, while trying to hide her toothy smile behind her hand. “You’ll love it, trust me,” she reassured you, before sending you on your way to the filling machine. You did the whole shebang with making a wish and putting a heart inside, before going on to dress up your frogs. There were several Avengers outfits to pick from, but no Antman. Scott was a little salty about it and he did a piss poor job at hiding it too. You would write a hearty letter to build-a-bear later. 

In the end your frogs were wearing both very jolly outfits, but they did not match at all. You joked about it, while you were filling in the information for the birth certificates. The date ended in a rather sorrowful moment, when the cashier rang up your purchases. You felt your bank account weep as you reached for your wallet, but Scott had his credit card already out. “Come on, I could use a bite to eat.” He suddenly sounded very off. You supposed he wanted to make the grand gesture of paying, but also felt his bank balance plummet to subterranean levels. You mentally vowed to pay for lunch. 

You were not sure whether Scott was penniless or not, because he was suddenly very particular about lunch, but still did not pick the cheapest option. Instead you found yourself in one of your favourite cafés. It was relatively cheap, had sockets under the tables to charge your phone and the lunch menu had the best wraps in the world on it. Your favourite waiter was working today. You smiled widely at Daylen as he approached your table. “Welcome back,” he almost sang, ever the chipper college student. You sometimes worried if he was really that merry or if his bright smile was a secret cry for help. 

Daylen never asked you for your name, so you were pretty sure he had no idea what it was. To be fair, you only knew his because of his name tag. “The house special wraps, twice?” He asked while writing it down already on the classic good old notepad he carried with him. He always had one with a Sanrio character on it.

You huffed a laugh. “Of course.” Daylen looked up from his Keroppi notepad and winked at you, assuring you he knew what drink to get too. Before he left, he gave Scott a wink too. “I feel like I have become boring, always ordering the same thing here,” you sighed as you reached into your bag to grab your phone charger. You plugged it in and then grabbed your cheerfully clad frog. “Time to listen to the messages?” 

“Me first!” Scott exclaimed as he hastily grabbed his. You laughed at his enthusiasm. He held his frog close and squeezed around until he found the soundbox. ‘Scotty bear, you may drool on me any day and I will never get angry at you for shoving your whole fist into my mouth while you sleep. Love you,’ your voice came out from the green plushie. He chuckled, hiding his face behind his hand, the very one that your message was about. “That happened once!” He exclaimed, defending himself. 

“But you drool on me daily!” You countered. Scott reached around the table to give you a playful slap. “Hey! I said I don’t mind,” you added, before realising how loud you were being. Well, it was not like it was busy here. 

“Ok, time for you to squeeze your build-a-bear!” Scott loudly proclaimed. You frowned at him, but you were really curious what your frog had to say to you. You looked down at your frog and felt around until you found where to squeeze.

‘Hey sweetheart, today we are at build-a-bear, building frogs.’  There was a nervous chuckle. ‘Today it is frogs, but in the past years you have built me a better man. I’ll take you to the place where I fell in love with you later and I will ask you to build me into a husband. Please say yes. I love you.’

Your mouth fell open as Scott fumbled while getting off his chair. A box came out of nowhere. You turned your head to see Daylen toss it to Scott, the rest of the regular café staff filming the occasion. Scott barely caught it and you put your frog on the table while getting up, your hands covering your gaping mouth. “I know this is not our first date spot,” Scott started when he finally got on one knee, “but I actually don’t remember where that was.” What a great start. “Back then, I did not know what you would mean to me.” He sounded like he was about to cry and you already felt the tears pool in the corners of your eyes. “But I do remember when you took me here for the first time and forced me to try the wraps. I remember the first time I saw you eat them like they were the best thing in the world and I could not for the life of me figure out what made these ordinary wraps so special- I’m sorry Daylen.”

Scott briefly looked away from you to apologise to the waiter. “You’re ruining your own proposal!” Daylen yelled back and waved with his hand to Scott to make him go back to a very important milestone in his life. 

“Yes! Sorry!” He turned his head back to you and tried to open the box in his hand only to drop it on the floor. “Sorry! Uh… wraps! Yes!” He fumbled as he was clearly off track from his script. He had grabbed the box and went back to opening it while looking at you. “That’s when I fell in love, wait no, that’s not what I wrote down-” 

He dropped the box again. You bent down and grabbed it. You opened it for him and pressed it in his hands, holding them for a little moment. “Breathe,” you whispered. “I don’t need a beautiful speech. I always love to hear what you have to say,” you said a little louder, before letting go and straightening your back. 

Scott took a deep breath, before holding the ring up. “A couple of years back, I saw you eat wraps and I thought to myself ‘I want to make you even happier than these wraps do’. I don’t know if I’m there yet, but I promise to do my best every day for the rest of my life. So marry me? Please?” You wiped the tears off your cheeks and nodded, while holding a hand out. Scott put the ring on your finger and rose to his feet to kiss you. Applause and cheers exploded around you, Daylen’s quite possibly the loudest and when the waiter is out of earshot, you’ll tell Scott that he had surpassed the wraps a long time ago already. 

[bainofjustice]

Kitty's Notes On Episode 2 Of The Payday Web Series

It is really funny to me that they made a “previously on” part for a web show and to recap a episode that clocks in at 6 minutes 

It's funny that Dallas & Houston have time for a very small argument. Also helps set up the insane amount of tension the web show portrays them having

The editing/camrea is so choppy like this isn't a review but omg I had to write that down

Okay it looks like Wolf keeps zip ties on his belt, makes sense both for the game stuff of tying up civis and also is probably helpful for his mechines

Chains and Houston demask INSIDE A FUCKING VAULT post running out of ammo and while they do tell the civis present to not look this is just such a bad idea especially because the vault is basically surrounded by cops 

But also the bromance between Houston & Chains is real, like they're in a bad situation and they plan it out

Also it seems like Dallas and Wolf are the main movers of goods within this heist, I'm not sure they're the best picks but with the limits the gang had at the time I suppose they aren't the worst, it just feels like in general the plan doesn't cater to the real talents of the gang. Which tbh is probably because the web show is meant to be a ad, so they wanted more action which required mostly gun fights and they didn't do fight scenes in a intelligental way 

Also I just realized for some reason Chains is using a damn hand gun meanwhile it's Houston with a assault rifle, which really doesn't seem catered to their skills

I just remembered a little later after writing the above that Chains mentioned being out of ammo for his own assault rifle so not as bad as I thought, still wonder why they didn't switch at any point, like it worked out but yeah

One thing I do like about the action scenes is that the gang uses more than juet guns and use melee attacks as well

Houston is able to flat out flip a guy over and steal his gun, I feel pretty confident in saying Houston has probably taken some hand to hand combat lessons.

Also it appears that both Dallas and Wolf are using assault rifles which makes sense given their roles in the heist.

WE GOT A WILHELM SCREAM!!!

In better lighting it seems Wolf actually has a shotgun which is even better for him actually 

We see the escape driver when Dallas and Wolf are ambushed at the escape van, he appears to be at most middle age, white, brown hair, slightly fatter build and wears a black hoodie with a band or event tee-shirt under the hoodie, grabbing a pic to see if I can locate the shirt later.

We see several of Vlad's men during the ambush including who we later learn seems to be his right hand / personal bodyguard

Vlad's intro is so funny to me, like he holds the gang at gunpoint and stalls their escape and this actually manages to end with him getting the gang to work with him, like I am sure that Bain or Vlad carefully planned this part but it could have easily gone wrong if for example Wolf shoot someone without thinking it through, or if a officer managed to follow them to the van, especially since everyone unmasks!

Houston Vc: Do you know these guys?.    Dallas, who is being held at gunpoint vc: does it look like I know these guys?

1. Vlad decides to shout “Bain” while explaining he is a ally, 2. He calls Bain in this instance “Mr Bain” which I find to be a fun detail of characterization and also to how at the time the only people sorta comfortable enough around Bain to be confident when saying his name and such is the core members of the Payday gan

Ah and then Dallas has to go back uncover which requires faking a injury, which he lets Houston do the honors of punching him, only adding to the family feud they seem to have in the web series. Also this one punch is enough to knock Dallas to the ground.

Also funnily Dallas or should I say, “Nathen Steele” is the one to call in the first world bank heist

Bain vapes! We see him vape, we also hear him in game talk about smoking cigars, so either he does both or in my opinion more likely he lies about the details of his smoking habits even to the gang.

We can see that Bain wears a leather jacket with a design on the back & front when in his lair, the design most looks like fire to me but it's very dark, I would love to someday see some behind the scenes footage or something with the costume.

[vivilove-jonsa]

I know you and Amymel are both publishing your OG stuff now. How is that going for you both? And do you have any tips for someone who might want to do that sort of thing?

Thanks so much for the ask, Anon. I mentioned it to @amymel86 and, while we're keeping our pen names relatively private, we truly appreciate you checking in with us :)

How's it going? It's going great! We're both thrilled to making money off writing smutty romance 🤣. To quote Amy, 'Sex sells, girlies.' But I'll add that the swoony, romantic, buttery goodness is what keeps readers coming back for more.

