#Yankees Rumors

[thefauxsport]

Who said baseball isn't dangerous?

[zibanejad]

“2019 was five years ago!” Please stop talking.

[gerritcole-coded]

If Judge does end up going to the Giants, can you imagine the utter chaos when the Yankees open at home against the Giants in 2023?

[roosterforme]

Something to Talk About | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley knew the rumors were circulating. He knew his friends were talking. But he had known you for such a long time, and you were just friends. Because if something was going to happen between the two of you, it would have happened by now. Right?

Warnings: Fluff and swearing

Length: 1900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written for a request. And also because mak-32 said Rumor by Lee Brice would make a good fic. Check out my masterlist for more!

"Hey, Bradshaw, where's your girl?" Jake asked with a smirk. "Haven't seen Yankee all night, and it's getting late."

Bradley shot him some side eye from his stool near the pool table. "She's not my girl. And as far as I know, she went out for dinner with some guy she met at the gym."

"At the gym on base?" Nat shook her head and laughed. "You know how those Navy guys are, Rooster. They only want one thing." 

Bradley rolled his eyes. "She can take care of herself."

"Hey, Payback," Nat called out. "Why do you go to the gym on base?"

"Pick up girls," Reuben replied without hesitation from the other side of the pool table. 

"See?" Nat said to Bradley. "And I don't believe you when you try to tell me there's nothing going on with her. She's constantly touching you, and you get a stupid looking smile around her."

"Just friends," Bradley muttered, taking a sip of his beer. He'd known you since flight school in Pensacola. He'd been stationed with you in Norfolk and Corpus Christi. Now you and he were both back at Top Gun. If something was going to happen between the two of you, it would have happened by now. "Just good friends."

"Friends don't undress each other with their eyes," Nat said, batting her eyelashes at him while the guys laughed. 

Bradley shook his head. He didn't undress you with his eyes, but it wasn't his fault that you were pretty. And you most certainly did not look at him that way. "She doesn't even date other aviators. And she once called me an adorable puppy dog of a man. Just friends."

"There she is," Jake drawled, and Bradley's head snapped around so quickly to see you heading their way. "Hey, Yankee, looking good," Jake called out. 

"Shut up, Hangman," you returned as you got close, but you were smiling at them. You always seemed to be smiling, but seeing you dressed up was a real treat. Bradley was used to you wearing flight suits and khaki uniforms every day. 

When Bradley stood, you walked right up to him and wrapped your arms around his waist. "How was your date?" he asked quietly, trying to ignore the looks the others were giving him.

"He was so stupid, Rooster. He could barely string a sentence together. Just a dumb jock," you replied looking up at him with wide eyes. Bradley held you a little tighter; so maybe his feelings for you went just the tiniest bit past platonic. 

"Aww, give the guy a chance, Yankee Doodle Dandy. Maybe he's just not used to how pretty you are. Maybe he got distracted." 

You rolled your eyes at him. "You know I hate it when you call me that." But you were still smiling. "Wanna know the funniest part? He actually asked me when you and I broke up."

Bradley's brow creased. "You and I? Us?"

"Yeah!" you laughed. "Apparently there are rumors we're together. Crazy."

"Yeah... crazy," he agreed, rubbing your back through the fabric of your dress. "Why would anyone think that?" he mused out loud as you pressed your cheek against his chest. You sighed contentedly against him, and when Bradley glanced over to the pool table, he saw his friends all scrambling to pretend they weren't watching you together. 

"I have no idea," you told him softly. 

Bradley cleared his throat. "If this guy was no good, maybe you need to reevaluate who you're going out with, Yankee Doodle. That's like five duds in a row."

You groaned. "I hate it when you're right. I'm getting a drink," you announced. "Anyone need anything?"

Bradley watched as you and Fanboy walked away to get some drinks from Penny. But you kept glancing his way while you and Mickey talked. And maybe Bradley shouldn't be surprised that people thought you and he were together. The two of you had always been comfortable around each other. 

"Could the two of you possibly stand any closer together?" Nat asked, drawing Bradley's attention away from your legs in that short little dress that you had wasted on another shitty date.

He just shook his head. "Nah. She treats Mickey the same way she treats me." But Bradley was starting to have a hard time believing that. 

You and Mickey were a few feet apart, and you were smiling as he was talking animatedly with his hands. But you seemed to reserve a different smile just for Bradley, one that would make his heart ache a little bit if he ever saw you give it to anyone else. 

Nat laughed and patted his arm. "Yeah, okay," she said sarcastically. "I'm just saying, if you want these rumors to stop, the two of you are definitely going about it the wrong way. You look like you're already in a relationship."

A relationship. Bradley would know what the press of your lips against his felt like. He would know all about the needy sounds you made in bed. He would know how it felt to hold you all night. But he knew none of those things. Did he want to?

"Here you go." You were holding another bottle of beer out to him, nudging him in the chest with it when it took him a moment to return from his hazy thoughts of spending a lazy Sunday in bed with you. 

"Thanks, Doodle Dandy," he murmured, and the soft smile that found its way to your lips had him thinking about kissing you. He cleared his throat a few times before taking a sip of the beer and sitting down on the stool. "So, was your dinner at least good? If your date was a dumb as you said, I hope you got a decent meal out of it."

And then your smile was gone as you looked into your vodka cranberry. "We got seafood, and it was delicious. And I made sure to stay and order dessert after he made a comment about my size. He said he usually doesn't date girls with big hips, but I had a cute face, so he'd make an exception."

Bradley froze, gaping at you, and when you met his eyes, you looked so vulnerable. You never looked vulnerable. You were a fast talking fighter pilot who never put up with his shit. But you were also a woman with feelings that had been hurt by some faceless asshole who Bradley would gladly pound into the ground given the opportunity. 

"He's wrong, Doodle," Bradley said, reaching for you and pulling you closer. You let one hand rest on his thigh as you stood between his knees. "Well, not about your face. But the rest of it...he's dead wrong."

You shrugged and smiled at him. "Thanks, Rooster. I'll be fine. I realized he was an idiot before he even said that stuff." You sipped your drink while Bradley leaned in closer. 

"I think I have a solution for your problem, Yankee Doodle." His nose was just a few inches from yours, and now you were leaning one of those decadent hips against the inside of his thigh. Your hand slid an inch further up his leg, and he had to stifle a moan. 

"Which problem is that, Rooster?"

"These guys. These shitty guys keep asking you out, but you deserve a good one," he whispered, and your eyes dipped down to his lips. "One who would tell you how fucking perfect you are. You're fucking perfect, Yankee."

"Oh," you gasped softly. "Rooster?"

He smiled at your surprised expression. "Everyone already thinks we're together anyway. I mean, we can shut these rumors down, if that's what you want. Or we could keep everyone talking. You could probably get me to do anything you want, really."

"How.... hmmm," you hummed, rattling the ice in your cup and avoiding his gaze. But you weren't moving away from him. If anything you were creeping a little closer. "How would we keep everyone talking?"

Bradley stroked your chin with his thumb and tilted your face gently so your eyes met his. "I could kiss you... if you want."

You licked your lips and searched his face. "If you kissed me, would you just be feeding into the rumors?"

Bradley watched the movement of his fingers as he let them drift back along your jaw and wrap around to tease the back of your neck. "No, Dandy. I'd be feeding into this crush I have on you. Which is why I've never done it before."

Your eyes drifted closed as you tilted your head a bit, and Bradley's pulse went wild. Every alarm bell in his head was going off, warning him that he'd get his heart broken if you were only going to kiss him for fun. But he couldn't stop you, because he didn't want to. 

With a soft sigh, your lips met his, and Bradley instantly knew you and he should have done this sooner. Your kiss was sweet as your lips gently explored his. He pulled you closer, his firm fingers stroking up and down the back of your neck until your palm rested on his chest. He could feel the prickle of his mustache against your skin as he nibbled gently on your bottom lip. The soft noise you made spurred him on, but now you were pulling away, meeting his eyes with that same tentative look. 

Bradley could feel the cold condensation on his jeans where your glass had come to rest, but everywhere else he was so warm. He took your glass and his beer bottle in his free hand and set them down on the table behind him. "Come here, Doodle," he whispered, now tracing your cheek with his knuckles. 

Your arms went around his neck, and you were pressing against him, tucked snug between his spread legs. "I hate it when you call me that," you whined softly, pressing your lips against his a little rougher this time. It took everything in Bradley not to climb off the stool and push you against the wall when your fingers found their way into this hair. 

"No, you don't," he whispered, breaking the kiss to taste your neck. 

"No, I don't," you agreed. When his mouth returned to yours, you parted your lips for Bradley, and he tasted you there, too. He stroked your cheek, and you peppered his lips with soft kisses before you pulled away a few inches. "I liked that."

"So did I," he agreed with a laugh. "We should do that all the time."

You nodded and kissed his cheek, and then Bradley realized all the other aviators were staring at both of you with varying looks of surprise. Except for Nat. She was smirking.

When you glanced over your shoulder to see where Bradley was looking, you waved at everyone. 

"Are the rumors true then? You two are into each other?" Nat asked, casually sipping her drink.

You turned back and looked at Bradley with hopeful eyes and a grin. "Are the rumors true, Rooster?"

He wrapped his hands around your waist and nodded at the others. "Yeah. Rumors are true." Then he stood and pulled you against him, dipping his head down for another kiss while you smiled. 

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

Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls for putting up with me. And I hope @abaker74 finds a real life Rooster, because that's what you deserve!

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[cdragons]

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 5

Previous Chapter, Masterlist

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. And if you end up murdering your English Professor for forcing you to be paired up with him, WHO COULD BLAME YOU???

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Mention of SA/SH, BDSM (sex dream), M/M/F sex dream, Felix is a pig, Reader claws Oliver's face, Michael loves Reader so much y'all, Farleigh is on Team Michael, Oliver is delusional and awful, alternating POVs between characters, and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic.

Author's Note: Finals are a BITCH, but I'm finally done...except I have to do my summer classes soon. But I really wanted to put this chapter out since it's been a while. Thank you all who've been reading this fic and sharing wonderful comments! They really help push me to become a better writer!

Michael’s head was about to explode in the next thirty seconds if fucking Farleigh Start didn’t stop digging his paws through his closet and drawers. No amount of clinking and clacking from tapping on his keyboard would be enough to dull out his shirts shuffled in his chest and hangers shrill screeching against the metal bar in his wardrobe.

“Dear God,” the Yankee, stick-figured giant groaned. “How many math pun shirts do you have? Don’t you have any normal ones? Oh my god, are all the pants you own khakis or Oxfam jeans? Do you seriously not own a single pair of corduroy slacks?”

He slammed his laptop shut. God-fucking-dammit, he was going to kill this asshole if he didn’t shut the fuck up.

“Maybe,” Michael gritted out, “if you just focused on the presentation we’re supposed to be working on, it’ll not bother you.”

Farleigh Start clicked his tongue. “Now, now – it’s not nice to be so testy. Most would consider themselves very lucky that I’m providing my services for free.”

The blonde-blind nerd balked when the word ‘services’ entered his ears. Immediately his mind thought of all the rumors that latched to Felix Catton’s mysterious American cousin – who apparently sucked off every teacher in England. Not that he was homophobic or anything – kiss, fuck, marry whoever you wanted, but he wasn’t interested in that sort of thing.

“Services – are you trying to suck my cock so I’ll do your work for you?!”

