#but to be fair I have no clue if I end anything before Sunday because I will travel a lot

[theholypeanut]

Me dropping whole new fic I started and ended the same day: hehehe

All the fics in my drafts waiting for weeks or months: … 🤨

[livwritesstuff]

for @steddie-week day 7 (a day late bc sunday errands got a lil out of control)

this is a sneak peek of an upcoming fic (vibe is slow burn TV co-stars Steddie feat. denial of feelings, a betrayal, and chaotic misuse of social media) and I am Very Excited (that being said pls don't ask about a timeline bc I don't have a clue 😅)

tags: modern day, famous au, actor!steve, actor/singer!eddie, pre-relationship, fake dating (kind of)

The real point of no return in all this, Eddie knows, was the call with PR.

It – as in, having a little fun with the ridiculous dating rumors about him and Steve that had started floating around early on during the press tour for the TV show they'd filmed together last year – was all just a fun little joke until he woke up to a GCal invite in his inbox from the studio’s PR team and ended up on a thirty minute call where a bunch of random suits with fake-ass smiles laughed and said wouldn’t it be funny – wouldn’t it be a goddamn laugh-riot – if you guys played into the rumors? Just for the press tour?

(Just while we can profit off it?)

Yeah. Eddie knows the real motive here but his sense of self-preservation is, like, broken or something (defective at the very least) and he’s always down for a spectacle, so the second he sees Steve nodding his agreement, he agrees too.

It takes less than an hour for PR to send out an updated press schedule, one that now had Eddie paired with Steve at basically every opportunity, which…Eddie feels torn two ways about because, like, it’s an ensemble show. He’d actually really like to do some of this press stuff with Robin and Nancy too. On the other hand, all jokes aside, Eddie does have a pretty pathetic crush on Steve Harrington, so he sort of wants to clock all the hours with him as he can before the show comes out and all this comes to an end, when their paths will separate once again and remain that way probably forever (or until the show gets renewed for a second season, but that’ll be up in the air for a while).

And yes, Eddie sees the irony in the situation. Look – it’s not like he wanted to have a crush on this guy.

Their characters are practically brothers, and Eddie had been on enough sets to know that coming off a project even just being friends with castmates isn’t a walk in the park in and of itself.

Sure, Harrington’s cute – Eddie had noticed it the second they met, but he’d noticed it in kind of a clinical, detached way, like how he could hold an opinion on how good-looking one girl is from the next even if it didn’t do anything for him. He knew that Steve’s a good-looking dude, but more importantly, he’s an honest-to-god good person. Eddie wasn’t even thinking about being anything other than Steve’s friend because he could recognize the kind of privilege that alone is.

So, yeah. No crush on Steve Harrington in sight – not in the beginning, anyway, and not during the entire filming process. Then they started to film all the promo material, and the press tour had kicked off with an eight hour press junket, and after that very first interview (a fifteen minute sit-down with an entertainment talk show), Eddie had turned and asked Steve if he’d fucked up at all (because this is first time on a project big enough to have a real press tour and, seriously, he had no goddamn context for how any of this shit was supposed to go). Steve had just smiled and kicked his ankle and told him he did good and to stop worrying.

And something about that – the little kick to his ankle – had Eddie’s heart turning over like he was part of those trashy romance novels he outright refused to pick up (even though he’d put in a fair bit of time ogling the men on the covers as a horny, closeted teenager).

Oh, fuck, he’d remembered thinking.

Stop it, he’d tried to tell his heart or his brain or whoever else could be responsible for the feelings that were creeping in.

But it was already too late.

It only took a couple hours after the call with PR for Eddie to wonder if he might have made a mistake.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Eddie asked after scrolling through a thread of comments on a clip of an interview that made its way over to TikTok (the thread started with i’ve never seen steve look at anyone like that before and he stopped scrolling after won’t waste my time watching now with an anxious feeling swirling in his gut).

“Huh?” Steve blinked at him.

“I mean,” he paused, “Not every straight guy would be cool with the whole world thinking there’s something going on between him and his gay coworker.”

And Steve had merely shrugged.

“I really don’t think the whole world is tuning into the press tour for some nerdy doomsday show,” he had replied, and then he’d added, “And whoever said I’m straight?”

As if that hadn’t blown Eddie’s whole goddamn mind.

So…fuck it. What’s the worst that could happen?