Tips? You got it! I'm going to put them under the cut for those who are interested but I'll preface this with the following - we are writing romance novels (primarily as eBooks) that we're self-publishing on Amazon. If you want to be the next Hemingway or Virginia Woolf, that's awesome but our route might not be your route...

Tips for self-publishing romance on the Zon and making BANK:

First off, research. Read, read, read a genre that interests you. What's killing it in the rankings? What's not? What are readers looking for?

Drill it down to a specific niche and find the tropes that work best with it. Unlike with fanfic, you will not make a killing as a newbie writer switching widely between genres and niches. Your Sweet and Clean Christian Western Romance might be fantastic but your fans won't be delighted if you follow it up with an Erotic Dark Mafia Romance. There is so much out there! Sports Romance, Regency, Paranormal, Small-Town, Billionaire, Bikers, Mountain Man... go find yourself a new book boyfriend. Choose the heat level you're comfortable with. There are readers for all levels.

But, find something that appeals to you and stick with it for the time being, learn the ins and outs but make sure it's something you can see yourself writing. Don't choose Reverse Harem or Shifter Romance simply because they're popular if you can't stand reading them. You're setting yourself up for failure that way.

Second, do a little light craft book reading. For romance, I highly recommend Romancing the Beat by Gwen Hayes and 7 Figure Fiction by T. Taylor as a starting point.

Join an indie author's discord group for important tips and stuff that you might wind up paying to learn from others. It's free and you can choose what's worth retaining and what's not. The one Amy lured me to last year is AMAZING and I've picked up so much information/resources that I never would've known about stumbling around on my own.

Pick a pen name. Do not write under your actual name. You do not want your grandma reading your book. Or maybe you do but you might not want your boss or ex or neighbor reading it. Make sure it's not a claimed pen name. Google it, check Amazon, etc.

Next one is the hard part... write a book. Dream up your story, write down those 'moments' that come to mind (you won't remember them all otherwise) and outline that sucker. Then, WRITE IT. Which sounds impossible but it's not. Most full-length romance novels fall between 60 to 85k words. There are soooooo many fanfics that are longer than that. Take a deep breath. It's doable.

The must-dos for your first book:

Think it up, write down what tropes you're looking at using, outline (at least a little) and write it. I made that sound so easy, didn't I?

2. Edit, edit, edit. You don't have to pay an editor or copywriter - I have not so far - but, for the love of God, don't release something riddled with typos or full of purple prose. Streamline it, make it page-turning goodness readers have a hard time putting down. Throw it in grammarly and spellcheck the bejesus out of it.

3. Format it using a free site like Reedsy or Kindle Create from Amazon's Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP). All that lovely spacing we enjoy doing on Ao3? That will not fly here. It's going to look like an actual book... because it is!

4. Make a cover or get one made. Look at what sells in your niche and copy it. You want to be an outlier? Wait until you're bringing in 50k a month to set the trends. Otherwise, you'll just be passed up. How much work it is can be niche dependent. Fantasy or Sci-Fi Romance might require a lot of talent to get the right look. Contemporary? Easy by comparison. GIMP or Photo Shop work great but there's a learning curve. Also, I recommend Deposit Photos or similar sites for photos/model shots. Don't steal photos off the internet for something you're selling. That will get you in hot water. Remember your cover is the first thing readers see and it needs to sell what you're offering.

5. Write the blurb. Some writers do this first but I am not one of them. It's HARD. However, I cannot stress how important this is to get someone to give your book a look, second only to the cover. It's 100 to 200 words to tell people why they absolutely have to read it! Don't do a summary of the book either. Feed them tropes, give it a hooky intro, draw them in like flies with honey.

6. Get ARCs (Advanced Reader Copy reviews) through a site like Booksprout or SM like Author Facebook groups. It'll get your book in front of eyes and it's lovely having a bit of feedback and some shiny 4 and 5 star reviews queued and ready when you publish.

7. PUBLISH IT. Flip that pancake as we say in the discord group I'm in. Serve it up, see who's biting and keep that griddle hot to make the next one. It will be even better.

And remember, this book will probably not be THE BOOK. And your first pen name will probably not be the one you retire on. It's okay. Every book will teach you something new about who you are as a writer. You'll grow, you'll get better. I'd rather publish a dozen books that are okay if I'm improving than talk about the ONE I'm going to write someday. It's totally worth giving it a whirl.

For more direct tips, feel free to send specific asks. I'm happy to help anytime :)

[away-ward]

currently thinking about how cool the DN series would have been if it was the girls who had wanted revenge.

Like Corrupt starts with Rika. The horsemen get out of prison and she wants revenge for what they "did" that night. Will was asleep, so his revenge would be less severe, but would he have stopped them? Probably not, so he's included by default. When the issue of who was actually involved is cleared up, the ending is more or less the same. While Michael is distracted with Rika, Trevor, and Will, Kai banishes Damon from Thunder Bay. Kai tells Damon if he ever enters the town's limits again, he'll bury him.

In Hideaway, Banks wants revenge on Kai for banishing her brother. Damon's gone quiet on her, and she thinks that Kai made good on his promise to kill him if he ever came back. Meanwhile, Kai wants to know where Damon is because he's taunting Kai with Natalya's death, and Kai thinks Banks is in on it. The basic mystery around The Pope could still happen, just everyone's motives for being there are slightly shifted, and Banks has more of a reason to mistrust Kai.

In Kill Switch, Winter wants revenge because of the way he played her. Prison wasn't enough; she needs him to break. He thinks she's agreed to marry him to save her family, but at the last second she pulls a switcharoo and marries him off to her awful sister. What follows is a battle of wills as they try to undermine each other until the truth comes out.

Nightfall is a little bit harder to pull off, because Emory doesn't have a strong motive for revenge against Will. I don't think she's upset that he nearly killed her brother (probably more upset that he didn't finish the job but that would have been a much more serious charge for Will and Kai). So Emory comes back after the death of her grandmother to take revenge on Martin. He's got a fancy new job, a new wife - a whole new life for her to vigilante her way through, Taylor Swift style. And Will keeps popping up, like "Remember when you told me you didn't love me and I almost believed you, but then I found out you were being abused and you still didn't want my help, and then I went to prison for beating up your abuser, and you still didn't say thank you? Yeah, I have some questions that you're going to answer." And honestly, he's being annoying but if he's gonna insert himself like he always does, he might as well help. Then, while they're systematically destroying Martin's life, they're able to work out who really sent them to prison (because I guess it still matters somehow?) but that's when Will finds out about the letter. Now he's feeling betrayed, and Emory has to decide if she's going to work it out with him, or let him go. They ultimately decide the revenge is best served to Evans.

Admittedly, the girl's seeking revenge plot gets weaker the further along in the series we get. NF suffers the most from a complete overhaul. I'm sure there's a way to keep the Blackchurch plot while also having Emory being the one seeking revenge, I'm just not sure what her motive would be at that point. I've also been into the idea of the girls coming together because they want revenge on the horsemen for various reasons, and the series follows the girls as they go from cohorts to friends to a true sisterhood or something. Too many of the books focus on the men having these unbreakable brotherhoods and their girls just sort of follow along.

Anyway. Could've been fun.

[taperwolf]

So I often see novel computer keyboard designs, but I hadn't really felt inspired to make my own until now.

See, Hackaday recently ran a piece on Stephen Holdaway's "Unicode Binary Input Terminal", which lets you flip switches to input any Unicode character — by flipping switches to indicate its binary value in UTF-8 encoding.

It displays the character on the little display, and you can then flip another switch to send the character like a keyboard would over USB.

Among the usual comments about how Holdaway should have built the device by using only 555 timers came the suggestion that UTF-8 is unwieldy, and that he should have added even more toggle switches to enter longer bitstreams directly. Now, I don't want to take that tack on it; toggle switches get expensive. But there are other ways to input long sets of binary data!

Years ago, I found this panel in some surplus or thrift shop; I honestly don't remember any more. It's got two sets of eight hexadecimal thumbwheel switches; each one can be set to a hexadecimal "digit" between 0 and F, and the binary pattern of that hexit read off the leads in the back.

(If anyone out there recognizes where this panel originally came from, let me know; it has no other markings besides the visible ones, and the switch banks just each bear a sticker saying they came from the Digitran Company of Pasadena, California, and were probably made in 1972. (Remarkably, Digitran still makes very similar switches — I think there's a military spec for them — though they're presently owned by Electro Switch Corp, and are of the sort that don't list prices on the webpage. For similar devices, Surplus Sales of Nebraska has 6-hexit banks, albeit with shorter numbers, available for $225 each, or slightly taller ones for $15 per hexit and you have to fabricate your own frame.)

At any rate, the switch banks are easily removed from the panel. My plan is to set them in a new panel with a display between them and have a toggle or slider switch to change modes, so you can enter UTF-8 streams (anywhere between eight ASCII characters and a single dual-character-point emoji; the wheels are currently set to display the US flag) or sets of UTF-16 or UTF-32 characters; a final button would again send the character(s) over USB.