“…First off, ew,” Farleigh began. “Second, if I left you to do my side of the work, I’m about…86% confident that you’ll end up tanking my grade.” He strolled to Michael’s closet, pulled out a blue gingham-checkered shirt, and grimaced. “Thirdly, I am referring to how I am going to turn–” he nodded towards Michael in disgust “–this, into an actual suitor for our dear (Y/N). Or are you two still doing this little dance of being nauseatingly following each other around like sad puppies and giving each other bedroom eyes without actually fucking?”

Don’t take the bait, don’t take the bait, don’t take the bait, don’t take the–

Michael slammed his laptop shut and tiredly rubbed his eyes. With a loud and audible groan that he dragged out, he rubbed his eyelids until he could see the kaleidoscope of stars and squiggles in the dark.

Fucking damn it.

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you?” he damn-near shouted. “It’s not like that between us!”

Farleigh quirked a brow. “The bedroom eyes or the not-actually-fucking? Because if it’s the former…yes, it is, but if it’s the second,” he brought his hands together in a slow clap, “then well done, Gavey!”

Michael shot up from where he was sitting and ripped the shirt in Start’s hands before throwing it back in his silky oak wardrobe and slamming it shut. Was it so necessary for him to be so fucking insufferable? Was he born this intolerable, or did his fucking cousin, Felix fucking Catton, infect him because being a coked-up narcissist was contagious via proximity or blood?

He heard a few clicks behind him, and the scent of Marlboro Gold cigarettes filled his room.

“So what are you going to do about it?”

Michael turned around and stared at his completely useless study partner for this stupid project for his Classics course that he needs to fulfill his fucking “General Education” requirements. Farleigh Start was leaning against his dresser and staring at him with the most judgingly empty gaze ever worn – all while holding a cigarette between his two fingers and getting ash on the floor.

Great – like it wasn’t a bloody fire hazard to cover his carpeted dorm in hot ash.

He shrugged. “What’re you on about?”

Farleigh took a long drag on his lung cancer joystick before exhaling deeply. His disappointed look made Michael’s eyes twitch in irritation.

“About a certain mutual friend we share and adore,” he drawled. “Whom just so happens to be in my dear cousin’s room right now…at night…on a weekend…alone.” He paused to take in Michael’s reaction and smiled. “Ohhhhh, so you do care.”

Michael shook his head. “Nothing’s gonna happen between ‘em. (Y/N)’s too smart for that.”

“Yes, you see – I know that…and you know that. But my cousin?” Farleigh scrunched up his face and made a wish-washy motion with his hand. “Ehhhhh…he’s more the type to think a giant, glaring red-neon sign with blinking lights saying ‘STOP’ is another giant, glaring purple-neon sign with blinking lights saying ‘Come Hither’ in porno studio 69 font.”

Michael Gavey rolled his eyes and reopened his laptop. “Whatever, I’m not worried.”

“You’re telling me that it doesn’t bother you that our friend is currently in the lion’s den with Oxford’s king?”

“Of course it bothers me,” thought Michael, “but I trust her more than I trust you.”

But Michael wasn’t going to let his forced-upon acquaintance know his thoughts, so all he said was…

“She’s not in the fuckin’ lion’s den, alright? They’re in the Bodleian. I’m going to pick her up from there in like thirty minutes.”

Farleigh cocked his head to the side. “Don’t trust our girl to make smart choices?”

“I trust (Y/N) just fine,” Michael bitterly retorted. “It’s your fucking cousin I don’t trust.”

Because he does – he trusts you so much. He knows how sweet and kind you were to everybody you thought deserved the benefit of the doubt. ‘Deserved’ being the very fine keyword in the detailing because there was no fucking way in hell you were dumb enough to think Sir Felix Catton of fucking ‘SalTbURn MaNor’ deserved your kindness.

Mary, Jesus, and Joseph – he wanted to strangle the old kook when he announced the assigned pairs.

It was Classics English taught by Professor Radcliff Michael Charles Douglas. He droned on about what materials would be on the end-of-term examinations. Everyone in the classroom, save for you and a few others, was either passing notes by throwing them across the room or staring aimlessly at the air with red-rimmed eyes.

“Ya’ ready, partn’r?”

You pursed your lips as a groan fought to escape. You would regret introducing John Sturge’s 1960 American Western masterpiece, “The Magnificent Seven,” to Michael Gavey if he kept up with that god-awful Texas accent.

You turned to your left and shot a blank glare at Michael. “Listen, Billy the Kid, we don’t know if we’re going to be assigned together,” you said.

“Come on, Professor Douglas always pairs the people sitting together as partners so far in the entire term. If it’s not broke, why fix it?”

“Melanie Brown…paired with Bryce Landon…Kemi Brown…paired with Amelia Sanders…”

You leaned on your elbow to whisper in Michael’s ear to drown out your professor’s blasé voice.

“Can we do our project on Hercules?”

He leaned back. “Why him?”

“I want to present on the glorification of toxic masculinity in mythology, and he’s the prime example.”

Michael chuckled. “You just want to piss off old Douglas up there.”

“Katie Caldwell…paired with Oliver Quick…”

“Is that so wrong?” you asked with a smirk. “You can either be one jump scare away from seeing Jesus or a product of institutionalized glorification of misogyny – but you cannot be both.”

Michael stifled a laugh. “You realize that takes away pretty much half of the English, Math, Science, and every fucking department on campus, right?”

You innocently tilt your head to the side. “Does it?”

“You’re terrible,” Michael snickered. “Completely evil.”

“Oh, please,” you swatted his arm. “You love me anyway.”

“Michael Gavey…paired with Farleigh Start…”

You and Michael turned to the front with disbelief. Wait…if Michael was paired with Farleigh…then that meant…oh, no.

“(Y/N) (L/N)…paired with Felix Catton. That will be all – no changes.”

Michael watched with wide eyes as your head slowly turned to the back of the lecture hall. He watched your face pale in disgust and horror when your eyes stopped at Felix Catton. Michael’s blue eyes narrowed at the lecherous grin Felix shot to you before he puckered his lips to blow a little kiss with a wink.

Your body involuntarily shuddered at the predatory implications. Michael watched as his best friend buried her face in her hands. He heard her say the exact same thought he was having.

These are going to be the worst few weeks of my life.

To say it bothered Michael that Felix Catton was making the moves on you, so to lure you to his sex dungeon of a dorm was an understatement. It was killing him to know that you were essentially forced into a vulnerable position, but when he brought it up to your professor, the old cunt-rag didn’t give two flying fucks.

“Professor Douglas, please,” Michael pleaded. “I really think it’d be in everyone’s best interest if you could make this exception this one time. I promise it has less to do with me and more for (Y/N)’s sake–”

But the ancient windbag wasn’t interested. “Whatever accusations you and Miss (L/N) intend to throw at Mister Catton, I am uninterested. Honestly, Mister Gavey, I expected this kind of nonsensical drivel from your friend, but to see you being caught in her schemes disappoints me greatly.”

Michael bit his tongue to choke down the tongue lashing he wanted to give. He wanted to tell this wrinkled ballsack about how the ‘fine Mister Catton’ basically assaulted you. He wanted to scream how worried he was when he didn’t see you for the rest of the day. He wanted to shout how when he knocked on your dorm and entered, he froze and paled at the sight of you crying your eyes out until they were red and puffy. He wanted to roar out the fury he felt when you revealed to him the incident with Felix Catton that morning in the empty lecture hall. The very same one where Professor Douglas taught.

*TRIGGER WARNING: THE FOLLOWING SCENE FEATURES PAST SEXUAL HARASSMENT AND A DISCUSSION OF THE TOPIC, IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ THAT, PLEASE SKIP OVER*

“I couldn’t do anything,” you whimpered. “I felt like…like such an idiot! I just froze and stared and did nothing!' You started to cry all over again, and Michael wiped your tears with his thumb before holding you close to his chest. “Hey, hey, hey – it’s okay. Freezing and doing nothing are two different things. You were stunned by what happened, and your body reacted the same way – anyone who tells you differently is a liar.” You shook your head. “I couldn’t even speak…it was like my body – it ju-just shut off on its own. My brain kept screaming, ‘Let go,’ ‘Get off,’ or ‘Stay away from me!’ But I…the words and my voice just failed me when I needed them the most.” Michael blurted out the first thought: “(Y/N), you need to report this.” Your eyes shot open in fear. “Michael, no–” “Look, I know you’re scared, but this is assault. He touched your inner thigh, and you clearly didn’t consent – that’s sexual assault, or at the very least sexual harassment! If you report it, at least the campus police know about this and keep an eye out for you.” But you weren’t listening. “Nononononono—Mikey... that’s not how it’ll go down. Even if I report it, they won’t believe me.” “You don’t know that!” “But I do!” you cried. You shot up and started pacing across the room. “I do know because I’ve seen it happen! Almost every girl I knew growing up—it happened to them! At school, on the trains, some at their own homes! Whether they knew every detail of their assaulter or just saw just a patch of skin – it didn’t matter!” You weeped. “And if I tell the cops, they’ll just throw away the report because they’ll think that ‘all he did’ was touch my thigh. Consensual or not, I’ll be labeled as some fucking crazy man-hater who’s grasping at straws to ruin a fine young man’s life and reputation.” You collapsed back on your bed. “I just…I can’t deal that kind of shit right now. Not with…” you took a deep breath, “Not with everything that’s happening right now.” “…What can I do to help?” Michael hated how his voice cracked. He hated how completely useless he felt at that moment. More than anything, he wanted to march to the campus police and report it. But he knew that by doing so…he took even more control away from you by going behind your back. And then he would be a no better monster than Felix Catton. The idea of him going beyond the point of no return made him clench his fists until his knuckles turned white. But when you touched his hand, all the tension flowed out of him like a creek. “You already did the best thing anyone could do for me right now,” you reassured him. “You listened to me. You cared enough to look for me when you felt something was off. You reached out to me and stayed and listened. And most of all…you believed me.” Michael felt his throat go dry. You looked at him with so much trust, as if he were the safest place in your world. He wanted you to look at him that way forever. “I’ll believe you,” he swore. “I’ll be there for you – no matter what. I promise. Whenever you need me, I will be there.” No words can describe the relief you felt from hearing Michael’s promise. When you entered Oxford's campus, you never expected to meet someone as endlessly loyal and trustworthy as him. You were prepared to keep your head low and remain friendless for the next four years. You were ready to spend the next 1460 days crying your heart out from homesickness and imposter syndrome. But somehow, near the beginning of your first term here, you met Michael. And you were so grateful for him. You leaned in and lightly kissed his cheek. “I know. I know you will.” And you believed that with all your heart.

*TRIGGER SCENE END*

Michael promised you – gave his word – that he wouldn’t say anything to anyone. But, fuck, this asshole was making it hard to keep that promise.

“Mister Catton is a fine young man…”

No, he’s not.

“…one whom I have full faith will end up as remarkable as his father and grandfather before him.”

They probably pulled that same shit, too.

“A man with a future as bright as his does not need some upstart with delusions of grandeur to dismantle an institution as fine as Oxford blatantly spewing out trash about him.”

It’s not trash.

“Unless it was something with proof and worth my time?”

Michael looked at his Classics professor with empty but enraged eyes. “…No, professor. It’s just a personal matter between me and Felix – (Y/N) has nothing to do with it. She’s just…protective, I guess.”