[msookyspooky]

Things to remember for the trilogy just in case yall have short term memory like me these days 😅

1. Billy doesn't know we killed Mickey. It's a big part of why he's underestimating us. It's also cause we're a female 🙃

2. Billy and Stu don't know about Ray having feelings for us at Woodsboro or Windsor.

Stu usually got along with Ray and even called him a "cool nerd", but Billy always had this rivalry with him. Billy and Ray MIGHT have been friends at one point, but Stu thinks the only reason Billy fist fought someone for picking on Ray was because he was just looking to punch someone.

3. Billy and Stu don't know that we didn't talk to Ray for 2 years bc he blamed us for Sid.

I feel like Billy and Stu are going to use this against us in the future since in sequels Billy mocked us for allowing Sid to die thinking we were screwing them 😥

4. They have no clue Ray is technically the reason Gale thought we were involved and why she wrote her book depicting us as a backstabber. Ray did it on ACCIDENT tho.

Once again, I feel like Billy and Stu are going to use this against us, especially Stu. Stu might say stuff like "oh you'll forgive Ray for basically being the reason no one wants to be friends with you, but you won't forgive me after FIVE YEARS?" Some stupid crap like that 😑

All THEY know is that Gale's book caused us death threats and awful movie adaptations. THAT'S IT. They didn't even see the fight we had with Ray in the hallway.

5. Billy and Stu have never been truly in love. They don't know what romantic love is. The only love Billy knows is the platonic/familial love he had for his mom. He also loved his dad despite not being the best father.

Billy HAD a crush on us, but it wasn't love, it was an OBSESSION. It's the reason why he was so willing to kill us in Set Up after we betrayed him and why he was willing to kill us in the shed before the party. Billy cared, but he didn't care ENOUGH to not hurt us 💔

Billy currently still cares in the trilogy, but he only is obsessed in the end. He doesn't even have a crush anymore, he's numb to us, I think.

Stu had a crush as well, but it wasn't love either. He thought it was love in Set Up, but his version of love was screwed six days till Sunday. What Stu had was a crush and obsession and right now what Stu has in the trilogy is an INFATUATION.

Tbh Billy and Stu may never be able to truly love us 🤷‍♀️ we don't know how this story ends, but we might even die in scream 5 sooo everything is fair game.

6. We are essentially strangers to them. We are similar to the old y/n - we are motherly, soft-hearted, enjoy horror movies, brave, and are still a bad liar, but good actor.

These are traits 23-year-old Y/n STILL has and Stu see's these traits and is convinced we're the same person. He's created this perfect version of us, and he hates it when we shatter it.

Billy hasn't seen us in 3 years, so he's only seen that we are still motherly and caring, but he's still convinced we haven't changed one bit. Neither know anything truly about us. They don't know what our fav color is probably, our fav movie, all our little habits.

Tbh we BARELY know them. It's been 5 years and the version we knew in Set Up was KINDA real, but we didn't know the darker parts of them.

In Set Up, Billy was constantly being careful to not let us get to know him too much and Stu always let us in, but he hid the dark parts well.

Okay I'm done ranting 🤣 I just love this story sm.

Thank you for this bc my memory is screwed up to.

I'm so focused on the future plot that I have to constantly make bulletin points for little things like this so I owe you rn. Thank you bc this is me every chapter I write:

[missblissy]

hello i saw you were accepting alastor requests so i might request a headcanon from alastor x fem! reader, where the reader is an acquaintance from his childhood, maybe their families were friends but he was never interested in meeting her and now in hell he discovers that they have a lot in common? maybe she also practices vodoo or witchcraft? If you don't want to, no problem, I hope you have a good week. 👋👋

((I would love too <3 And thank you! I hope you have a good week too friend! I had way to much fun with this one so it turned out long Like really long. it's been awhile since I've done these I got a lot of ideas in my head xD Im sorry but I'm not sorry. Hope you enjoy it!!!))

You weren't always in his view. You were just the neighbor girl next door. Sure, your mothers would make you play together during their Sunday brunch parties, but that didn't mean a whole lot then. Alastor was a strange boy you found out. He was shy, he didn't like to play with others, and honestly, he was a big cry baby, hence why you never really hung out unless forced to. And then one day, he wasn't there anymore. He grew up and moved away. Far far away into the big city or something along those lines. It didn't matter then.