I'm currently dithering over how best to implement this. Obviously Unicode isn't going to fit in any of my usual microcontrollers, and the 64 data lines required to read the switches will need some GPIO expanders or shift registers. I do have a couple of unused Raspberry Pi ZeroWs lying around, which would let me leverage Linux font and Unicode handling, and then I could hook it to an Arduino or Teensy to handle the USB part, unless there's an obvious way for a Pi to be a USB client. The display is a similar dither; I've got some small graphical LCDs and a tiny OLED display, and even some e-ink displays that might work for this. Heck, I should see if I can find those dot-matrix VFDs I have somewhere. It's more likely to be a color LCD if I want emoji support, but requirements are flexible right now.

[jungwnies]

partners ✰ 11 i have to tell you something...

masterlist | next

jake laughs to himself and takes yours and his mugs to the kitchen and washes them. he takes the folded blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over you. he turns your tv off and switches off most of the lights, leaving one on so it wasn't too dark in your apartment.

a few hours pass and he has left since, you open your blurry eyes and rub them, then you grab your phone from beside you and look at the time, 3:44am.

"shit." you curse at yourself, as you get up.

you look into the kitchen and see the already washed dishes and laugh to yourself, you click jake's contact and text him a thank you for cleaning and locking up regardless of how late it was when he left.

you make your way to the bathroom and brush your teeth and finally get into bed, sleeping in a proper location.

a few more hours pass and the sound of your 12pm alarm starts blaring in your ears. you grab your phone annoyed and look at your recent notifications then put it back down closing your eyes, your phone vibrates against the wooden nightstand and you groan, grabbing your phone again. you see a text reply from jake saying no problem, and you smile at your phone.

"did i just smile at my fucking phone?" you ask yourself laughing. you reply back and the two of you continue to text throughout the day.

as you make your way back to the dorms a fellow member in the car asks you, "why are you smiling at your phone like that?"

"it's probably jake." miya chimes in teasingly.

you roll your eyes and put your phone down, "it was nothing."

"it was definitely jake." miya teases a little more with a giggle, "y/n seems to be in a good mood, maybe she finally got some."

you hit your member on the arm softly, "why does your mind always go straight to the gutters, i could've been texting soobin or something."

"whenever you text soobin you always have a disgusted look on your face, you never smile for soobin." miya says laughing , "but i'll take your word for it."

– ts

you guys arrive at incheon airport and you text jake letting him know you will probably be on airplane mode for a few hours while you head to tokyo for your official debut in japan.

"okay guys, remember once we arrive we are immediately going to go practice the choreography for the song, make sure to get some rest on the plane." your manager says as you guys find your seats on the plane.

you sit down in your spot and put your headphones on and close your eyes trying your best to get some shut eye.

-ts

you feel a tap on your shoulder and you wake up, "y/n, we're here." miya says as she turns her head to look out the window.

you stretch your arms out and stand up tiredly. the whole group makes their way off the plane and to the baggage area to pick up the luggage, after that you guys make your way outside and see two black vans pull up. your managers instruct you guys to get on, and you quickly make your way to the dance studio.

you take your phone off airplane mode during the ride to the studio and text jake that you've landed and that his efforts in wishing the plane would crash did not work.

– ts

it was finally friday and the day has come where jake has to mc with someone else. you pull out your phone and click the live stream of music bank. he stood beside a member of class:y and you can't help but feel a little jealous, because that is your spot she stands in.

you watch your phone attentively and you can't help but notice the nervousness jake feels through the screen at this moment. the way he spoke, the way he was a little too serious and not so playful. watching this reminds you of your first show with him. on your laptop you scroll through twitter where netizens are talking about the girl and him mc-ing together.

your heart can't help but feel a little glad people noticed their lack of chemistry, although you feel bad that it wasn't going too well it did put a smile on your face that a lot of people miss you and wished you were there.

eventually the show ends and you open your messages to text jake and ask how it's going. to your surprise, he texts you first.

"i realized something today y/n." the text from jake writes.

word count: 792 | thanks for reading!

taglist: @whoisalexis,@baldi2,@giraffeass,@tlnyjoong,@hanienie,@yelleloww,@ghostiiess,@silcry,@reikofruitloops,@aetzensvct,@ohbeomgyu,@xiaoderrrr,@moonshoon,@kimipxl,@lalalalawon,@iea-tsand,@shinsou-rii,@vanillabeanwaffle,@Blkkgirlmagic [open - bolded could not be tagged]

2022 © jungwnies

[hisnowbie2]

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Summary:

¤ You adopted one furry, and one furry is enough, because eversince your history with furry wasn't nice, you still decided why not? Not all furries are the same. Even your friends whined you to have one, since you couldn't pull a boyfriend for youe last 24 years. And so you did adopt one furry, a golden retriever hybrid. Things might not have start out well, but at least it's going to be good in the end, right? ... Right? ¤

Furry You masterlist

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EIGHT : 【 My sugar mummy 】 (0.8k)

Previous | Next

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The fact that now after the meeting, you were told that Jake is walking around your office had you anxious. Hyejin told you that she met him, Dohee lets him in to the floor that your office is at, you are just in critical condition on how to meet him. You remembered in your studies that hybrids don't talk, yet they are able to communication using written or typed out messages. You believed in communication is a key, but now that Jake is a golden retriever hybrid, you had to think through on how to make the first impression better.

Dohee makes her first impression the worst, and you can definitely confirm that, based on the years the both of you have met. The same to Hyejin, at least, not as bad a Dohee. You supposed to think that Hyejin has a similar personality to Jake, and that is how you see when you noticed that you were being added into a group with the girls and Jake. You know Jake is similar to Hyejin's personality, but as you are walking towards your office got you more anxious with every step closer. Hell, you even feel the need to go for a washroom break probsbly for about an hour before forcing yourself to be dragged out. Either way, you are deeply afraid of the outcome.

You had to pursue yourself that everything should be fine, you are placed with Jake for a reason, he should make you feel comfortable.

You reach by your office door, yet can't make an effort to open the door and welcome Jake with open arms. Gosh, is that cringe? Bet it is. You sigh right in front of the closed door and weirdly enough, you grow close, ears attached to the door as you try to listen if of any footsteps inside.

Is... he not in there? You frown and decided to just open a little bit of the door, just trying to take a peek. You see your table, but not enough to see the space in front of your table. You slowly open the door a little bigger, yet a sound alerts you to jolt upwards and push the door harshly at once.

A whimper from your back caused you to overreact, and a turn makes you see who is the creation of the sound.

"Jake?" He tilted his head before nodding happily, hearing that you are calling his name. You can feel your heart beats fast, calming your heartbeat as you breathe in and out calmly before rubbing the back of your neck. "Hi?"

He smiles, runs towards you and force your hand toshake with his. Maybe trying to say hi back, but your sight sensed to your brain that he is trying to say hi, in an overly excited manner.

Typical doggo personality.

You force yourself to smile before switching sights between your office room and him. "Do you wanna, like, go into my office room?"

He nods his head excitedly, and you excused yourself to make way for himself to go into your office room, ending with a door closed from your back as you closed it.

Clearing your throat, he stops looking around and gets the attention to you, tail wagging non-stop.

"So, Jake, it must be hard for you to interact with me and my friends, so I guess you can use your phone to communicate with us?" He barks followed by a nod. You hums and continues. "And also, I am going to France for a work meeting, so..." you take out your bank card out and shove to his palm. "Take it and use it to buy whatever you want and need. I just want to say, Dohee is a good lady. She won't bite you-"

At the sentence that you mentioned Dohee got his tail to stop wagging. You panicked and gave him your honest reason. "Er no no no, Hyejin has to come with me to France and that leaves Dohee attending this company all on her own, so you might see her tomorrow more than us. Look I am so sorry but Hyejin and I has confirmed the meeting schedule and there is no way I can postpone it so-"

Jake barks and it made you stop blabbering your reason. He takes out his phone and type something, only for you to receive a notification after he is done.

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You look up to him, still feeling guilty to leave him with a lady that he probably is afraid of, but the next sentence he sent made you relieve that he actually cares to understand you.

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You smile at how he called them noona, reaching out for his hair and scratch him, earning his comfort face.

"I will be back before the party is held. In the meantime, I told Dohee that she can bring you to malls for a shopping time." You release him and smile. "So use my card, okay?"

He nods excitedly and wags his tail. Gosh he is a cutiepie.

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Taglist:

@dimplewonie @baevsxii

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[sednonamoris]

dear john

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: A year’s worth of letters, never sent.

Warnings: Angst, canon-typical language, epistolary chapter, emotionally constipated idiots

Word count: 1,236

A/N: I think the prior chapter does a lot of legwork for this one, but I really wanted to cover John's missing year in a succinct way that still got across the complicated feelings and hurt that came with it. I'm still deciding the direction the next two or three chapters will go - if we head straight to Blackwater and dig into the game's timeline at last or spend some more time before all that. All this to say the next updates might take a bit longer. If you have anything you really want to see please let me know!!

Series masterlist • AO3

—

Marston,

Goddamn you right to hell you stupid, yellow-bellied bastard. Too much of a coward to even say goodbye. Best friends, was it? Real funny way of showing it to leave me behind like that. A few weeks to clear your head I can understand, but over a month seems an awful long time.

I would have followed you anywhere.

Guess you didn’t care to have me along.

Ghost

—

Dear Marston,

I don’t have an address to post this to, but don’t think I’ll let you off easy. You don’t want to raise this kid? Fine. But you should come home. I miss The gang could use you. Arthur and I got a good lead on a bank but you know how twitchy the trigger fingers are on these Callander boys. 