This surprised the sagging skin suit. “Hmm, well, that sense of loyalty from such a strange girl is surprising, to say the least – especially when you take account of her…troubling background as an American from that horrible city. But perhaps there is a chance of decency in her, after all.”

Michael’s right eye twitched slightly. “And what do you mean by her…background?”

“Oh, come now, Mister Gavey. She’s a New Yorker. That city is full of…of…gang-bangers and drug addicts.”

“Her dad’s a professor at NYU, and her mum works for the buildings that host Broadway shows.”

Douglas scoffed. “HA! New York University – what a joke. A campus that’s filled with hippies and no class. And Broadway? Of course, Miss (L/N) is connected to the theatre community. Now, if that’s all, Mister Gavey, I have an important meeting to get to with the chairman of my department. I trust that this matter is settled?”

No, not even close.

But all Michael could do was clench his fist over his backpack’s strap. He forced an unconvincing smile and tersely nodded.

“Yep, won’t get any more problems.”

When old man Douglas replied with his patronizing smile, Michael wanted nothing more than to knock out the rest of the tenured professor’s teeth with a fire hydrant.

So…no, Michael Gavey was not at all okay with the fact that you were with Felix Catton. He was not OK with the idea that you were within ten feet of that depraved vampire.

All he could do was be reassured you were in a very safe and very public space with lots and lots of people who could serve as potential testimonial eyewitnesses if Catton tried anything.

…Provided that Catton Sr. wouldn’t be able to pay off everyone, their third cousin, and their dog.

You wanted to die. You wanted to literally sink into the ground. You wanted there to be a sinkhole to open under you, swallow you whole, close up, and you would never see the light of day again.

…Actually, you wanted all those things to happen to your useless fuck of a project partner.

“Y’know, if you’re bored here, there’s a party going on at one of my mates’ flats not far from here.”

Felix moved to the seat right next to you and limply swung his arm over your chair. “So why don’t we–”

You shot up and moved one seat over. “Considering how we’ve been working on the research for almost two hours, and you haven’t gotten any work done,” you bit out. “Getting wasted and losing more brain cells isn’t the right call.”

Taking your open hostility as a challenge, Felix continued to move closer to you. “Exactly! We’ve been at this for two hours, and nothing got done!” His face was inches from yours, and you could smell the rank stench of craft beers and rancid cigarettes on his breath. “So, what’s the harm in having a bit of fun?”

Oh my – this is getting fucking ridiculous.

You started to pack your bags and gather all the borrowed books. “Parties aren’t my idea of ‘fun.’ And I already told my friend to meet me–”

“So bring him too! The more the merrier!”

You took a deep breath and mentally counted to ten. “Our presentation is due in a week, Felix. One week to hand the paper in and present our topic to the class.” 

You swung your backpack over your shoulder. “I take my coursework very seriously, and to say it’s frustrating to have a partner who doesn’t take it as seriously as me would be a supreme understatement.”

“I think from now on–” a swift *RIP* echoed between them as you took a page out of your college-bound notebook. You quickly jotted down instructions for topics so simplified a child could figure it out, “– it’d be best if we work separately.”

Felix shot up from his seat with a panicked look. “Wait, now hold on – let’s not get hasty.”

“I already have a basic outline for the paper - I’ll type up the paper,” you continued while not looking at him. “All you have to do is find the books I’ve so nicely labeled on that sheet of paper I’ve given you.”

“Wha-what happens after I find them?” Felix stammered; his heart broke from how his time with you was so cruelly cut short.

But your tone and body language remained as rigid as it was apathetic. “You have my email, you have a laptop – figure it out, genius. We’ll meet up at a specified time and place; you hand me the books, and we move on with our very separate lives.”

You walked out of the crowded library and toward the nearby bench where you and Michael agreed to meet when he picked you up. You barely had time to sit down before you were bombarded with the presence of a much worse pest stuck to your shoe.

“You get off on bein’ a downright bitch?”

God, was every asshole trying to piss you off tonight?

You turned around with a prominent scowl that further deepened as your eyes took in the insufferable bastard who was clearly trying to pick a fight with you. You don’t know why you bothered to look for confirmation. You immediately knew who it was just by the sheer arrogance oozing from his tone.

As an artist, you had a special relationship with the color blue. In the summer, there was a point in the early mornings when it felt like the world was bathed in it. There was even a period when you were downright obsessed with it. You loved anything and everything blue: the sky, the ocean, hydrangeas, the Obrina Olivewing butterfly – but eyes, you loved painting blue eyes.

You thought of them as these warm, magical rarities that belonged to the stuff of fairies and Disney princesses. Of course, you also knew the popularity of the usage of blue with winter and death, but you never felt that duality…until now.

Because as much of a slimy bastard Oliver Quick was, you had to hand it to the guy…he was one of two people with some of the bluest eyes you’d ever seen.

Which gave you all the more reason to hate him. He made blue eyes look so cold.

 You clenched your backpack strap. “I’m not in the mood, Quick.”

Oliver scoffed. “I’d disagree – you’re always in a mood.”

“So stop talking to me,” you snarled, turning around. “And go away, Michael’s meeting me here soon.” You started to walk away when you heard Oliver speak again.

“I’m surprised he hadn’t dropped you left,” he maliciously quipped. “With you and Felix and all that.”

Your nails dug deeper into your backpack strap. “There is nothing between me and Felix – nothing at all.”

“Yeah, for now,” Oliver shook his head. “But you’ll be crawling to him with your hands and knees on the ground, worshippin’ him like he’s Hercules or Apollo.”

He leaned in closer from behind you. “And you’ll compare Gavey to Felix and look back and wonder ‘how the hell could I have missed being with Felix Catton over some pathetic’–”

Stop it. *clench*

“–unimportant–”

Shut. Up. *dig*

“– know-it-all –”

I hate you. I hate you. *pierce*

“– nobody.”

You turned around and dug your nails into his face as you poured every bit of rage and disdain for the single most insignificant person you’ve ever met in each word that came out of your mouth.

“Enough,” you roughly whispered. It was taking everything inside you to stop lashing out even further. “I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

“What? Plan to –” Oliver winced as you cinched onto his skin.

“Of all the mind-bogglingly,” *clench* “douche-like” *dig* “and despicable” *pierce* “crap you’ve spewed out,” you rasped. “Implying that I would ever choose as dull as Felix Catton over someone as rare and wonderful as Mikey has got to be one of the worst.”

“Do not push me any further, Quick,” You felt him tremble as you slowly released him from your grasp. “I’ve tolerated too much from you and the object of your obsession for far too long as is.”

You stepped back and gave the boy before you a good, hard stare. You never felt rage so deep, so demanding.

It was exhausting.

But you heard your name being called out from your left as you turned your head to see Michael waving to you with his arm high in the air. Had it been anyone else calling out your name, you wouldn’t have felt so quickly eased. You were about to move ahead to meet him halfway in the distance before Oliver’s voice stopped you.

“…What could possibly make him so special?” Oliver pathetically whimpered. “Why would you ever choose him when someone as bright as Felix is begging for you? Do you know what being with him means for you? What it gives you?”

…Was that it? Was that his best shot to get under your skin?

Looking at Michael, you answered him without meaning to.

“There’s no point in explaining it to you,” you calmly stated. “And I think you’ve wasted enough of my time.”

You picked up your stuff and left him alone with his thoughts. As you walked away to join your friend, you could feel his icy sapphire eyes digging into your back. Michael could feel how tense you were and asked if there was anything he could help with – but you waved away his concerns, stating that you had already wasted too much of your time with Felix and Oliver and didn’t want to waste anymore. Slipping your arm over his, you snuggled closer to his side and let the familiar scent of old math textbooks and coffee comfort you.

Oliver would make you pay for what you did – you’d be naïve to assume otherwise. He won’t do it directly, but it will happen. He’s the type to drink poison and expect you to die…only to learn too late that it worked as you lay on the ground bleeding and screaming your throat raw for help.

But right now, you were with your best friend; you two were going back to his dorm for a best friend sleepover, and it’d be enough.

…Yeah, it’ll be enough.

Oliver needed to make a plan – and fast.

Getting into your good graces was no longer a viable option for him; you made it annoyingly clear of that by the way you attempted to maul his face off. He gingerly touched the claw marks you imprinted on his cheeks as you tried to dig for his blood and bone with your nails. A corner of his mouth went up as he remembered your viciousness. He could practically taste the blood that nearly trickled down his cheek after you pierced his skin.

He hadn’t expected such a blatant display of violence from you, of all people, let alone on the campus’ hallowed grounds so near an establishment as ancient and crowded as the Bodleian.

For you, sweet, innocent (Y/N), to show such open hostility…to know he urged that beautiful, dormant impulsiveness to emerge…it thrilled him like nothing else. At that moment, he so clearly saw it. A darkness that was hidden deep inside you – bursting open from your carefully stitched seams. A deep desire for more in the dull, dull life God cruelly set upon you. Why else would a sweet, little all-American girl such as yourself travel all across the Atlantic to one of the most prestigious universities?

No, you were like him – exactly like him. Your reaction to his goading only proved that to him.

You weren’t used to it – that much was obvious…but that meant little to him. If nothing else, Oliver was resourceful. He’d learn more and more about what makes you tick before plucking you piece by piece into what he needed you to be for him. He’ll watch you explode before making you fizzle.

The idea of you at your fiercest – only for him to break it down bit by bit until all that was left was a more…subdued version of the hardheaded American girl from the Big Apple who loved to aggravate him during her first-year days at Oxford.

The thought alone made him salivate.

He could only dream how you’d be in bed. Your tight, hot little body would be squirming and writhing from the pleasure he and Felix bestow upon you. You, helplessly lying on your back while being fucked dumb by the two of them.

God, he felt himself getting hard at just the image alone – to make it a reality…that sort of victory, along with having Felix, would be nothing short of heaven for him. He unbuttoned his jeans as he took out his hardening cock into his hand. Not wanting to bother himself by starting slow, he immediately stroked himself with a rough and unforgiving pace. He wanted the pleasure from the fantasy to overwhelm him.