But boy does it matter now. You never thought in a million years you'd end up in hell. And then again, you never thought in a trillion years that Alastor would the first real person you ran into down there. First of all, how did he end up here before you, and second... how did he recognize you in this new demonic body. You were frantic and confused and running away from a psychopathic demon that looked like some kind of horse when you quite literally ran into Alastor. He didn't budge but you were knocked back onto your feet. At first, you didn't recognize him and you were ready for your never-ending hellfire torment to begin between the dog man and this red deer. But when he laughed, and he spoke, you could hear the faint familiar voice of the boy who lived next door.

It didn't take a genius to see what was going here. Alastor was and will always be kinder to those he deemed innocent and fair. So he did you a good favor scaring off that demon, but not without scaring you as well. "Oh come on now, (Y/n)! Don't remember me?" He gave you a big smile. You knew it was him, but it was still hard to believe, "Is that really you, Alastor?" You asked him, "You're... haha... Dead too?" You found that so hard to believe for some reason. You died fairly young and so did he apparently. He laughed and nodded his head, "Oh that feels like ages ago! Went and brought myself here on my own. Honestly, I couldn't wait to get out that dumb they call the surface." Oh... Well then.

That was a very strange day, but it was the start of something you never had while alive. Alastor was the only peace you got in this strange and dangerous new world. You weren't exactly the vilest person, you weren't even sure how you ended up in hell. Lastly, you were prone to find yourself in danger too often. And it felt like all too often Alastor was never far to save you. Or maybe he just liked saving you because you were a fresh but old reminder of a simpler time.

You found yourself joining him for lunches, or stoles around the city. He'd often advise you where to go, and where to stay away from. You bonded over memories from life, and what happened when he moved away, "What did you do while I was gone?" He asked. You sat back in your chair and tried not the look at the murder crows Alastor threw his food at. "Oh, well I moved out of Louisiana eventually, I went west to California and found myself among liked-minded people." You told him. He perked up at that and asked, "Like-minded how?" That's when you laughed and shrugged, "Witches..." You chuckled then sat back, "You know I didn't believe in Hell, because pagans don't normally view death in that way. But guess we were wrong, maybe that why I'm here." You both laughed at that.

"You're mother would be very upset to know that wouldn't she?" Alastor joked with you. Your mother was a kind woman but was Catholic through and through, "It's funny too because my family puts up a very good front. Bet you or your mother didn't know we were active practices of Voodoo." You were shocked to say the least and Alastor's smug grin didn't help. You had no clue, but.... It explained a lot about how Alastor may have gotten here.

From there, the two of you found yourself spending more and more time together. Alastor loved showing you the tricks and spells he accumulated over the years. He also loved showing off the great deal of his power and strength. Being around him so often made you become a little numb to the violence that sometimes followed him around. Though rarely, when it did happen, Alastor never held back.

It was strange to think the two of you were so close now, versus when you were kids. He had changed so much in so many ways. The shy little boy who'd cry if he got a cut had grown into a man who deeply loved entertaining himself with other's pain. You wanted to know what changed him, but you knew better than to ask. Rather, you found yourself loving the time you spent with him so much that you didn't want to do anything to ruin it.

He was such a gentleman to you, however. Gentle and kind even. Alastor only seemed to want to protect you, make you laugh, and above all, keep you company. He'd always loop his arm with yours if you were ever walking anywhere. He'd hold open doors, go out of his way even buy you think, or treat you to wonderful meals. Though you noticed he never ate around you which was odd, you didn't question it. You learned quite early not to question Alastor's ways. He'd never give you a straight answer and he was good at dodging questions. It didn't really matter though, this was the rest of your existence, and honestly why question things anymore. Why follow the rules and lectures of society when you're dead. Alastor certainly didn't.

[floralseokjin]

⤑ made-up love song drabbles

The argument with Nana: Seokjin’s POV 

kim seokjin x reader warnings; angst 🥴 words; 1,486

Takes place just before chapter viii 

↪︎ read the series here / and drabbles here

“Oh, shoot. I forgot the salad.” Seokjin realised suddenly. “I’ll be one sec, honey.” He kissed you on the cheek as you finished arranging the dishes you’d both prepared. He was careful when he stood, making sure not to land in anything and risk being shouted at. 

“Don’t start without me.” He warned, playfully smacking your ass before he began to walk away. 

“What will you do about it?” You called out to him. 

“If you’re feeling brave, I guess you’ll find out.” He shouted back with a laugh, retreating inside the house. 