I am fine, thanks for asking, and so is everyone else. Arthur is even madder than I am, so I wouldn’t expect letters from him anytime soon.

Ghost

—

Dear Marston,

There’s more work to be done between me and Arthur now that you’re not here to share the load. Arthur says you weren’t much help anyhow, but as much as I hate you for leaving we both know that ain’t fair. Tried to hunt rabbit with him the other day and he shot them all full of holes. Pearson almost laughed him out of camp when he went to hand in a brace anyhow. You at least remember to switch your ammo. 

My point is that we could use you, wherever you are. You’re a rotten friend for leaving like that.

Ghost

—

Dear Marston,

It’s awful tiresome being mad at you. I wish you’d come back so I could stop pretending and everything could go back to normal. 

Jack don’t know any better, little as he is, but Abigail misses you about as much as she curses your name. Dutch and Hosea miss you more, and Arthur does too even if he won’t say it. The worst is people who act like you’re dead, not gone. Almost knocked Bill’s teeth out for that the other night. 

I guess what I’m trying to say is that wherever you are I hope you’re happy, because we sure ain’t. 

Ghost

—

Dear John,

Camp’s on the move again. If you ever bother to come back I’m sure you’ll be able to track us, but I had to say it just in case. Like you’re even reading this letter I can’t send. 

The country out this way is even more beautiful than I dreamed. Growing up in a desert gives you a real appetite for green, and these plains go one forever and ever. We passed a river the other day with grey waters - nothing close to San Luis blue. It made me think of you and drowning. When Javier caught my stare he said he’d take me fishing. Maybe I’ll catch some real bass, not like Arthur’s pretend ones two summers ago. 

Ghost 

—

Dear John,

You’ll like our new camp. Everyone does. Even Trelawny crawled out of whatever fancy-pants hole he’s been in to drop a visit. He has a lead on a big blackjack game two towns over. Dutch wants Arthur to play. These little plains towns are small but there’s real money in some of the landowners.

I’ve got my eye on some nice horseflesh but Dutch wants me playing bodyguard just in case. I told him to send Davey instead and got a lecture on trust and family. He gave me that sad look at the end that always means he’s missing you.

Guess I ought to say I miss you too. 

Ghost

—

Dear John,

Sometimes I feel like I’ll never see you again, and other times it’s like you could walk into camp any second, easy as you like. Sometimes I see you in people we pass on the road, or in towns. Sometimes I feel it in my chest that you’re gone, like I’m missing a piece. 

I hope you’ve been safe, wherever you are. Hell, I even hope you have someone watching your back out there. We both know it should have been me, but it’s a little late for that now. 

I think about what I would have said if you’d asked me to come with you some nights that I can’t sleep. This gang is my family. I know I would have gone with you, but I also know I would have regretted it in the end. Maybe it’s better this way. Sure don’t feel like it. 

Your Ghost

—

Dear John,

I haven’t been fair to Abigail at all. Guess I needed you to leave us both to see that. She’s a hard worker and a natural mother and Jack is lucky to have her. I think you were too. Maybe you still are, if she’ll have you.

I caught Arthur making eyes at her across the fire the other night. If Mary Linton’s hurt weren’t so fresh I think he’d let her make an honest man of him.

I don’t know that anyone can make an honest man of you. 

If you ever come back maybe I’ll try. Or at least we can go on being dishonest together. Best friends, right? Since you left these letters have been my friends, and I have to tell you they’re a sorry replacement. 

Ghost

—

The day of John’s return happens just like you said; easy as you please. He rides in on his chestnut mare, one hand on the reins and the other shading his eyes from harsh midafternoon sun. There’s a guilty look shadowed on his face and the shyest smile you’ve seen on that sharp mouth of his.

You want to kill him. You want to kiss him. You settle for a withering glare he has the good sense to cringe from. 

“Where the hell have you been, asshole?”

“Lot of places,” he says, “but I… finally figured it was time to come home.”

Home. 

He says it while looking right at you. 

You should kill him. You should kiss him. But just like that he’s forgiven.

Dutch makes a speech and the gang welcomes him back each in their own way and you think Hosea even starts to cry. Abigail smacks him the second he gets close enough and then kisses him full on the mouth. John looks stunned, holding his face, and Arthur glares, and you still don’t know what to do with yourself. You just sort of stand there while your world tilts on its axis and watch it spin. 

When the night has finally quieted and everyone else has gone to bed you sit at the fire alone and burn the letters. Ink turns to ash. Every bit of love and longing trapped in those pages goes out into the air, smoke on the wind. 

From that smoke John appears, his eyes full of sorrow and regrets and a heartbreaking hope that has your chest in a vice grip. 

You rise slowly, like he’s some wild animal you might spook. Then before you have a chance to react he closes the distance between you and holds you close enough to hurt. In the crush of his embrace it finally registers that you have your friend back. Your best friend. Your John. 

“I really missed you, you know,” he rasps into the fabric of your shirt. 

“I know,” you say through the tears. “I know.”

“I know,” you sniffle through the tears. “I know.”

[vigilantebarbie]

i keep my jealousy close chapter three: i had to stop myself

chapter two

chapter four

Infatuation with a hint of obsession? Adrian knows all about that

"Dude shut the fuck up about this girl! You met her, what, one time? Put that shit in your spank bank so we don't have to hear about it." Chris almost yelled, interrupting Adrian mid-sentence. Adrian hadn't stopped talking about you since that night outside Fennel Fields, driving everyone around him off the wall. It had been tolerable at first, meaning the first hour. It had been two weeks since that day and he would always find a way to bring you into the conversation, based solely on your text conversations. He'd been bummed that you hadn't been able to hang out since that night but your schedules conflicted so much that neither of you had the time. Not that it stopped him from doing patrol in your neighborhood immediately after he got off work. If you didn't have such an early work schedule, you might have noticed the masked weirdo in a kevlar suit lurking around your complex and occasionally, climbing a tree to see into your apartment window. To make sure you were safe, of course. He'd noticed your cat, and your cat had definitely noticed him sitting in that tree.

"Bold of you to assume I haven't already done that," Adrian replied, grinning when everyone voiced their disgust at the thought. "Besides, we're supposed to hang out tonight since I told Sylvia that I'd report her for coming to work high if she didn't switch shifts with me tonight." Weed wasn't illegal anymore so Vigilante couldn't do anything about Sylvia, but not coming to work high had to be some sort of corporate rule. Ignoring Chris' vocal disdain for hearing about you, Adrian went right back to texting you while on his way out for the day.

I just have to go home and shower, workout was really intense today. I'll see you there!

Replying to his text with a soft smile, you went back to focusing on your hair. You'd slept with braids in your damp hair after you showered last night and now your long hair had a controllable wave to it but you didn't want to leave it hanging around your face. Another half-updo would have to do. You were only supposed to be going to the arcade, there was no need to be dressed up. But here you were in a cute little dress, sweater, and your cutest shoes. Your phone screen lit up again, unfortunately, a text from the very same person who had caused you to move to Evergreen. Once again, asking you if you could talk. Normally, you'd have blocked him since you weren't answering. But the desperation was kind of hilarious in the most pathetic way. Swinging your bag over your shoulder on your way out, making sure your keys were in hand before locking your apartment door and heading out to the arcade.

Adrian had beat you to the arcade even with his shower and almost tripped over his own feet when he went to greet you. You were even prettier than he remembered you being and you’d definitely sent a selfie or two during the last two weeks. “Are you ready to get your ass kicked by the arcade master? I sure hope you prepared cuz I’m really good at like, all the games,” He started to ramble again but you didn’t mind it. You didn’t really talk a lot anyway. “I’ve beaten all the claw machines. Those are totes rigged but you gotta know how they’re rigged so you can beat the system.”

You nodded. That made sense, in a way. “But how are you at Dance Dance Revolution? Because I’m actually the queen of that game.” now you were lying. You hadn’t played that game since sixth grade at a birthday party. That was like saying you were good at mini golf, a total lie. “How about whoever has the least amount of tickets at the end of the night has to use them to buy the other person whatever they want with their measly tickets? Like an eraser or one of those dorky little alien things you put on your fingers?” You noticed how he tensed up at the brief mention of aliens, shaking it off like it was just an aversion to them. After all, you were still creeped out by the ones from X-Files.

“Deal, I can’t wait to see what kind of fucking lame eraser you pick out.” He laughed, leading the way to the token machine so you two could play games to your heart's content, all the while hoping you weren’t as good at Dance Dance Revolution as you claimed to be.

The pair of you had been playing for hours, not even close to bored when your phone rang. “Sorry, I thought I turned my do not disturb on when I got here…fucking fuck…I gotta take this.” you were pissed. Your ex had decided to call you and since everyone could hear your loud ass ringtone, you couldn’t ignore it. “I’ll be right back” Rushing outside to talk so you didn’t disturb anyone any further than you had.

Adrian followed, frowning deeply at the way you seemed so distressed by this phone call. “I told you, leave me alone. I don’t want anything from you. Ever again…yes I’m serious!!!! I left for a reason??? You were a dick to me, why would I stay??? Go to hell.” You snapped into the phone before hanging up, shocked to see Adrian standing in front of you looking concerned.