You looked perfect—replete, ethereal, and effervescent. Your entire body twitched as your eyes were blown wide, and drool dribbled down your chin. You put up quite the fight; the scratch marks on his and Felix’s chests proved that. But seeing you on your back on red silk sheets with your wrists and ankles tied to the bed posts made the struggle worth it. The red and pink bite marks that begin from the column of your slender neck down to your plush and tender inner thighs made for a prettier picture you could ever paint. “Oliver,” you pitifully rasped. “P-please, m’sorry – AH!” Your body jolted, and your back arched as he slapped your swollen clit. He struck his hand down one, two, three more times and watched as you thrashed and cried before another peak was forcefully ripped within you and came gushing out. God, how many times was it at that point? Three, four? It must have been quite a high number, judging by how tightly your cunt clenched onto his fingers when he thrust them inside you. “Look at her,” Felix cooed from behind Oliver. The Saltburn heir’s hulking frame towered over his lover as they watched their pet beg for mercy. “You almost feel sorry for her.” His hot breath panted into his ear as Oliver shivered in delight. The Quick boy gasped when he felt Felix’s large digits begin to enter his tight, puckering hole. “Take your fingers out,” he ordered. “And stick your cock inside her. You’ve been so good to me that I’ll let you fuck her sloppy cunt while I finger-fuck your arse.” Oh god, yes. Oliver took out his fingers and immediately positioned his hard cock at your leaking pussy as he spread your legs apart and forced your knees to press against your chest. “Wait,” you slowly blinked. “Wha…what’re you do–” Your back arched as Oliver pushed into you before thrusting into your cunt at a brutal pace. Tears were streaming down your reddened, flushed face as ecstasy-laden sobs filled the room. “Good boy, Olly,” Felix praised as he continued to push his fingers inside Oliver while the nails of his other hand dug into his hips. He let out a ragged gasp from how Felix deliciously stretched him out. He started out slow before moving his fingers at a faster and steadier pace. “That’s it, Olly. You’re so good – so good to me.” God, the contrast between the firm grips and harsh thrusts with gentle whispers of sweet nothings was like nothing he had ever experienced. And it only made the pleasure of Oliver plowing into your weeping pussy while you cried like a bitch in heat feel too good to be true. “Oh, you’re getting so tight,” Felix groaned. “You wanna come, don’t you? You wanna spill your cum into our pet’s little cumdump hole, right?” “Yes,” Oliver rashly answered before snarling to you. “You hear that, you dumb slut? I’m going to cum in you, and you’re going to take it.” “N…not i-inside,” you begged despite your walls clenching tighter around his cock. “P-please not inside!” Oliver just laughed. “You want it – oh, yes, you do.” He released one of your legs to grip your jaw and forced you to stare at him. “Don’t bother denying it. Your body knows how a whore like you is just desperate for me.” He chuckled as he thrusts into you even harder than before. “Well?” “Yes!” you cried out. “Yes, Oliver! Let me be your cumdump! I want your cum so badly!” Before Oliver and Felix permitted you to do so, you spilled onto Oliver’s cock, and the tightening of your walls, mixed with how deep Felix pushed his fingers inside him, made Oliver’s mind go blank – and soon, all he could hear was white noise.

Oliver slumped into his chair as a coat of sweat covered his entire body. Thick, white ropes of cum were still spurting out of his softening cock despite it coating his right hand. He ran his left hand through his dark curls as reality settled back in. Cold, bitter loneliness engulfed his body as he realized that you and Felix were not with him, and he remained as alone as before. A newfound determination to make his fantasy a reality soon took place.

His vision will be a reality. Felix will love him. And you will be their pet whose sole purpose in life is to take load after load of their pleasure.

But such things were too early to think about with how you were now. No…no, no, no…you were far too raw in your current state…too volatile…too stubborn…too American. He supposes it shouldn’t be too surprising that you latch onto fitfulness and inconsistency.

You were an artist, after all, and such was the fate of your kind to be destined to forever claw their way from the bottom as a means of survival.

But, however charming your unpredictability may have been in your concrete-paved, urban paradise that you call ‘home’ – that simply won’t do for him. He was more than confident that he could make you see things his way, but there were…problems needed to be resolved.

Namely, one in particular that came in ill-fitting apparel and bulky-framed eyewear – Michael Gavey.

Only an utterly blind idiot would miss how you pathetically secure your entire emotional well-being onto him. Oliver watched in total desolation and disappointment at how your glorious rage dissipated at the sight of him. But a part of him was equally as impressed at the mask you so expertly paraded, going so far as forcing your body language to adapt to the circumstances.

But…it wasn’t a mask, was it?

You looked at Michael Gavey the way he looked at Felix – complete and total worship. Michael Gavey, for whatever reason, was your sun, moon, and stars. The way you protected and so ardently adored him made the conclusion all the easier to reach.

Suddenly, it all became clear.

Of course…how did he not see it? The answer was so obvious. What better way to force you to his and Felix’s side…than to separate and condition you?

Isolation was a cruel and sadistic thing to thrust upon anyone – let alone who had so few friends in a foreign country like yourself. But he knew how much of an effective tool it could serve for him. Oh, it would be arduous initially – yes, it will. But it would all be worth it in the end. After all, in a way, this was your fault. If only you had complied with him when he was being nice, he wouldn’t have had to resort to such drastic but necessary measures.

Oliver darkly chuckled to himself.

Yes…everything would turn out in his favor. He’d make sure of it.

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @aemondsbabe, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindno, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss, @immyowndefender, @ilovemydinoboi, @ahristata, @cxp1d, @jinsoulorbitzen12, @temptation-waits, @bollzinurmouth, @jcngw0ns, @seababehh, @destinydestnation, @lankyboi4, @mindless-rock, @cassavacakes, @paradisepoisons, @pansexualpamandabear, @erikasurfer, @lissamans, @cookielovesbook-akie, @thesmutconnoisseur, @izzyisstuff, @lariisouz, @ma1dita, @jeondeluxe111, @itszzmoon, @wolfeginny, @mioshasworld, @bre99

Let me know in the comments your thoughts and if you want to be tagged when I update!

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go pray to my ancestors and beg for their forgiveness for writing Oliver's POV 🥲

[billthedrake]

This started out as a fan fiction story, but the name has been changed.

CAP

"Hey Miller," Scott Morrison greeted as the third member of their informal work posse sat down to join them at the fast casual restaurant in midtown Atlanta. "You dropped a dime to HR yet?"

Jason Miller flashed his pearly white teeth in a killer smile that got him a lot of tail in his college years. Of the three jocks-turned-businessmen, he was the youngest at 23 and he still had that collegiate affect, a slightly boylegged gait that balanced out his soccer-jock poise. "Dude, I think it's just a fucking rumor."

Pete Andrews was the oldest of the three. At 28, he was the only one of them who didn't start out at the real-estate development company right out of college. "Cmon, bro, look around the office and tell me Cap doesn't have have a type."

"Cap?" Scott laughed.

"What? That's his nickname," Pete said defensively.

Scott shrugged. "Yeah, but I just call him Mark."

Jason blushed as he admitted. "Guys, it's always Mr. Crawford for me."

Scott nudged Jason's knee with his under the table. "Someone's trying to be office favorite," he teased. Of the three, Scott had the meatiest body, an ex-tight end build that made his goofy affect seem more kid-like somehow.

Pete shook his head. "That's Campbell. Still." Wyatt Campbell had been assigned on a special project with the ex-MLB star. It was an open secret what that involved.

"Mark will grow tired of him," Scott said with a strange sureness.

Jason still never knew when his work buds were joking and what was real. "So guys... maybe this is a fucked up thing to ask.... but would you for real? You know if he...." The soccer stud felt dumb for even asking.

But Pete didn't miss a beat. "Would I let myself get Cap-ed? Absofuckinglutely."

"Jesus, bro," Scott hissed. But he was more surprised at how laidback Pete got all slutty on them.

"You wouldn't?" Pete challenged. "I mean.. c'mon."

"Yeah, probably," Scott hissed. "But fuck..."

"I think it'd be hot," Jason chimed. He bit his lip and decided to admit how crushed out he was on Crawford. "You know I was a huge Yankees fan as a kid... I even have a signed ball from him."

Scott smirked. "Well you never know... like you say, bro, could be just a rumor."

****

It was happy hour in the Midtown bar and Jason and Pete found themselves standing alone.

"Think Morrison's upset with us, man?" the younger guy asked.

Pete shrugged. He'd been a little crushed out on Jason Miller, in a kind of big-bro, little-bro way lately. If Scott was being a dick to Jason, Pete was gonna have words with him. "I don't know, man. He probably just got weirded out by all the talk about the boss, you know?"

Jason seemed to take that in. "I wish I could say it was joking around," he admitted. He looked into Pete's blue eyes. The ex-baseball player was blond and hunky, aging into his more adult looks real well.

"You don't have to pretend with me, buddy," Pete said, placing his arm around Jason's shorter frame. It was forward as hell, even as he tried to pass it off as a friendly gesture.

Jason kind of leaned into the embrace, then his body tensed. "Oh shit, he's walking over."

Pete slipped his arm off and stepped back into a normal distance from Jason. He expected a wisecrack from Morrison, but instead the guy had a Cheshire grin on his face.

"Hey guys," Scott said. "Next round's on me," he boasted.

"Someone's in a good mood," Pete wisecracked.

Scott nodded, his puppy dog brown eyes looking playful and excited. "Fuck yeah I am.... what did you call it, bro? I just got fucking Cap-ed."

"What?" Jason asked. He looked across the bar and there was Mark Crawford, talking casually to another partner, standing with upright posture in his suit and dress shirt but no tie.

Scott's eyes darted over to where Jason was looking before looking back at his buddy. "You heard me," he said.

"Just now," Pete half-said, half-asked, incredulous. "You got Cap-ed."

"Yep," Scott replied, enjoying the reactions of these guys. "Just now. In the stall of the men's room."

Jason was getting excited now. "Jesus, Scott... how was he?"

Scott grinned. "Pretty fucking huge.... fat." He took a sip of his beer then lowered his voice some. "But he opened me up a lot last night."

"You dog," Pete said, giving Scott a soft punch to the shoulder. "That's why you've been working late."

"Yeah, man, that's why I've been working late."

Jason was eating this up. "So, bro... you like, his favorite now?"

Scott laughed. "Don't think so.... Mark's a total fucking player," he said. "I mean, last night, guys, he invited me over, you know to talk about the project stuff and just to get to know me. Of course he put the moves on me and within twenty minutes I was getting my cherry busted."

"Fuck, that's hot," Jason hissed, thinking of his own virgin jock hole. He blushed as Pete smirked at the response and winked.

"I know, right?" Scott said, still riding the excitement of his full Cap experience. "But like right after we're lying in his bed and he picks up his phone to invite another dude over."

"Shit, for real?" Jason said. "That sucks."

Scott shook his head. "Was hot actually. Dude's a total stud. I hope I have that kind of stamina when I'm 44."

Pete didn't have the puppy love crush on Crawford that Jason did, but he was getting turned on hearing Scott talk. Imagining the 6'5" ex-tight end taking Cap's cock. And coming back for more. "So bro..." he asked Scott. "How big we talking about?"

Scott grinned. "Hall of Fame cock for sure, man. I dunno, 10, maybe 11? And this wide..." The 25-year-old hunk held up his hands forming a circle with his fingers to show the girth. "Real fucking fat dong." He seemed to reflect back on his experience. "I didn't think I'd enjoy it, actually."

"But you did...?" Jason piped in, a hopeful tone evident in his voice.

Scott grinned. "I came like a motherfucker on that huge dick." He was outright boasting now, and he had an almost wistful look as he glanced back at Crawford.

"Damn, bro," Pete said. "And you were making fun of me for wanting it."

Scott turned back. "Sorry, bro... I didn't even think I'd go there, but Mark has some smooth moves."

Jason was chubbed up in his work khakis. "He wouldn't even have to use them on me. For real, guys."

Pete laughed. He clapped his arm on Jason's shoulder. "All right, drinks on me. I'm in the mood to fucking celebrate."

He went off and got the next round while Jason and Pete talked.

"You think he's bullshitting us?" Jason asked. He was new to the company and still didn't have a good read on Scott Morrison.

"I don't think he is, buddy," Pete said. He tried to read the soccer jock's face. Jason had sandy-brown hair, ruddy cheeks, and a total boy-next-door vibe. "What about you? You really are crushed on Cap, aren't ya?"

Jason nodded, a little ashamed. "Fraid so... you think less of me, Pete?"

Pete shook his head and held up his fingers, close apart. "Bro, I was THIS close to making the move on you myself," he admitted before he lost his courage.

That made Jason's hazel eyes light up. "Yeah bro?" He was clearly taken by surprise.