Weekends with you always meant a lot to him. Don’t get him wrong, he loved it when Arin spent time with you both too, but he knew it was important to make time for just the two of you. You’d had such a blissful time yesterday which had turned slightly naughty later on in the evening… but Sundays were always his favourite. There was something about waking up next to you on a Sunday morning, feeling your body warmth, the softness of your skin as he clung to you and the scent of it too as he attached his mouth to your neck. Sundays were meant for lazy morning sex. It was law. 

(He’d tried it on in the shower too, but it hadn’t worked… You were hellbent on having this picnic.)

As he made his way into the kitchen, spotting the bowl of salad on the island, the intercom started ringing. That was odd. Was he expecting a delivery? He moved down the hallway and picked up, unable to keep the confusion out of his voice. “Hello?” 

“Let me in. Now.” 

It took him a moment to place the frosty voice on the other end of the line, feeling a surge of irritation that only his ex-wife seemed to be able to pull out of him. Then he grew worried. What on earth could be wrong? “Nana? What are you doing here?” His mind flew to Arin but before he could ask, Nana’s voice filled with venom. 

“Open the gates, Seokjin,” she bit, impatient and angry for reasons he had no clue about. There was silence and then – “Or are you too busy with your girlfriend?”

The way she snarled the word had dread instantly heavy in his stomach. He thought of you outside waiting for him and totally oblivious to the potential escalation opening these gates could cause. But he had no other choice. There was no getting out of it, even if every bone in his body screamed at him not to hit the button. After all, he’d done this to himself, and now it was time to face the consequences. The ramifications he’d caused by his foolery and cowardice. 

“Opening,” he muttered, knocking his ex-wife off before she could reply. He looked down the hall, knowing that across the other side of the house you were safe and sound, waiting for him to get back. He hesitated, feeling torn, but again, too much of a coward, he left you there and turned in the opposite direction, getting to the front door and ripping it open. He didn’t have time to dwell on the potential damage this could cause. 

He could feel his anger bubbling to the surface as soon as he saw Nana’s car speeding up to the front of his house. She hit the brakes with a screech, her face livid, and that’s when he noticed Arin in the back seat. He rushed forward, yanking the door open just as Nana jumped out the car. 

“Arin, what’s wrong?” He demanded, noticing the way she was teary eyed. 

“I’m sorry, daddy,” she apologised, her voice tiny and quivering. 

“Don’t you dare apologise, Arin,” Nana iced, barging past him to unfasten their daughter’s seatbelt. “Your father is the one that needs to say sorry.” 

Arin hiccupped as she got out of the car and Nana cluing to her hand. 

“I don’t understand what’s happening–” he tried to begin. 

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Nana laughed dryly, disregarding him instantly. “You know exactly what you’ve been doing for god knows how long.” She made a beeline for the front door. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” He demanded, dashing forward to block her way. “Excuse me. You can’t just barge into my home.” 

“Daddy?” Arin looked up at him, confusion in her eyes. Fuck. She thought he was stopping her from entering too. 

Nana raised tall, a slow, sly smirk spreading across her face. “This is Arin’s home too, and she wants to go inside.” She looked down at their daughter, voice soft now. It turned his stomach. “Don’t you, darling?” 

She was using Arin as a weapon. Again. She used to love doing that when they were still married. But he had no other choice but to let her in. She smirked victoriously as he stepped aside and wasted no time walking inside, making a confident turn into the living room. She’d been here many times before, when this was his parents’ home. She knew her way around perfectly, which just made him even madder. 

He stormed in behind her. “Quit the bullshit and tell me what the hell is going on.” Although, he already had a fair idea. He had known Arin could inform her mother of his relationship with you at any time. Of course he had, but he’d pushed the thought aside and carried on inside his happy little bubble. After all, he knew Nana had zero interest in hearing about him. 

The truth always came out in the end, though…

“You’re mad I’m in a relationship?” He added mockingly, pushing his fears aside expertly. “That’s rich.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Jin,” she scoffed, before her stare hardened. “I’m mad because you’re trying to replace me.” 

Seokjin frowned, trying to make sense of her words. “What are–”

“How dare you tell my daughter to call another woman stepmother. Imagine how I felt hearing Arin call a stranger that?!” 

Now, he was lost. She’d put two and two together and come up with five. “Nana, I have no clue what you’re going on about.” 