“Everything okay? Don’t lie.” He seemed like he cared. So you told him everything, everything about the shitty relationship you’d left behind you and hoped would have stayed behind when you moved here. About how your ex was bothering you for the last month about getting back together and begging you to come back home. How you’d ignored him until he got pissed off and called. Adrian nodded along while he listened to you vent, calculating a plan in his head to make this guy pay for this. “But don’t worry about him, he doesn’t know where I live now and I’m changing my number soon.”

Biting his tongue to stop himself from saying that he’d kill anyone who ever made you this distressed again, he nodded once more “Cool beans, let’s go back and play some games cuz I’m kicking your ass.” He put his hands on your shoulders, turning you and directing you back inside. Not before noticing your ex’s name on your phone and giving himself a mental reminder to look the guy up. A visit from Vigilante might make him leave you alone. It wasn't like he didn't have a perfectly good reason.

That fucker would pay for making you upset

[doggendoodle]

I keep seeing the funny Corporate Clash cogs from you so I looked into it. How’s it compare with Rewritten? I doooon’t really wanna play both (they’re gonna scratch the same sorta itch) and I’m wondering which you prefer, pros/cons, etc

Like? I’m enjoying the nostalgic vibe of Rewritten being more or less the same as I remembered, down to the dated graphics, but ngl I’m kinda yearning for QoL changes. There’s a loooooot of archaic ideas in Rewritten for the sake of faithfulness that my 🌸 Delicate 2023 Constitution 🌸 chafes against

Well as an aside before I start Clash-shilling, it should be noted that there's currently more QoL updates in the works for Rewritten, with adjustments to parts of the late-game and possibly more I don't know about. So that might be worth waiting for, or at least keeping an eye on.

But more to the point, yeah, I very much enjoy Corporate Clash more than Rewritten. They still share a lot of the same DNA, both being Toontown and all (plenty of grind, a lot of the same areas and NPCs, etc), but Clash is, like, the Xenoblade 2 to Rewritten's Xenoblade Definitive Edition. As for pros and cons of switching to Clash, that's under the read more.

Con: community is a lot more niche outside of Tumblr.

Most people who play Toontown nowadays play on Rewritten, in no small part because it's literally the game that originated the term "rewritten" for fan-run private servers of shuttered MMOs. You're a Zero Escape fan, so you get it - small but very passionate fandom that occasionally catches a few passersby for a little.

Pro: a ton of quality of life improvements.

Much larger jellybean jars and banks, and you can get jellybeans from every activity, even fighting Cogs. Once you unlock a third Gag track you get the ability to refund and switch tracks on the fly for free, and you keep all the Gag XP you had in the track whe you switch back. You can save up to 20 Outfits from your Shtickerbook, too, for quick changes.

Neutral: game is a lot more complex and gets a lot harder in the endgame, but has a lot more strategic depth.

Owing to the additions of Manager Cogs, a new level of Gags, the entirely new Zap Gag, higher level Cogs, revamped bosses, cooldowns for every boss reward, and every Gag working at least a little differently than in TTO/TTR, there's a lot to learn and re-learn.

The Clash Wiki has strategies listed for every boss, and the addition of groups last year makes it possible to co-ordinate Gag choices before entering bosses - and you'll need that co-ordination, especially for the harder Kudos manager boss fights.

Neutral: the progression system is completely overhauled.

Instead of doing random Toontasks in each playground to build up your Gag track with a few full task chains for Gag pouch, jellybean jar, Gag and Laff upgrades, there's a more traditional level and experience point system that fills up as you complete tasks and fight Cogs, and leveling up is tied directly to progression. Side activities like Fishing and Golfing have their own, smaller experience gauges, and you still earn Laff by filling them.

Neutral: tied to the above, the way tasks work is also completely redone.

Now you have one Toontask that is perpetually dedicated to the core story until you reach the (current) end, with every task in that story being custom-made rather than random. You visit the playgrounds in the same order as in TTO/TTR, with the additions of an entirely new medieval-themed playground and a massively-overhauled Acorn Acres along the way, and the locations of the Cog HQs are moved around so that you visit and complete each one as part of your first visit to the playground (they're also rebalanced to account for the different levels you take them on at).

Each playground also has a few Sidetasks, which are optional but reward you with things like Nametags, clothes, and teleport access to each playground - if you only do one Sidetask from each playground, make sure it's the one that gets you teleport access. You can see what the reward for each Sidetask is on the relevant page in the Shtickerbook, as well as where you have to go to start it.

And, once you complete the story in a playground, you unlock the Kudos Board for that playground, which takes the place of Just for Fun tasks while also doubling as the method by which you unlock each playground's Kudos Manager boss fight.

Con: the shopkeeps are jerks.

A lot of the shopkeepers you interact with as part of tasks are rude. Like, really rude, for no good reason. Not "deliberately stop playing to avoid helping them" rude, but it's definitely A Choice.

Pro AND Con: the Cogs get a lot of love. Like, a disproportionate amount.

As you've probably gleaned by how much art of the Cogs I reblog compared to the Toons, one of Corporate Clash's selling points is how much it focuses on bringing the Cogs closer to the Toons thematically. Whereas in the original Toontown Online they were deliberately more serious and lifeless to emphasize their robotic nature, Corporate Clash makes them closer to, like, Captain Planet-style cartoon capitalists, as well as giving Cogs as a species a lot more personality and backstory as a whole.

In most respects this is fantastic - it makes the gameplay experience a lot more fun, and it allows the Clash team to really flex their creative chops while expanding on TTO. However, the downside is that the Cogs sometimes get a lot more focus than the Toons do. This is something they're aware of and actively curb whenever it rears its head, though. On the whole this is definitely more of a pro than a con.

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

So, on the whole, Clash is quite a lot different from Rewritten, despite being its younger sibling. Plenty of people do play both, to get the nostalgia from Rewritten and the novelty from Clash, but personally I prefer the latter.

Have a dancing Chip, and have a good day!

[lightsburnbrite]

The Love You Want: Part 3

I was sitting at my desk preparing the morning's market reports for my boss when my phone pinged with an instagram notification. Leon had posted a picture of what I assumed to be a post workout or training meal. I laughed to myself, unable to resist giving him a hard time over his lack of culinary prowess. After some gentle ribbing, Leon challenged me to do better and I happily took him up on it. Of course he didn't know that Alex liked when I made meals for him so I busied myself with cooking classes in London.

We had arranged that he would come and pick me up and I'd make dinner for the two of us. I stopped at the market on my way home for a few things and then changed into something comfy. After taking Greta on her walk and making sure she was set for the evening, I waited for Leon.

After hearing a knock at the door, I opened it to find Leon leaning against the frame with a smirk on his face. "You look cute today."

"Nice try." I handed him the bag to carry. "But flattery won't work on me."

I heard him laugh as  walked to the passenger side door. "What? I can't give you a compliment now?"

“Not entirely convinced it’s genuine, but whatever.” I shrugged as I fastened my seatbelt, deliberately keeping my eyes focused on the road in front of us.

I saw Leon smirk again from the corner of my eye before he cleared his throat. “So how was your day? I know you work for a bank but I don’t remember what it is that you do.”

I couldn’t help but smile when he said he didn’t remember. Truth is, he never knew what I did. “Well, when I first started, I was involved in wealth management. When I got married and quit, I was a financial advisor. Now, since I’ve been out of the field for almost four years, they suggested that I work my way back in so I’m a personal assistant to an investment banker. I do boring things like read market reports, schedule meetings, make reservations, take messages. So basically, my day is very tedious."

He frowned. "Have you thought about switching jobs?"

"Right now," I hesitated for some reason. "I'm mainly focused on getting settled. Then I can start figuring out my other options. Alex helped me set up a little non profit where I helped low income women with budgeting and savings plans. I enjoyed that but I don't know if I'd be able to replicate that here."

This time he shrugged as he pulled into his parking space. "Well, you never know."

Once we were inside and he led me to the kitchen, he turned with a grin, clasping his hands together. "Alright, what are we having?"

"Salmon with asparagus and baby potatoes." I handed him a bottle of wine. "But you'll have to wait until it's done to see how I fix it. Here, this needs to chill."

I got to work, slicing the filet into two equal portions, trimming the asparagus, and slicing the potatoes. Not thinking anything of it, I had taken a few pictures during the prep work and posted them to my instagram account.

“Ok, have you ever juiced a lemon before?” I called Leon back over and he raised an eyebrow at my question.

He laughed albeit uncertainly. “Like, squeezing one?”

“Yes, but,” I pulled him next to me. “Here, we’ll slice it, then kinda cup your hand around the sliced side and then squeeze it. You want to catch the seeds in your hand.”

Once he had juiced the whole lemon, he smiled proudly. “Not so bad.”

“See? Now we’re going to chop some shallots, and then mince some rosemary, thyme, and parsley.” I could only laugh at the look he gave me so I figured I’d be doing that myself. I showed him how to gather everything with a bench scraper and put it in the same bowl as the lemon juice. “And then, we’ll add this to some melted butter which then goes over everything. Can you add some salt and pepper to the salmon first?”

Leon watched me as I spooned the butter mixture over everything and placed the pan in the oven. “Ok, how do you know how to do this?”