Just then Mark Crawford walked up, almost strutting though in his "boss" mode. "Andrews... Miller... how are you gentlemen?"

"Doing good, Mr. Crawford," Jason said, dumbly, blushing as he could tell Pete was smirking.

Mark smiled, his bright smile matching Jason's. "Good to hear." With a casual ease, he reached over and massaged Jason's trap muscle through the slim cut polo shirt. He even let his fingers graze the nape of the ex-jock's neck. He made small talk with the two employees but didn't let go over his touch. Jason was nervous and excited at the same time. Mark fucking Crawford seemed to be making the moves on him.

Finally the baseball star pulled his hand back and slid into his suit trouser pocket, making his crotch lump move visible. "Why don't you see me in my office tomorrow, Miller? 9 AM. I have a project I'd like you to start work on."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Crawford."

Mark laughed at his eagerness. "All right, good." He finally peeled his eyes off Jason and acknowledged Pete. "I'm heading out... but have a good evening fellas."

"Yes, Cap," Pete said. "Have a good one."

Both young men watched slack jawed at Mark's fine jock daddy form strutting out of the bar.

"What did I miss?" Scott asked when he came back with three drinks. He'd seen the interaction from afar.

"Miller here is gonna get Cap-ed," Pete deadpanned. "That's what you missed."

***

Turns out Crawford did do favorites. Pete and Scott barely saw Jason Miller the whole next month. The newbie hire spent lunches in Mark's office and evenings in Mark's bachelor condo. It wasn't like their buddy had given them the brush off exactly. But Jason was definitely coy, more coy than Scott had been. The two young ex-jocks had no idea if Jason Miller was shacking up with the pro star and big boss. But he was definitely taking Cap cock on a regular basis.

"Think he's having fun?" Scott asked when it was just him and Pete at lunch.

Pete seemed wistful. "Probably. Yeah," he said. "I wish I'd made my move when I had the chance."

"On Cap?"

"On Miller. God help me, I'm in love with that guy."

That caught Scott off guard. "I didn't know you were wired that way, Pete." The ex-baseball player was the last guy Scott would peg as full-on homo.

"Well I am," Pete said defiantly.

Scott felt bad. "Hell, I'm pretty sure Cap will get sick of him. Like I say, he's too much of a player."

"I guess," Pete replied. "Thing is I don't want Miller's heart broken either. Dude worships the ground Mark walks on."

"I can see that," Scott said. He seemed more thoughtful these days. His fling with Cap has opened his eyes for sure. "You ever have something serious with a dude, Pete?"

Andrews nodded. "Once. A younger player on my college team. I took him under my wing. I guess I like that vibe."

"Maybe that's why Cap hasn't made a move on you, bro," Scott said.

"Whaddya mean?"

Scott shrugged. "I dunno.. you've been here, what, three years? And you're practically the only male employee Cap hasn't nailed."

"Maybe he only likes the younger guys," Pete said. Then realized that wasn't true. Wyatt Campbell just turned 32.

Scott shook his head. "Cap likes being in charge... maybe he reads you in that category too."

Pete Andrews seemed to mull that over. Then he asked the question that had been lingering in his mind for a while. "Tell me the truth, Scott. Did it hurt?"

That brought out a big grin on the goofy guy's masculine face. "At first, yeah," he said. "Thing was, I trusted him. And that made it work."

***

It was fifteen minutes till quitting time, and Pete was engrossed in a spreadsheet when Jason walked up to his cubicle. "Hey bro," he said, snapping Pete's attention from the work focus.

Pete's blue eyes lit up. For all the second guess he'd had for two months, he was still majorly crushed out on Jason Miller. "Hey man. What's up?"

"I'm heading over to Cap's after work... was gonna see if you wanted to join me."

Pete's heart pounded. He wasn't the stereotypical dumb jock and he put two and two together. "Is that you inviting me or Mark?"

Jason grinned and leaned in. "Cap likes fresh meat... I've already introduced him to my former fraternity brothers. He's been wanting a go at you, Andrews."

This is not how Pete imagined it going down. "I figured Cap had the moves to approach me directly."

Jason anticipated this. He continued in a whisper "He thinks you'll pull some top bullshit. I told him you're not like that, bro."

"So.. I go with you... and I get Cap-ed for the first time."

"Yep. Probably not the last time either."

Pete pushed his chair and leaned back some. He was getting chubbed. "Tell me Miller, was Scott lying about the size?"

"Nope," Jason said. "Not a bit." He gave his buddy that killer smile. "That affect your decision?"

Pete shook his head and gulped. "Give me fifteen minutes OK?"

Jason grinned. "You got it, bro." He paused and patted Pete's meaty shoulder through his button-down shirt. "Listen, Andrews... sorry I haven't been there for ya."

The two young men communicated so much through their eyes. Jason knew how Pete felt, and Pete knew he didn't have to hide or explain it.

"It's OK, Miller. I get it.... thanks for inviting me today."

Jason gave one last squeeze of Pete's shoulder. "Of course... It'll be fun. You'll see."

"Yeah," Pete replied. "I just figured I'd be the one to take you under my wing, is all. Not the other way around."

Jason gave a soft laugh. He stepped back and was about to leave the cubicle when he stopped.

"Um... if anything, bro, Scott sold Cap short. Just warning ya."

Pete took in that knowledge. His imagination was starting to get away from him. "Cool."

"In fifteen?" Jason asked. Confirming.

"In fifteen," Pete replied.

[peachesancreams]

Angelic Wives

Vox, Alastor, and Husk

There is a spoiler for helluva boss is Voxs part, just a heads up

Summary: just a stream of thought on their wives, who they are and how they’d act in life and heaven

Vox

I see him running a TV program like a new up coming producer

he produced one of those musical/comedy jubilees, so people preformed or did comedy acts

meet his wife as she sang some cover of an older song, she had wanted to do her own original song but the studio vetoed it

he loved her voice and natural elegance, she thought his secretly pathetic nature was adorable

Old Hollywood IT couple vibes, but like any photos of them he’s blank or stoic looking

he just liked the contrast of his radiantly glowing wife to his darkness

she had no illusions about how terrible he was. She drank and smoked sure but she knew she had nothing on him morally

my headcanon is he got his head repeatedly smashed into a TV by someone he definitely stole the position from

I’ll say this once: She’s Only Heaven because of Him

Like she was a good person but if you’ve seen Helluva Boss you know you can like buy you’re way into heaven(donate it to good causes and the like)

Idk if they were a thing but i can see Vox taking out a life insurance policy on both him and his wife, either way when he passed she ended up loaded

didn’t want it, actually was SUPER depressed due to him passing so she kept enough to sustain herself but donated everything else

only went on TV on his death date, sang songs he loved or would’ve liked

did make only 1 album but it was very sad and it wasn’t popular when she was alive

was also murdered!! But in a mugging, her favorite pearl necklace got destroyed but she got to keep her ring(she wanted those damn pearls)

my first idea for her in heaven was to have a spotlight head akfbwjnxjdndkskd

honestly tho I think she’d be a Sand Cat, very rare but definitely not a house pet

people have mixed feelings about her being in heaven

it was cause she had a more ‘sexy starlet’ persona cause many people unconfirmed rumors

Now it’s mainly due to how she’s publicly admits to still loving her demon husband

knows they technically aren’t married “death do you part” and all, but she kept the ring dammit that’s her man

would be thrilled to know he had found a partner!!(partners of polyvees)

not the jealous type has a more “I can share as long as you have space for me in your heart” thought process

For Just Valentino

• “oh wow he found someone with the a similar moral compass! That is to say: none! Good for him.”

• think he’s very beautiful tbh

• “why are they both so damn tall…” jealous only of their height

For PolyVees

“I love the Evil Power Couple vibe….what? I can like it and know they are not good people! Logic people, come on.”

Craves velvettes designs, like heavens fashion has Christian Dior but she likes Velvettes fresh styles

would be curious about the relationship dynamics tbh like is her husband a hinge or what

Back to my HeadCannons!!

actually started her own jubilee program in heaven! Still takes a segment on Vs death day to sing him a song

It’s popular cause new souls who remember miss old MTV(I know I do) and older souls miss the performance aspect I bet

Heaven does have to check over what she’s putting on the program, it has to be clean and by heavens many rules after all

does a hosting segment on the weekends, she apparently got really popular after her death!!

People in heaven were gagged to see her being a TV host(Hell too if the Cherub commercial is anything to go by)

Alastor

met when they were young adults at Mimzys club, it was a slow romance like spring thawing out winter

A slow realization but quick to accept their love for the other, got married so quick people actually started to gossip

that was a theme in their life together, being gossiped about but no one confronting them

he was a famous radio host after all! And she was his lovely housewife, even if she was a yankee

(he doesn’t remember her but they meet when they were younger but only she remembered, didn’t say much cause she knows it wasn’t a happy time for him)

loved to forage and garden, paired with his hunting they always ate very fresh food. (He misses it not that he’d actually say to anyone)

I can see him living outside of New Orleans, not in the bayou but close to the swamps

she didn’t know about his murder hunts, and as he became a cannibal after death she never ate a victim

so while he was shot in the head, my personal headcanon was that people thought the hunter was the mass murderer and a mob got to him before police

I will write about this somewhere else because I have A Lot of thoughts on police work back then, plus the forensics that aid in this

she was of course devastated, she barely ate and when the police told her what happened the first time she fainted

they had to repeat themselves 3 times till it registered that her husband was dead

so many assumed she offed herself, but she just fell asleep in the bath after a breakdown

having drowned and gone to heaven, she finally got to meet the other most important person to Alastor!!

Abigail is also a deer, and was thrilled to meet she lil Al’s lady! Always lowkey knew what kinda person her boy was so is not surprised he isn’t in heaven

his wife is Upset and Confused, he should be here? Why isn’t he in paradise!

I t’s not a-typical but Sera had a meeting with her and basically was like “listen you didn’t know this so you were safe but…”

tells his wife everything, doesn’t hold anything back. Sera knows Abigail has an idea, but not the full picture

now she is Upset and Confused but for very different reasons.

She’s upset for many reasons; he lied to her, many times and in so many ways. She felt like a fool

Confused at herself because she still…misses him. And loves him. He was her Al, sweet with terrible jokes and his mamas recipes.

She shouldn’t. Right? He’s evil and where he belongs.

Opened a coffee shop because she needed something to do, and with no forests to forage she turned to Abigail who turned her to cooking/baking

her menu has his favorite snack foods, and a handful of sweet items that she rotates out

expanded to matcha and espresso in the modern years, but kept her coffee shop in a vintage design

think a tea room design but for a coffee shop

Husk

Ok so Husk always gave me ex-solider vibes, like the drinking and gambling? Coping mechanisms

Husk was probably a very hard man to love and did a lot of learning down in Hell

I can see him leaving his family, but only cause he saw it as the debt leaving with him

(It did and ended up being the reason he died, owing money to the wrong people)

His wife, the reason he can not love, was tough as nails at least on the outside

Would and did roll up her sleeves and did the “man’s work” around the house; fixed up the car, plumbing, made a table out of a tree that fell in the yard

If she could learn how to do it, she put her all into it

When he left took up neighborhood odd jobs, many actually used her for childcare and it inspired her to open her home to kids in need.

They didn’t get to have any kids before he left, they tried but…well she always ended up saying her kids came to her later in life

Caring for and loving those kids are why she’s in heaven, she thankfully passed while not fostering any young ones

Spontaneous heart attack, wasn’t surprised liked her meat and potatoes

Mainly white Calico, long haired to Husks medium(fluffycatsfluffycatsfluffycats)

Not surprised Husk isn’t in heaven, he was a soldier he killed people. Is a lil surprised she’s there

She was a kind woman, a hard life made her have a hard exterior

She did what she could for the children she could, but never saw it as enough

If Hell has children then Heaven probably does too

Opened a few orphanages, got permission from the Seraphim’s and everything

Isn’t a director but does do monthly check ins to make sure everything is to her standards. Wants the best for these kids.

Thinks about Husk in a bittersweet way, knows he’s probably enjoying all the gambling dens and ladies

He was faithful in life and that’s more then most women got, she doesn’t mind him seeking others

It doesn’t matter that she hasn’t tried looking for another, she always preferred her own company anyway

She had been annoyed and angry at him in life for leaving but in the afterlife…..in small quiet moments she thinks about him

all dividers are credited to @saradika-graphics

[canarydarity]

Against All Odds by Canarydarity

Chapters: 1/4

Fandom: 3rd Life | Last Life SMP series, Hermitcraft SMP, Empires SMP

Rating: Teen and Up | Warnings: No archive warnings apply

Relationships: Jimmy Solidarity/Tango Tek, Jimmy Solidarity & Grian

Additional tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Baseball, Major League Baseball, References to Major League Baseball, based off a true story, I know thats a weird tag to have here just. trust me okay, will be explained in the notes, it’s also gay. if that counts for anything, they play pro baseball AND theyre gay, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Internal Conflict, Grian and Jimmy | Solidarity are Siblings, Jimmy | Solidarity-centric, Jimmy | Solidarity Needs a Hug, New York Yankees, New York City, Nostalgia, Rumors, Press and Tabloids, Peer Pressure, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, but it WILL have a happy ending :)), Additional Tags to Be Added

Summary:

In May of 1961, Jimmy's in his second season as right fielder for the New York Yankees and his fourth in Major League Baseball overall. Not a particularly impressive player with a rather normal batting average, he's managed to skate by without too much notice.

That is until a rumor runs in the press that Jimmy's trying for the record of most home runs during a single season, previously held by baseball legend and former Yankee Babe Ruth. It doesn't matter that Jimmy has no intentions of chasing any records, the press is saying he does, and now the public thinks so too.

Jimmy winds up in a race against the clock: he has to hit at least 61 home runs by the time the season ends in September. Of course, on top of that is the homesickness, losing himself and the kid who fell in love with the game somewhere along the way, and an unexpected romance with the team's resident analyst.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Just curious...could this Sussex Squad thing turn into a legal investigation (if it's not already)? And what crimes would they be arrested for and what is the penalty?!??

The "general" stuff they do (for lack of a better word), like spread rumors about the Waleses and bully Kate's fans on social media, there's not a whole lot there. It's just seen as "coming with the territory" (also for lack of a better phrase).

Where the Sussex Squad could get into legal trouble is if or when they go after single accounts - doxxing them, dogpiling them, or escalating to death threats (or r*pe threats, threats of violence, etc.). All of that could qualify as stalking, intimidating, harassment, or incitement for violence for which there could be criminal charges levied. Depending on the severity and the jurisdiction, the penalty could range from slap-on-the-wrist fines to jail time.

Where it gets complicated is who reports these incidents and what kind of evidence or investigation there is to support the complaint. Usually the victim of a cyber crime has to report the incident (vs a bystander witness) and usually the onus on providing evidence to prove there's a case is on the victim - in most cases, the investigator (police, FBI, DHS, a lawyer) won't open a case unless the victim provides enough evidence to make it worth their time; screenshots of messages and usernames or phone numbers, IP addresses, voicemails, voice recordings. Which really sucks, but that's the grey area in a lot of cyber crime where the policies and practices are still being developed.

So for example, when Yankee Wally was doxxed and bullied off Twitter, only Yankee Wally could have reported the cyberbullying, the cyber harassment, the cyber stalking/intimidation and she would have had to provide evidence - e.g., screenshots of the tweets and the usernames/accounts who were harassing her. The rest of us wouldn't have been able to "call it in" for her. We could've helped take screenshots of any public messages she received or any posts/websites we saw where her PII published, but we most likely wouldn't have been able to report it to the FBI and have it taken seriously.

Which is why if you're ever the victim of a cyberbullying campaign, a doxxing, online harassment, it's super important you document everything. Take screenshots of all the messages you get (or see) and make sure all the identifying information is there like timestamps, usernames, account handles, and phone numbers. If you know how to get someone's IP address, grab that too. Save any voicemails or voice messages you get. If you answer a call that turns out to be harassment, document as much as you can; the number they called from, what time, what their voice sounded like, what they said. Have physical copies (printouts), electronic copies (screenshots), and backup copies.

If this is happening to you and you receive packages or letters in the mail from addresses you don't recognize, that are unusually heavy, or are leaking some kind of fluid/grease, don't open them, don't bring them inside, don't let children or pets near. Call the police to report it and follow their instructions about what to do.

[drewsbuzzcut]

A Peek Behind The Curtain

mat barzal x model!fem!reader

a visceral in doses ig edit

tmz_tv

liked by y/nfan, islesfan4, and 4,713 others

tmz_tv after multiple rumors that y/n y/ln and mat barzal were dating and then broke up, the couple were seen out on a few different occasions. Are they together or fooling people into thinking they are? Full story at link in bio.

view all top comments

islesfan3 who cares!!

y/nfan7 can you leave them alone! if they want us to know then they’ll tell us

islesfan9 y/n is just causing trouble for mat

y/nfan1 shut up that’s so dumb

tmz_tv

liked by y/nupdates, barzyworld, and 2,781 others

tmz_tv Model, Y/n Y/ln and Mat Barzal spotted sharing pda on Saturday night. It seems the pair are back in good graces. Full story at link in bio.

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islesfan3 literally who cares! they’re a shit couple anyway!

y/nfan there’s no need to be rude about this situation

y/nupdates please respect their privacy

barzyfan idc idc i love them together

tmz_tv

liked by islesnation, y/nfan2, and 4,292 others

tmz_tv Y/n Y/ln and Mat Barzal spotted at a New York Yankees baseball game. The photos were sent in by viewers at the game, saying the couple seemed happy. Full story at link in bio.

view all 1,284 comments

islesnation i feel so bad. their privacy is always being invaded.

y/nfan3 why can’t they be left alone

Y/nmatupdates i love them so much

enews

liked by y/nupdates, barzyfan, and 7,477 others

enews Model, Y/n Y/ln, who has been in a relationship with New York Islanders player, Mat Barzal, for almost one year was seen at a LA Kings game. Supposedly she was an invited guest. 👀 Link in our bio to read full story.

view all 300 comments

barzyfan why are you making out to be something it’s not? it’s not a big deal to be at another team’s game!

y/nfan LEAVE HER ALONE

y/nfan5 mat is bringing all this drama in her life

barzyfan it’s literally not his fault??

yourusername

liked by barzal97, bblount, and 39,683 others

yourusername God forbid I go to a game that my boyfriend isn’t playing in! I have stayed quiet for too long. Mat and I didn’t break up; we didn’t try to fool people, and although our relationship is public, we would still appreciate some sort of privacy. I love Mat and our little life together. If someone has a problem with that, then I’m sure you can find the way out!

comments are off.

[rom-e-o]

If Bess were to show up in your og timeline, the Scrooges would probably first meet her at Lottie's coming out ball, as they would most definitely be invited.

Okay, YES, I want to talk about Bess being introduced into my historic timeline. I’ve been mulling over ideas, because honestly, I just can’t bear the thought of these two ladies not being soul sisters in any universe.

A coming out ball would be the perfect occasion, especially Lottie’s. It’s a high-society event, and the guest list is prestigious. Scrooge is connected, after all. They receive the invitation, and there is a bit of discussion about why it landed in their laps. “I’ve heard she’s got … a personality, that one.” (I can see Magda rolling her eyes. “I know what that’s jargon for.”)

Now, let me ask … how do you see Bess being involved in the event? I feel like Connie bumps into her by chance, perhaps noticing her on the outskirts of things. Or perhaps Connie even nearly trips in the ballroom, and Bess is the only one kind enough to lean in and actually help (thereby breaking the stuffy ‘traditionalist’ decorum.) Then, Connie hears that American accent, and her face lights up. “Oh, a-are you from the States as well?”

Connie has slowly been learning the London social scene, character by character. She’s familiar with the prestige and infamy of the Dowager Countess of Calloway herself, and the Shaw are certainly discussed. Perhaps she’s crazy, but some even whispered that Marley himself had connections, or … relations. But those were just rumors … right? She had never had a reason to ask her husband if he … knew anything. Perhaps she should.

Lottie is SUPPOSED to be the main event (and poor Scrooge may get stolen by her) but Connie can’t help but be intrigued by this other Yankee in London.

“Oh! (Peers over Bess’ shoulder) It would appear the lady of the hour is flirting with my husband. Oh my. (Laughs). Thankfully, he can hold his own. … Do you enjoy parties? I like them, but when it’s your job to like parties for so long, they lose their luster. Don’t you think?”

And Connie is a chatterbox. If Bess was looking for a place to be alone, I’m afraid that isn’t happening. Unless she shooed her off, of course. Then she’s willingly give the woman space, bow, and follow directions. She’d give her the utmost respect without any ill word or argument. However, if she was in the headspace to welcome conversations at the time … woof. Get ready, Bess.

“I must say, I love your dress. That blue really makes your eyes pop, and your lips too! And your hair is so pretty. I could never get mine that perfectly curled, even if I brushed it and curled it endlessly with my wand. It can be a bit of a nest sometimes, haha. That’s why I wear it down. Ah, sorry. I’m … probably coming on a tad too strong. Am I talking too much? My apologies.”

If Bess’ siblings are in attendance, she’d most definitely love to meet them.

I’m picturing Eb and Bess perhaps sharing a dance too later in the night, which would be very interesting depending who knows what about what. Regardless of any of that, he say her and his wife talking, and wants to get to know her as a result. She must be quite the fine character.

Of course, there are lots of details to discuss, but I love this setting idea as a first meeting!

Then there is getting Wolf into the scene as well. I imagine it’s a similar Ezekiel-style situation, unless that conflicts with the timeline of events and reasons of Bess and Wolf to first meet through Marley? Tbh, I’m okay with ret-conning things in my universe to make it work too, because Bess and Wolf need to keep their pining story beats. They’re too freaking good.

[jessicanjpa]

Mad hatter and King of Hearts and you tell me who you want to tell me about. :)

(from the An OC's Adventures in Canonland ask game)

Mad Hatter: How would the story be different if they weren't around?

A little corner of Edward's brain still blames Margaret Weiss for his slippery slope in 1927. She was a delicious nobody, just a girl who sat next to him in Biology. Not a singer, but some people really do smell better than others. Edward got a little... studious about Margaret's scent during a time of adolescent moral upheaval and it soon devolved into having fantasies about killing her. He very nearly did kill her on his way out of town, but fortunately Charles Evenson popped into his head and the whole thing became more heroic from that moment on. To this day, Edward thinks "If she hadn't been around, maybe those thoughts would have come and gone without incident."

They would not have. Edward needed those rebellious years, so they were going to happen no matter what.