“I did take some classes back in London,” I moved him to the side with my hip so I could get to the sink. “But once you have the basics, it’s just practice and then following a recipe plus adjusting it to suit your individual taste.”

He gave a little nod in acknowledgment. “Still, I’m impressed.”

We both looked in the direction of the front door where we had just heard a knock. Leon had a puzzled look on his face as he wasn’t expecting anyone but I stayed put.

"What is she doing here? What's going on?"

I froze as soon as I heard Lara's voice. Her tone was nothing short of irritated and it caught Leon off guard. She had pushed past him and was obviously looking for me. I didn't think me cooking Leon dinner was a big deal but obviously she was following me via instagram and she was put out. It only took a moment for me to come up with an idea to salvage the evening. For Leon, anyway.

"Lara, hi!" I walked over, wiping my hands on a dish towel. "Leon wanted to tell you, but I thought it would make a nice surprise. I took a lot of cooking classes when I lived in London so I helped him with dinner for the two of you tonight. It's in the oven and just about finished so my work here is done. Oh, and there's a Sauvignon Blanc chilling in the fridge to go with dinner. Enjoy!"

Leon's eyes were wide but he recovered quickly. "You're, um, ok to get home then?"

"Yep." I smiled brightly, hoping not to give anything away as I put my coat on. "Absolutely!"

Once outside, I put one earbud in, making sure it was on transparency mode, and pulled my hat down over my ear so passers by wouldn't notice. I put my address into maps and had the voice navigation give me directions by foot. After about two hours I made it home, kicking myself for being too stubborn to take an uber.

"Right." I slumped down on the sofa, talking to myself. "Get your shit together."

Greta cocked her head to the side making me laugh. "Yeah, I know. It was stupid of me to think that I'd move here and we would get together just like that. Maybe I should take a step back and adjust my expectations."

I changed into a hoodie and some joggers, made a packet of instant ramen and parked myself on the sofa with the latest Matthias Schweighöfer film on Netflix. I was only half paying attention when I saw my phone screen light up. 

I am acknowledging the effort you went through to make our meal but I am becoming increasingly uncomfortable with your friendship with my partner. I would appreciate it if you would respect this boundary and not attempt to contact Leon any more.

I snorted as I tossed the phone next to me on the sofa. I'd definitely be taking a step back, then.

In a way, it was better for me to stop worrying about what Leon was thinking or where he wanted things to go with us. Once I realized there was no "us", I was able to fully concentrate on myself and let myself get acclimated to living in a new city.

I bought myself a nice little BMW X5 and made friends with some coworkers my age. There were a couple others that were divorced as well so we bonded over that. I even didn't throw myself a pity party when my mother asked if I would be ok with her spending Christmas with her sister in Lake Como. I spent Christmas alone and I was quite pleased with how content I felt. 

I had largely ignored his calls and his texts, giving only one word responses when I did reply. When things began to taper off, I figured either Lara talked to him or he got the message. 

Coming home from work one day, I stood in my bedroom and sighed. I could easily call up someone from work and meet them for dinner but I didn’t feel like going back out. Cooking for one always left me with more food than I could eat and it felt wasteful so the whole process became discouraging. I decided to take Greta for a walk and hoped that inspiration would strike.

I stepped out the front door and stopped in my tracks when I saw Leon leaning against his car. "Hi."

"Hey," Leon smiled with a little bit of a raised eyebrow. "Do yo have a minute?"

Holding up Greta's leash, I shrugged. "If you don't mind walking."

He nodded and joined me as I started walking toward the park. "Did I do something wrong?"

"What do you mean?" Of course I knew what he was talking about but I figured it wouldn't hurt for him to be more specific.

He shrugged as if he didn't need to explain any further. "You haven't spoken more than a few words to me, I thought I'd see you at Christmas but you never came home. I felt like we were in a really good place but…was I misreading things?"

"You didn't do anything wrong," I let my arm brush against his. "But you need to talk to Lara."  

Leon stopped and faced me this time. "Does this have something to do with when she came over?"

"She sent me a message saying that..here." I pulled out my phone, queueing up the message she sent me.

He handed my phone back while shaking his head. "I know that you were trying to be helpful when you left and I honestly don't know what else you should have done, but I wanted to have dinner with you, not her."

"I'm just trying to avoid causing any unnecessary drama for you." I kept my attention on Greta because I couldn't look at him.

He let out a heavy sigh. "Yeah, but you shouldn't have to. She doesn't get to decide who I can and cannot have in my life. If she's uncomfortable with you, that's her problem, not yours." 

"Ok, well," I stopped a few steps ahead of him. "I don't know what you want me to do then."

"You don't have to do anything. We just continue on like normal."

I didn't really have a response to that. By this time we made it back to my apartment and Leon came inside with me. With my fingers pressed to my temples, I shook my head. "Just continuing on like normal isn't an option, though. Either we do and Lara gets pissed off at me or we pretend like I never moved here and Lara is happy."

Leon flopped down on the sofa and held his hand out for me to join him but I pretended like I didn't see and he eventually let it rest on his thigh. "I guess I don't understand why you care so much about what Lara thinks."

"Because I've been in that position. Alex had an assistant that I'm pretty sure he was sleeping with." I couldn't look at him by this point. I went to the counter and busied myself with the kettle.

"Yeah, but," He let out a little laugh. "We're not sleeping together so it's not like she has anything to worry about."

Pinching the bridge of my nose as I leaned into the counter, I felt myself sigh. "That's something you need to discuss with her. I've got an early meeting in the morning so I was just going to call it a night…"

I didn't like lying to him but I also couldn't take any more of this conversation. I just wanted to move on.

"Ellie, come on." He started to plead but must have realized it wasn't going to work. Leon stood and met me in the kitchen. "Alright, but next time I call you, please pick up."

Leon ruffled my hair before letting himself out and I turned off the kettle, opting for wine instead.

I woke up early the next morning with the starting of a migraine. I got my eye mask from the freezer and took one of my emergency tablets and waited to see if I needed to call out from work. Any slight shift in atmospheric pressure used to knock me out for the whole day but I finally found a doctor that took me seriously and he started me on a daily preventative with a dissolvable emergency medicine when I felt one coming on. Part of me wanted to call out anyway but I also knew I had just started and wasn't sure of how it would look, calling out so soon.

I was able to fall back to sleep and when my alarm actually went off, I felt well enough to hop in the shower. I had friends back in London who had elaborate skin care regimens but I couldn't be bothered to do much more than a cleanser, a moisturizer and sunscreen. After a little eye liner and mascara, that was the extent of effort that I was willing to put into the morning. 

My migraine medicine left me feeling foggy and it was all I could do to make it to my lunch break.

"Hey!" Serena came up to my desk on the way out for her break. "Any plans tonight?"

I shrugged but raised an eyebrow thinking she was probably going to tell me what I would be doing later.

"Good." She flashed a grin. "My boyfriend's little brother is in town and I was thinking we could do a double date."

I tilted my head, starting to protest. "Little brother?"

"Younger brother." She corrected herself. "But he's like 24, not a total kid."

I hesitated, momentarily, before agreeing. What could it hurt? I'd met Serena's boyfriend and handful of times and he seemed like a nice guy. Not exactly my type but if I didn't like his brother, I wasn't really out anything. 

Serena grinned. "Fantastic. We've got reservations at Tantris, Kai is staying with us so we'll swing by and pick you up."

It was times like these that I appreciated Alex's expensive taste. Outside of the office, I leaned towards more casual apparel but with Alex, we attended many events where the dress code was black tie or close to it. One of my favorite dresses was a black long sleeved mini dress that  was a soft and stretchy material. It was completely plain so I could add whatever accessories that I wanted and the length hit me just right so it made my legs look elegantly long when I wore pointed toe stilettos.

They came to pick me up and I slid into the back seat and instantly knew I had made the right decision. My date for the evening, Kai, was definitely attractive. He had kind eyes and dark brown hair that just covered his ears and he smiled as soon as he saw me.

We made small talk in the back seat but we both acknowledged that there was chemistry between us and although the dinner was enjoyable, we both had other things on our mind. I found out he was a photographer and he lived in Berlin so there wasn’t any long term potential but a quick rebound would do me good and help me get over my feelings for Leon. 

We barely made it through the front door before we had our hands all over each other. I had my eyes closed, my hand resting on the back of his neck while he continued to kiss me. Kai moved forward, a subtle nudge for me to move to the sofa, his hand at the hem of my dress, fingers finding their way up my outer thigh. With a natural inclination to tense as soon as someone new was starting to explore my body, I began looking for a distraction to help me relax and soon found that running my fingers through his hair gave me something to focus on.

I was just thinking of moving us to my bedroom when I heard someone at the front door. As soon as he heard the knock, Kai leapt up like we were two teenagers about to get caught.

"It's fine," I stood and pulled the hem of my dress down to a more modest length. "Just give me a minute to get rid of whoever it is.”

When I opened the door and saw Leon on the other side, I groaned out of frustration. "What?"

"I need to talk to you." Leon moved to walk around me and come inside, but I stepped in his path. 

"Now isn't a good time." I moved closer to him, hoping he couldn't see Kai. "Just call me later or something."

When I actually looked at him, he looked exasperated.