King of Hearts: How are they most likely to die (If already dead, how did they die?)

When death came up, I immediately consulted my list of red shirt OCs. Let's talk about Sergeant Lockewood! He was in Jasper's Confederate regiment, the Texas Fifth Cavalry, and the one who accompanied him on the evacuation mission to Houston. This poor guy was never going to amount to much, but at least he was superstitious enough to take the vampire rumors seriously. Jasper laughed in his face.

Lockewood didn't get a Yankee bullet like the others. The cause of death was, you guessed it, Jasper. (I haven't written this one yet.)

[rageagainstmymachine]

The Sunlight That Seeps Through Our Uniforms (Primis Richtofen x F! Reader)

WWI AU

Summary: The paper in your hand didn’t make sense, it couldn’t make sense. Your gut flipped as you concluded this must have been a mistake- they got the wrong person, or this was mistranslated… yes… yes, that must be it. The slip was a morse translator’s scribbled writing, he could have very well been a doctor with his penmanship, but you could still make out what it said.  Sergeant.

You read your last name over and over, trying to will the name into another’s, but each letter stayed the same, it must be a mistake.

~

France, 1917. You are the only woman in the German army acting in a soldier's role, you must survive while trying to find the respect you deserve as a new sergeant. You find your place in the rank as you slowly fall for your Kommandant: Edward Richtofen.

The paper in your hand didn’t make sense, it couldn’t make sense. Your gut flipped as you concluded this must have been a mistake- they got the wrong person, or this was mistranslated… yes… yes, that must be it. The slip was a morse translator’s scribbled writing, he could have very well been a doctor with his penmanship, but you could still make out what it said.  Sergeant. 

You read your last name over and over, trying to will the name into another’s, but each letter stayed the same, it must be a mistake.

“Fuck you standing there for? Move your ass!” The officer who gave you the slip barked at you, making you quickly stand.

Jawohl.

You squeezed past him, trudging through the mud of the trenches, walking to the edge of the trench to make it to your Kommandant’s tent.

The year was 1917, your country has been at war with what seems like the entire world for the last three years. You’ve only been on the frontlines for a year now, but even that made you a seasoned veteran. There had been rumors that the Russians might drop out of this war- that there had been revolutionaries popping up, but you’ve also been hearing talks about those pesky Americans joining the war. Probably nothing to worry about— those Yankees don’t have the strength or resources to fight a proper European war.

Your situation was peculiar, though. You kept telling yourself you were just a normal soldier, but you knew that wasn’t the case. Your fellow soldiers made sure you knew that. You’re a woman, and they don’t take too kindly to you being in this position.

You kept your head down as you marched, avoiding the eyes of your sneering comrades. They’d feed you to the dogs if they could. The sounds of distant gunfire could be heard, but you were used to it, hell, at this point you could even sleep through it.

It was only a few more meters until the trenches got shallower and shallower, becoming level with the ground that was once above. You were far enough behind friendly lines that being up on the surface wasn’t much to worry about, it was a far cry from no man’s land. It was dreary cold day, the trenches did a good job of blocking the wind, but up here it chilled your bones, even with your wool uniform.

Finally, your kommandant’s tent was in front of you, you had half the mind to turn away now, but treachery was still slightly worse than this. You held your breath and lifted the flap of the tent, making your way inside to salute your superior officer.

“Kommandant, sir! I received word from an officer that… you wanted to see me… sir?”

His eyebrow shot up, looking you over from head to toe.

Kommandant Richtofen, feared in the army as well as the battlefield as a whole- there has been rumors of hurried ‘beware’ scribbles straight into the wooden beams of enemy trenches he and his companies have raided, apparently warning of him and him alone. You’ve heard of his cruelty even amongst your fellow soldiers, not many have been spared to tell his tale… at least that's what you’ve heard during mess.

He was tall, not quite Prussian tall, but towered over most men around you. His black hair was a stark contrast to his pale skin, his dark eyebrows making his bright blue eyes even more piercing, staring straight into your soul. The mustache he donned was a lot different than that of other officers- officers of the German army tended to wear that of the kaiser, said it commanded respect, however, he wore that of the British; trimmed, neat. You’ve heard men whisper of his facial hair choice in jest, calling him a Tommie in disguise. You wouldn’t see those soldiers again after that. The whisperings of the Kommandant seemed to taper off after a string of disappearances. 

He mashed his cigarette out, standing up tall to tower over you. He was intimidating - he was powerful.

You hadn’t had many interactions with your Komandant, in fact you just joined this company a little over two months ago, Kommandant Richtofen always had his lower officers doing his bidding, this was to be the first real interaction with him.

“Private… (l/n), is it?” He asked, eyes scanning the document in his hand as he said your name, no doubt reading it from the paper. “At ease,”

You drop your hand, standing there tall with your arms now crossed behind your back. He looked at you with a cold stare, letting you sit in the uncomfortable silence, daring you to break from it.

“How long have you been in my company, private?” Kommandant Richtofen asked, flipping through a stack of files on his desk. 

“About two months, sir.” 

“Two months? Hm…” 

He seemed to find the file he was looking for, pulling it out of the stack. He flipped through the pages, eyes wandering from the words, to you, back to the words.

“Says here you joined at the beginning of 1916, ja?” He asked, more to himself than anything as he read your file. His eyes widened, looking at you once again. “Verdun… survived, yet came out with nothing… no medals, no awards… nothing.” He slammed the file down, causing you to jump. HIs eyes were cold as ice, demanding for you to explain.

You bit your lip, hands trembling behind your back as you spoke. “First six months I wasn’t allowed on the frontlines, I was a glorified messenger, inventory keeper… anything to keep me cemented where I was… rank wise.”

“Und after that?”

Your eyes fluttered closed for a minute, the flashbacks bringing you back the the days on that dreaded french hill. You nodded, ready to answer. “After six months of bloodshed, we began running low on men, new recruits were few and far inbetween, they had no choice but to let me fight.”

Richtofen sighed, sitting down to flip through your file once again, he glared at you any time you fidgeted.

“There’s two accounts of you visiting the infirmary at that time period, yet no records of what the prognosis was.” He noted, the statement being more of a question than anything.

“Yes, sir. One was for a gunshot wound, the other was an infection because of the wound weeks later.”

Your Kommandant sighed again, closing the file and setting it on top of the other ones. He clasped his hands together, somehow looking even more serious as he stared into your soul.

“No written accounts of excellence, hardly any written history, only the minimum notes in your file und your testimonial. That is all I have to work with.” Richtofen stated, voice low and shark.

“Sir if you-”

“Did I say you could speak freely, soldier?” He barked loudly, making you flinch,

“No sir.”

“Don’t make me already regret this decision… not that I have much choice.” He sneered the last part under his breath.

He stood up, walking to a corner of his tent where a cabinet stood. He opened the drawer harshly, pulling something out before slamming it back close. He approached you, harshly grabbing your collar. The snap of the pin coming loose cemented in your mind that this was truly happening. He threw your private rank pin on his desk, replacing it with the Sargeant one he retrieved. 

“I expect your cuffs to be sewn on by 0500.” He ordered, slamming them down in your open palm. 

“Sir” You started off, his eyes furrowing as he waited for your next few words. He was even more terrifying up close, you craned your need to meet his gaze. “...may I speak freely?”

Richtofen seemed to consider your request for a moment. “If you must.”

“Sir, I’m not even a corporal, this must be a mistake…”

“You think I made a mistake?” He asked, challenging you.

“N- no sir, but-”

“You survived over 300 days of battle in Verdun. Not all in the frontlines, however at least half were. You were injured in battle, yet continued to fight, I don’t see what your issue is, soldier.”

“I just-”

“You just what?”

You stared up at him, your mind racing as you tried to find your words. He stepped closer and closer to you, until there was only a few inches between you and him. You could see the heavy bags under his eyes.

“...sir, I was told when I first enlisted I would not be eligible for promotion, so that is why I am confused.”

Richtofen’s eyebrows furrowed, seemingly confused from what you just said. He turned on his heel and made his way around to his desk, pulling open your file to see what he missed.

“Court-martialed?” 

“No sir, I-”

“AWOL? Treachery?”He grilled trying to find the reason for your inability to rise in the ranks.

“No, sir, if you will!” You asked, way louder than expected. His stance went ridgid, as he slowly looked up from the documents.

“Excuse me?” He had venom in his voice.

It was your turn to sigh looking away as you gritted your teeth. “Sir, because I am a woman, I am ineligible for promotion.” 

“Really, under what law? Last time I checked you were making history. So tell me, what law did they write up especially for you?” He seemed to jeer, leaning forward against the desk as he waited for your answer.

“...I was told by my last Kommandant back in Verdun.” 

“Do I look like your last Kommandant, soldier? Are you comparing me to him?” Richtofen’s eyebrow raised as he asked.

“No, sir-”

“Exactly. This is mein company und I will not have you telling me what I can and cannot do, do you understand?

He was yelling at this point, you wanted to crawl under a rock and die. The first true interaction between the two of you and he seemed to already hate you. Way to go, (y/n).

“Yes, Kommandant.” You confirmed, barely above a whisper. He glared at you for a while more, before sitting back down, looking over his maps again.

“Don’t make me look like a fool for allowing this. Dismissed, sergeant.”

You saluted, quickly turning on your heel to exit the tend, your lungs begging for fresh air. You felt panicked, more panicked than during battles. You took a minute to catch your breath, contemplating what this new rank would mean for you… you watched as an officer entered the Kommandant’s tent, giving you a confused look with furrowed brow. 

You had new responsibilities, men to look out for, to order around. It only dawned on you then that you had no idea what group of men were now your soldiers, the Kommandant hadn’t mentioned it to you. You considered for a moment going to see him again, but that idea scared the shit out of you.

Just as you were contemplating another beat down, the officer emerged from the tent, a piece of paper in hand. His eyes caught yours quickly, looking even more confused than ever.

“Are you… sergeant (L/n)?” He asked in disbelief.

“Yes… yes that's me.” Even you sounded unsure. He gave you a disgusted look, shoving the paper against your chest.

“Here’s your squad information.” 

He was gone before you could say anything. You sighed, bringing the paper up to look at it. Ten names were written on it, names you knew as your fellow soldiers. Nine were privates and the tenth was of a corporal who has given you hell since you got here– your gut dropped at the name.

Corporal Klaus Brauer, a jackass through and through. He was a few years younger than you, and had only been on the front lines for a few months now, but he was from old money, heir of a Major, he was rising through the ranks quickly and he knew his name had weight. Incredibly sexist, if you may add, you hated when he called upon you, his remarks were always disgusting. More than once did he call you a nurse. 

You swallowed that feeling of dread. You were higher rank than him now, you were now his superior. 

You pocketed the paper, heading for the supply tent to grab a few items- since you now had command of these men, you had to take care of them.

~

You marched through the twisting trench, getting closer and closer to the front lines. It was almost a maze, but with two months of walking it every day, you knew it like the back of your hand. You turned down a dead end section and were met with a group of soldiers, either smoking against the wall or playing craps.

“Excuse me,” You say, trying to gain the mens’ attention. Only a few even glanced at you, the rest paying you no mind. After a few awkward moment’s of standing there, you tried again, louder. “Soldiers!”

“Hell you want? We’re busy, unless you are here to show us a good time.” One snickered, the men around him joining in with their laughter. 