He sighed. "Ellie, please. Five minutes. That's all I'm asking." 

"Um, " Kai put his hand on my shoulder causing me to turn towards him. "Looks like this is a bad time. I'll see you around, I guess." 

"Kai, wait-" I called out after him but he kinda waved me off as he walked off down the street.

Furious, I turned back to Leon, glaring at him. "What do you want from me? Do you expect me to just lurk in the shadows until you decide that you're ready? I'm not allowed to live my life because maybe, maybe you have feelings for me? For fuck's sake, we're almost 30. If you don't know how you feel about me yet then it's not there and you need to let it go. You need to let me go."  

By this point, I couldn't stop myself from crying. I was so angry and frustrated that I no longer had any words.

"I know." He spoke softly as he stepped closer. "I'm such an idiot."

I just stared at him for what seemed like ages, trying to comprehend what he was saying.

"I love you, Elle.”

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev. || AO3 || My Website

Gerard knocks twice, then cautiously eases open the door between the two adjoining rooms. Gertrude sits at the small, wobbly table in the corner, papers spread across it and her laptop in front of her, a cigarillo dangling from her lips and an intent look on her face.

“Gerard,” she greets him without looking up from her work. “How’s your head?”

“Best you’ve ever had,” Gerard quips as he steps through and closes the door behind him.

“I find that extremely difficult to believe. I’ve known some very talented men in my time.” Gertrude glances up to look at him over her glasses with one raised eyebrow. Gerard isn’t sure whether to laugh or gag. “I also don’t believe for a moment that you’re interested in women.”

“You’re not a woman. You’re a force of nature.” Gerard reaches into his pocket and pulls out his pack of cigarettes. He’s down to his last two; Woodbines don’t seem to be available in Overall Patches, Oklahoma, population would be twelve but Earl’s out getting petrol, so he’s going to have to either switch brands, at least temporarily, or stop smoking until he gets back to London. Actually, that might be the better option. It’s only a couple of months, he can do that. Maybe. “Can I borrow your lighter?”

Gertrude tosses it to him and waits for him to light up before going back to her work and asking, “Is your headache better?”

Gerard nods. “Yeah, the rest helped, thanks. What time is it?”

“Late,” Gertrude says, which isn’t remotely helpful. In the year and a half he’s been Gertrude’s helper—servant really, if he’s being honest—he’s learned two things: that her internal clock runs on Greenwich Mean Time regardless of where she is in the world, and that every task is urgent and immediate. When she says late, she could mean it’s close to midnight here, or she could mean it’s close to midnight in London but barely past dark here, or she could mean the plane she wanted to take to their next destination is closing its doors after boarding as they speak and this is somehow Gerard’s fault.

He decides he’s still too tired to bother guessing. “Late as in ‘all the restaurants are closed’, or late as in ‘the late great Harry Houdini, Avatar of the Spiral’?”

The look she gives him this time lingers, giving him the full force of her exasperation. Gerard is well aware that she could easily kill him, and probably will when she’s done with him, but right now he’s banking on her needing him too much to slit his throat and leave his body under the mattress, even if this is the kind of place where that probably happens once a week. “Houdini never encountered any of the Fourteen.”

“Knew him personally, did you?”

“It’s half past two in the morning, Central Daylight Time.” Gertrude shifts her cigarillo to the other hand and exhales heavily. “I’ve booked our tickets for Washington. I don’t believe there will be much to discover there, but I do want to see if there have been any new developments.”

Gerard tries to remember if she’s said anything about Washington before, then remembers. “The Usher Foundation, right?”

“Washington State. Not D.C. There are one hundred twenty-seven geographic regions in the United States named in some way after George Washington. Those in power are somewhat prone to romanticizing the past and ancestor worship.”

“Can’t think of any other nations like that,” Gerard says dryly. “Except maybe all of them.”

Gertrude rubs her forehead. “We’ll be flying into the Seattle airport, but our actual destination is something of a drive from there.”

“And…we’re looking for what, exactly? You said new developments. Is Seattle, Washington somehow important to the Unknowing?”

“Seattle, Washington is important to very little,” Gertrude says dryly. “But there is a town about an hour away that was the intended site of the Sunken Sky.”

Gertrude’s tone of voice isn’t particularly ominous—she utters those two words with the same weight as the rest of her statement—but the chill that runs up Gerard’s spine and the way his stomach twists itself into knots tells him that it’s probably something to be afraid of. And the fact that the eyes tattooed on his shoulders, and only the ones on his shoulders, suddenly feel like someone is pressing a hot compress to them tells him what that something is. “Does that…have something to do with the Buried?”

“Very good, Gerard,” Gertrude says, and she does actually sound a bit impressed. “The Sunken Sky is, or was, I suppose, the Buried’s ritual.”

Gerard almost swallows his cigarette.

Several responses come to his mind, at least half of which are profanity, but he can’t spit any of them out just yet, mostly because he’s too busy coughing and choking. Also panicking. That’s one entity he’s been incredibly thankful they’ve not encountered since he’s been working with Gertrude, but if she wants to walk straight into a ritual, for God’s sake…

“The Buried?” he finally chokes out. “We’re going to encounter the Buried? Fuck that.”

“We will be extremely unlikely to encounter it,” Gertrude assures him. “I was able to disrupt the Sunken Sky, let me see, six years ago. It should be quite some time before it can be attempted again. I simply want to see how much power the Buried has regained since then.” She considers for a moment. “Not that it’s likely to make another attempt in the same spot, but still.”

“Wait. Wait.” Gerard’s brain is beginning to catch up with the conversation, and he doesn’t like it. “Are you telling me it’s not just the Stranger? The Buried has a ritual as well?”

Gertrude looks slightly exasperated. “Of course. All of the Fourteen have rituals. Did you really think it was only the Stranger that wanted to come into our world?”

When she puts it like that, it makes sense. It does not, however, make Gerard feel any better. “So, what, they all just take turns? Go in some kind of order?”

“Hardly. I would imagine devotees of all the entities are constantly working to bring their masters through.” Gertrude takes another drag on her cigarillo. Gerard kind of wants to take it out of her fingers and bury it between her eyes.

“How can you be so calm about this?” he demands. “You’re telling me we’re focusing on turning back the Unknowing while some other entity could just swoop in and come through first?”

“Really, Gerard, what do you take me for, a fool?” Gertrude asks, glaring at him over her glasses.

Gerard doesn’t back down. “Yes. Next question.”

She ignores him, as she’s wont to do. “We are focusing on the Unknowing because it is, from my research, the nearest to completion. It is also the one I am most sure of the…shape it will take, and if I am correct, it will be the most destructive of the rituals even if it fails. We need to delay it as much as possible.” She shrugs. “Besides. Most, not all, of the other Fourteen have tried in relatively recent years. I told you, it can take centuries to build up enough power to attempt to bring one of the Fourteen fully into our world.”

“How do you know they’ve tried?”

“Because I’ve disrupted them, of course.”

“Of course.” Gerard takes another drag on his cigarette, hoping it’ll calm his nerves, and turns this information over in his mind for a moment.

Actually, knowing that particular fact makes a lot of things make much more sense. They’ve all heard the stories about the Archivist, and the more he’s traveled with her, the more he’s come to realize they aren’t exaggerated—if anything, they’re understated. Gerard’s desire to keep Martin and Melanie as far away from Gertrude as possible has been as much rooted in his fear that she’ll see Martin, with his Beholding powers that get stronger by the day, as something to be eliminated with ruthless efficiency as it is in his fear that they’ll get themselves killed trying to help. Knowing that she’s actually got a purpose, that she’s just trying to keep any one of the Fourteen from coming fully into this world and taking it over…that actually makes him relax somewhat. It doesn’t change the danger they’ll be in from her if she does find out about them and try to recruit them to help—especially Martin, who’s already part of the Institute; the last thing he wants is for her to decide she needs an official assistant and requisition him from the library—but at least she’s not likely to think Martin a monster and destroy him.

After all, she’s not a Hunter.

“I believe they’re all set to happen relatively close to one another,” Gertrude continues. She flicks the ash off the end of her cigarillo in the direction of the ashtray. “The Dance is coming up sooner than I would like, but it’s been over a hundred and fifty years since it was last attempted. The Dark’s ritual is in the works, I’m sure, but it hasn’t been gathering as quickly as the Stranger, so I believe there’s still time. I’ve not found any details on a ritual for Terminus—I’m not altogether certain there is one. And from what we’ve found here, the Hunt doesn’t seem keen to start the Eternal Chase anytime soon.”

“You’ve disrupted the other ten, then?”

“Well. Eight of them, at any rate. I believe the Pu Songling has some information on the Risen War, so I’ve asked Zhang Xiaoling to forward on a few statements that may tell us more—they’ll be waiting for us in Chicago, I hope, which is our next stop after Bucoda. The Rite of the Watcher’s Crown is still upcoming as well.”

Gerard stills. As evenly as he can, he says, “I beg your pardon?”

Please don’t let it be what it sounds like. Please don’t let it be what he thinks it is. Please. Please.

“The Rite of the Watcher’s Crown,” Gertrude repeats. She doesn’t sound particularly concerned. “I’ve no idea when it will occur, come to think of it, but I’m prepared to disrupt it as well.” She snorts. “At any rate, I won’t be a part of it.”