“Nein, I came to pass out-”

“Rubbers? Listen, sweetheart, we already have plenty.”

“Socks!” You yell, “I am here to pass out socks because as your sergeant it’s my job to take care of you!”

The men all went silent, the ones with the dice turning around to look at you. That revelation definitely got their attention. 

“Come again?” One laughed, assuming you were joking. You did your best to glare at the man.

“I am your new sergeant, and I am here to do my job.” You throw a pair of socks to each man, saving Brauer for last, he held his cigarette between his lips, that stare he saved just for you was worn. “First thing I’m combating is trench foot. Gangrene statistics have been rising steadily over the last few months, and I am not letting my squad add to that statistic.” You announce. “Change your socks daily or whenever they become soaked, even if you don’t think it's needed, better safe than sorry.”

“Excuse me, sergeant? This some kind of joke private (l/n)?” Brauer cackled. 

“Sergeant (l/n) and no, it is not. If you don’t believe me, Brauer, you can ask the Kommandant yourself.”

Corporal Brauer stood up, puffing out his chest as he stepped closer, he threw the pair of socks down. “That’s Corporal Brauer to you, (l/n).” He sneered. “And I highly doubt Kommandant Richtofen promoted a woman as sergeant. You are a goddamn private.”

He hocked spit in your face, the other soldiers behind him cheering as he did. He smirked as you flinched, quickly wiping the spit off.

“I am-!”

“And where’d you get these, huh? You stealing from the German empire?” He asked, yanking you by your collar, showing everyone your newly acquired sergeant pins. The soldiers taunted you, once again cheering as Klaus Bauer pulled them off roughly, ripping your collar in the process. 

“What the fuck! Give me those back!” You yelled, trying to grab your pins back. He held them up with one hand and pushed you harshly with the other. You landed squarely in the mud. He turned and chucked your pins into no man’s land.

“It’s bad enough they let a woman in the army, but no bitch is going to taint the role of officer.”

A searing pain enveloped your face as he kicked you in the jaw. You cried out in pain while the soldier behind him cheered louder. You cradled your face as you laid in the mud, tears forming in your eyes as a pain response. You went to get up, but other men surrounded you, making lewd comments as some grabbed your feet, others your hands as they pinned you down. YOu cried out, trying to shake their grasp, but it was worthless. You saw Bauer wind his foot up again, and you squeezed your eyes shut, tensing for the kick.

“What the fuck is going on here?” A lieutenant called, rounding the corner from the main trench line. The privates quickly cleared out, not wanting to get in trouble, only leaving you and Bauer there. The officer saw you on the ground, your jaw red and beginning to swell. He raised his eyebrow at the Corporal.

“Oh, Lieutenant Muller. I was just… punishing this soldier… this private.” He growled, grabbing you by the collar and pulling you up. 

“I’m sure that was more than enough for whatever crime she has committed, Klaus” He chuckled. He looked at you and grabbed your arm, pulling you away. “Get along, soldier.”

You stumbled out of that section of trench, making your way anywhere but there. You held your jaw as you did so, keeping your head down as you walked. You heard chants from the soldier that witnessed it, whisperings to others about what happened. You felt disgusting. 

You kept walking until you made your way past friendly lines, back to the areas above ground. It was only then you allowed yourself to sit down behind some crates. You trembled as you tried to steady your breathing. The tears that wanted to spill you tried so desperately to hold back, you didn’t need to be weaker than they already thought you were.

You stayed there for a few more minutes until your breathing had become mostly normal. After that initial anxiety, dread had started to set it. You had a busted jaw and two missing rank pins. That looks great for your first day as sergeant, even worse… you needed replacement pins, not even 2 hours after your promotion. Your blood ran cold as you realized you would have to report to Kommandant Richtofen for it.

You tried to think of any way to not have to do that, even considering crawling out into no man’s land at night to retrieve your first pair, but even you knew that was stupid (Only because you knew it would be near impossible to find them) After 30 minutes of hiding and trying to reason with yourself that no one would notice your rank pins gone, you sighed, standing up on shaky legs to make your way back to that dreaded tent.

“Kommandant…?” You called out from outside of his tent. You heard rustling of paper, and a sigh, yet nothing else was heard “Sir, may I come in?” You tried again, getting closer to the flap. After a few more seconds of silence, another sigh was heard.

“Ja. Come in.”

You enter his tent carefully, scared to make any sudden movement, almost buying yourself some time from this guaranteed ass-chewing. He looked up at you, dropping the papers he had onto his desk, eyes wide.

“What the hell happened to you??”

You bit the inside of your cheek, debating if you should tell him the truth.

“I uhm… I fell, sir.” 

“You fell…?” He repeated, you nodded yes. “What, into someone’s fist?” Richtofen let out a laugh, not one of joy, but out of disbelief.

You averted your eyes to the floor, feeling smaller than you did when Brauer was standing over you. He saw your expression and sighed.

“Sergeant, if someone hit you, a report needs to be made. Infighting isn’t tolerated.” 

You still couldn’t look him in the eyes. You hated him calling you sergeant. You didn’t feel like a sergeant. What kind of officer would allow their soldiers to beat on them? You didn’t deserve the title, you commanded no respect.

“No sir,” You said, voice monotone. “No one hit me.”

You glance up to see his expression, his face was stone cold, however disbelief was surely evident. He didn’t believe you one bit. You stared at you longer, silently telling you to tell him the truth, but when you didn’t he just sighed again, something he does often towards you, apparently.

“If you do decide to make a report here is-” His words stopped abruptly, eyes narrowing as he glared at you.”… where the fuck are your pins, soldier!?” Richtofen stood, his fist slamming on his desk as his face showed anger. 

“I lost them.” You said, barely above a whisper.

“Excuse me, soldier?” He asked, voice even louder. “What did you just- look at me when I am talking to you sergeant (l/n)!”

“I lost them, sir!” You said louder. You peeled your eyes from the ground to stare at his icy ones. His face was red,

“You… lost them!?”

Your mouth opened and shut as you tried to find a good reason on how you lost them, but in the end you just stayed silent. He looked you up and down, seemingly only now seeing the sate you were in, bruised and muddy. He took a deep breath, trying to find it in himself to ask this next thing calmly.

“Does your lost pins have anything to do with your injury, soldier?” He said in an eerily calm voice. 

Somehow it was worse than him yelling at you. You didn’t answer him, just staring straight into his eyes, but all that did was confirm it. He looked away, taking deep breaths not saying a word to you. He still looked mad as hell, but at least he wasn’t staring at you anymore. He got up and marched to the cabinet, retrieving another set of pins. This time instead of pinning them on, himself, he just gave them to you.

“I don’t want another incident of lost pins happening again, you understand?” He growled. 

“Y-yes sir.”

“Gut. And here, the form, if you decide to tell me the truth. Get out of my sight.” 

You scurried out of his tent for the second time that day, new set of pins and a form in hand. You wondered if he regretted his decision now.

You slumped against your emotional support crates, hiding from the world. This was possibly the worst first day any sergeant had, proficiency wise.You quickly put your new pins on your collar, slightly askew given the tear, but they were on- you’d sew it back together tonight when you sew on your cuffs. Your eyes fell onto the incident report document in front of you. Brauer had connections, if you filled it out it would only be a detriment against you. 

You crumpled it up, stomping it in the dirt. 

You had no idea what would kill you first at this point, the enemy, or your own soldiers.

~

This is just chapter one of a multichapter fic I'm writing.

You can find this chapter and chapter 2 here!

I hope you enjoy this writing venture I am beginning (and don't worry, ADT will continue to be updated as well if this isn't your cup of tea)

[neep-neep-neep]

Ngozi's symbolism in Check Please!

it's been boiling inside me too long so i have to let this out now. Too many people don't understand Ngozi's symbolism in Check Please! and to increase your enjoyment of the series and her clever writing (honestly, I've seen the worst takes from people about her writing somehow being subpar because of the ending or Parse not getting a happy ever after ugh). Listen to the woman when she says "the pie is Bitty"!

Part I: Pie

Bitty brings a pecan pie to SMH to introduce his Southern identity to a Yankee university and sports team. He brings another four pies to the family skate with Jack and agonizes when a slice is about to be left over. He drops a pie when overwhelmed by Shitty and Nursey's discussion of the rumors about Jack and the secrets he has to keep.

The fruit filling is Bitty's sweet, warm, and tender inner self and the crust is, well, his formal, people-pleasing, selfless outer shell.

A fruit pie is either fully obscured or latticed, both being some sort of cover for the filling.

Bitty is making an intricate lattice on a pie and stopping halfway through to break down while on the phone with his mom. He isn't ready to tell her, even though she does inform him her pie (Bitty) is 'almost ready to come out'.

II: Jam

After "Me & Jack", Bitty goes on a jam making spree. The jam is a similar fruity sweet substance, but it is in clear jars because Jack and Bitty's truth is out, and may even be open to some sympathetic players on other NHL teams (he mentions in a tweet that he owes someone on the Schooners squad a jar of jam, as the preserve is becoming a hit through Jack's generous gifting). He also informs Jack "it's gonna be two trips", foreshadowing the fact they'll have to come out a second, more emotionally wracking time.

Jam also represents Bitty's connection with his aunt Judy, a nonconformist in the family who as Ngozi has explained encouraged him to seek a higher educational option where he could be himself. He has loyalty to Judy above his mother, a secret that eventually and humorously blows up in his face.

III: Bread and toast

Jack tells his entire NHL team about Bitty while they're eating a lopsided (but delicious) loaf of bread and the aforementioned jam, both homemade by the diminutive southerner. Bitty makes sandwiches for Jack as loving gestures, giving him support during his toughest days on the ice. At his worst, Jack sees himself as broken or incapable of moving past the substance abuse and mental health issues he struggled with under an unbearable spotlight as the hockey prince.

Jack is the bread. The same warm and supportive oven that bakes Bitty's pies also allows bread to rise. Samwell helped Jack just as it helped Bitty, but more important, Bitty was a huge part of why Samwell helped Jack.

It's also why two identical slices of toast pop into frame when Whiskey brushes Bitty off when the latter tries to talk to him in the cafeteria.

Whiskey is or at least wants to be seen as masculine through and through, his interests and future as regimented and compartmentalized as a TV dinner. He sees only weakness in Bitty's soft, sweet personality, and feels they don't have anything (else) in common. He rejects not just pies but Bitty's other offers of kindness and help, because he sees Bitty like he's afraid other people will see him if the truth ever gets out.

He represents the awkward, self-denying phase of coming to terms with your queerness later in life.

The story does, however, leave the question open whether Samwell helps Whiskey the way it helped Jack and Bitty and countless others. Whiskey will have Bitty's dibs as well as his support, as Bitty has done important work in college sports, setting a precedent that will even help people as different to him as Whiskey.

All of this to say some of you need to reread the comic again in its entirety and please annotate in the margins and have a 5 paragraph essay on Ngozi's epicness on my desk by monday class disMISSED

[oscarpiastriwdc]

21! 🎵

21. what is the best album of all time?

KATE BUSH HOUNDS OF LOVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

other must-mentions: bne because i am who i am; i hate agreeing with rolling stone but they're so right about pet sounds; fleetwood mac rumors; daddy yankee barrio fino; mbdtf; nebraska

[higashioka]

oh boy an impending yankees trade, i sure hope my favorite player and my reason for even getting into this team isn't in the rumored return package! now to take a big sip of coffee and