The last of Gerard’s hope rolls itself into a ball and dies. “It’s the Eye’s ritual.”

Gertrude nods sharply. “Correct. It’s nothing to concern yourself with at the moment. As I said, I’ve already got preparations in place for that, and we need to focus on the Unknowing.”

“Yeah.” Gerard stares at the end of his cigarette. Dimly, he wonders which of the Fourteen the fear currently unfolding in his chest belongs to.

Because all of his fears about Martin’s safety, should Gertrude ever meet him, return seven times over. Martin—bright, shining Martin—is Marked at least as heavily as a lot of the other things they’ve encountered. Whatever the Rite of the Watcher’s Crown is, and it’s obvious Gertrude has no interest in explaining right now, he’s likely to be swept up in it, willingly or unwillingly.

No. No, not willingly. Martin has dedicated years of his life to slowing the influence of the Fourteen on the world and protecting people from them, even without knowing about the rituals. He’d sooner scoop out his own eyes and burn them in one of their Leitner pots than willingly assist in reshaping the world for any of the Fourteen to take it over.

But what if he doesn’t know he’s doing it? And what if he just gets too close and gets caught in it without his consent?

Gerard swallows hard. He’ll have to pry the details out of Gertrude at some point. Maybe once they’re back in London he can ask again, or sneak a look at her notes or something. He needs to find out the details, because he needs to be able to warn Martin, keep him safe. Probably Melanie, too, if he’s being honest. Not that she’s as tightly bound to the Eye as Martin, but she’s in it enough, and there’s still a risk. Especially if she puts herself out there to try and deflect its attention from Martin.

It does, though, make him reconsider his promise. He hates himself for it, but he cannot introduce Martin and Melanie to Gertrude until he knows for sure what the Rite of the Watcher’s Crown is and what will be needed for it. He can’t risk her taking Martin out rather than chance him starting it off, with or without his knowledge. The best thing he can do for them is to keep them well away from her. Or so he tells himself.

He also can’t linger over this for too long or she’ll get suspicious, and if she gets suspicious she’ll try to compel him to tell her what he’s thinking so hard about. And even setting aside the fact that he knows she hates doing that, and she’ll remind him of that and ask him why he can’t just be honest with her without making her go that far and he’ll have to apologize a thousand times and it’ll make his headache come back and God, he hates that he’s once again trapped under the thumb of a woman who puts him through this exhausting level of mental gymnastics—even setting all that aside, he definitely does not want her to know what he’s thinking about right now.

“But this…Sunken Sky thing,” he says instead. “That’s definitely done with? I can’t get too close to the Buried. It won’t let me leave alive this time.”

It’s the right thing to say, because he sees the flicker of interest in Gertrude’s eyes. Call him fucking Scheherazade, because he’s just bought himself a little more time before she discards or kills him. “You can tell me about that later. After we’ve left Washington. I don’t believe there will be much of the Buried remaining there, but I suppose there’s always a risk.” She stubs out her cigarillo. “I want to see how much power has gathered there since I disrupted the ritual. It may give us some indication of how long it takes to rebuild, on average, and that may give us a better idea of how long we have to turn back the Unknowing.”

“Sounds great,” Gerard says. “When do we leave?”

“Our flight departs in two hours.”

“That doesn’t give us much time to get to the airport. Or to get through the security checkpoints once we arrive.”

“No. So I would suggest you gather your things. Quickly. We need to check out immediately.”

Luckily for her, Gerard is used to this. Old habits die hard. He walks into the other room and unplugs his phone—the only thing he’s taken out of his bag since lying down. There’s a text from Melanie, sent in their group chat several hours ago. [Trim your feeble lamps, my brothers.]

Christ, is that today? Gerard checks the date, and yes, it’s the twenty-third of September. As he looks, a reply comes through from Martin. [Let your lower lights be burning.]

Gerard quickly taps out his own response: [Send your gleam upon the waves.] That done, he switches his phone off and stows it in his bag along with the charger, feeling slightly guilty that he isn’t explaining things further to them. They understand…he hopes…or they will someday.

Oh, Martin, Melanie, I’m so sorry.

He slings his bag over his shoulder, palms the room key, and steps back into the other room, where Gertrude is still gathering her papers back into their folder. She looks up, evidently startled; he looks her dead in the eye and lies. “I’m ready.”

[penaltybox14]

Adam-12 Ficlet

Switching fandom gears, a post-ep for “The Search”.

...

Jim's never liked it, the fussing, the rule-bending, the folks who cover their tab at a restaurant or suggesting he could slip the line at the DMV or the bank, just because he's a police officer.  It makes him flush and mumble, that it's his job, it's only his job, he doesn't want special treatment, he just wants to do his job.  Pete doesn't like it either, but he's smoother in his refusals, he lets them down gently, he smiles, he winks and tips the waitress extra.  Jim wants to be like that, sometime, he hopes he will be, but Pete shakes his head like he knows, Jim is always going to be a soft-hearted boy with a high-school sweetheart and suburban dreams.

But he's working second-shift, the PM watch, and falling right smack dab in the middle are the hospital visiting hours and the nurses, thank goodness for the nurses, they give him a knowing look and they let him in, when the ward is still, when all the bustle is contained, and he can sit and bite his lip and tell Pete about his days, about being partnered with Wells, which drives him batty, about old Verna Monroe yelling at John Turner about her garden-gnomes and how she swears he keeps setting them further and further into her yard and he says she's never respected the property line, but they're not really angry, not really. 

A girl named Betty from Ohio turned up at the station, a runaway, said her momma told her she couldn't stay, she was too pretty and too hungry to stay, so here she went, out to California.  Betty had dishpan hands, the cuticles cracked, and she had an old army medic bag for a purse and blue jeans that had flowers embroidered on them.  Blushed when she said she'd done them herself.  She'd won ribbons at the county fair, in her age group, back home.  In Ohio. 

A boy not yet tall enough for his sneakers to touch the ground sitting on a park bench had shot a bird with his father's gun, in anger and in woe, and cried, great whooping sobs with his hands fisted in his hair.  A boy who didn't know how to ask for help, who didn't want to go home anymore. 

Six teenagers crammed in an green rambler coupe took a turn too hard and too sharp at three in the morning, and two of them never left the roadside.

Jimmy asks about uncle Pete.

"I don't know what to tell him," Jim says, at the bedside where Pete, at last, breathes on his own, his shoulders no longer dewed every hour with the sweat of the sick, his face less pale, less drawn, his eyes now and again open.  The droplets in the little chamber from the intravenous bag are perfect and regular, like the tears on some miraculous statue in a grotto somewhere far away and holy.  They had to tie his arm down, where the line was, and then his other arm.  "I told him you were hurt, and he looked at me - " Jimmy has his mother's eyes, round and piercing, " - and said your mommy should put the iodine on it and give it a kiss."  And Jimmy had gone back to playing with his cars, with the unsettling seriousness of a small child at a small child's work. 

Pete, downy-eyed with the drugs, smiles.  His voice is still rough, thin, breaks and grows tired.  He's stopped spitting clots of scabby blood and snot, but he swallows often, as if his body remembers the tube, and watches sentry on the door for the doctors to come back with it.  The nurses assured him, of course, that Pete knew nothing in his morphine sleep, while they patchworked his damaged insides back together, the way you might build a coffer to fix a dam, breaking it up to let the life and the blood flow back in.  Takes time, for the life to come in, for the sediment and silt to settle back.  The doctors seemed to have given him enough penicillin to cure the French Foreign Legion of VD.  He might live forever. 

He might live.  He would live.  Jim knew that, didn't he?  All night long, he drove, he bucked Mac's orders and Mac, on the whole of it, couldn't put the weight of anger behind his authority, because Pete might live, would live, was alive, down there beyond the curve of the road, on the cold grown, where a little longer and the night might've gobbled him up.  Mac had given him a look and said: you weren't supposed to go back down there.  Jim had looked down at the corridor tiles, brown and brown, the seams more uneven than he had ever noticed before.  And Mac had said, you know, since the wars, these surgeons, they're top flight.  They've got this down.  A little fender bender, that's nothing, to these guys who've seen combat. 

Yes, sir. 

In the movies, the good guys wake up in their beds to a crowd of yearning voices, arms, and happy tears.  They sit up and they grin and they shuck off their sickness no matter how long, and you see them with a little hobble, a little crutch.  Everybody's happy.  Everybody's going to be okay. 

Jim had not known that a man so still could look so much at war.  Every night like a refugee Pete comes closer to the world.  Every night Jim comes and sits and tells him about his days.  Pete opens his eyes.  He talks.  Like a sunflower-eyed runaway, clutching a suitcase, his sentences fragment in wonderment at the movement of his tongue and he rests again, lidded and half-still.

Jim stops.  Thinking Pete is asleep again. 

"Partner?"

"Hm?"

"Why'd you stop talking?"

"Thought you were asleep.  Sorry."

"Don' be sorry.  Keep talking.  Ok?"

Like the single lamp in the nurses' station, soft, in need of a new bulb, there is a vulnerability in Pete's voice that catches him in some deep place that doctors don't have a word for yet. 

"Okay," Jim says.  And tells him.  About his long days.