“Don’t do that,” she warned, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t try to make me feel stupid. I’m done falling for that.” 

Seokjin couldn’t help but roll his eyes, trying to tell himself to keep calm. She was trying to get a rise out of him. As always. He took a steady breath, trying his best to keep his voice calm. “Arin has never called Y/N her stepmother.” 

“Y/N,” Nana sneered, greatly amused. “Sounds cheap.” 

Seokjin couldn’t help it, he saw red instantly. He gritted his teeth, speaking slow, with warning. “Shut your mouth now.” 

Nana grinned, her stare unwavering. “Or what?” 

Seokjin could feel his anger rising to the surface, it was getting harder and harder to ignore it. Especially with her condescending face right in front of him. She knew exactly how to push his buttons. He’d by now totally forgotten that you were in the garden waiting for him. He’d forgotten that his daughter was here in the room, witnessing this whole thing. 

At the sudden realisation, he looked down, noticing the way Arin clung to her mother’s hand, terrified and upset. He came to his senses immediately. He’d sworn never to argue in front of her again. She’d already been caught in the middle one too many times. It wasn’t fair on her. He was an embarrassment. 

He sighed tiredly and looked back to his ex-wife. “You need to go. I’ve had enough of listening to your farcical stories.” 

Nana however, seemed to want to continue traumatising their child. “FARCICAL?!” She shouted, letting out a mocking cackle. He hated that sound. “The only thing farcical right now is you.” 

He wouldn’t rise to her goading. That was what she wanted. But before he could tell her just that, Nana’s attention landed on the door. “Oh, and this is her, right?” 

Seokjin’s heart sank as he followed her gaze and saw you stood in the doorway, face contorted in confusion. Your eyes found his and he couldn’t help but murmur your name, his hand reaching for yours as he stepped towards you. He was selfish. That’s what it boiled down to. His palm was clammy as he squeezed yours, the result of his guilt. He needed this moment because whatever followed now could potentially end with you hating him. Just like Nana did. 

“Yes, here she is!”  Nana laughed harshly, needing no reply. 

Seokjin groaned quietly, rubbing his free hand across his face before he took a deep breath. This was is fault, and he knew it. But it was probably too late now to diffuse the situation, no matter how hard he’d try. 

Nana looked right at you as she sneered words that still made zero sense to him. “The stepmom!” 

He felt fresh anger curl inside his gut.  

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

[wizkiddx]

...surprise part 3

{part1} {part 2}

I got there in the end!!!! sorry I felt like this dragged quite a lot but just quite happy to get it done ahah. Any feedback / advice would be greatly appreciated :)

TW: this is pretty heavy angst, miscarriages / thoughts of self harm / death pls don't read if this could strike a cord x 

Summary: Y/n has absolutely not a clue how to tell Tom and that only strains the both incredibly. 

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The drive home was deathly silent. Tom’s Audi seamlessly drove down the near-empty roads on a sleepy Sunday evening. The whole time Y/n sat with one leg curled up by her chest as she absently stared out of the passenger window. Honestly, though, she was not taking anything of the view in, all processing power in her brain was in overdrive. Souly focused on how the fuck she was going to tell Tom what she had done. She knew Tom kept glancing over at her, with the panicked hint to his eyes- no matter how comforting he was trying to appear. His grip on the steering wheel was every tightening, he felt as though right now that was the only control he had. Still with no idea what was going on - but this time his mum knew too. And his mum when she came to get him from the living was not calm either.

Something he always admired about his mum was how cool she was in a crisis. Even if Paddy likened her to the ’rage monster’ at times when she was pissed because he’d left the freezer door open, or something equally as stupid, when it came down to it, when there was a really serious issue… she was composed. Calm and collected. So when she came in and called Tom, taking him away from his brothers, he could tell something was wrong by the look in her eye. She was upset, that was clear to him, but there was something more. It wasn’t straight up panic (not like if Y/n had passed out or something) but it was… it was a quiet urgency.

It meant it was bad.

Without the need to ever consider it, Tom knew this wasn’t anything to do with Y/n being unfaithful. It hadn’t even crossed his mind. And that meant, something must've happened personally to Y/n - which maybe scared him even more. If it was a betrayal of him, that would principally hurt Tom himself - which would kill him, but he would deal with it. It was the fear of the unknown and the complete powerlessness in this situation that had Tom wishing the drive away so he’d finally understand.

The drive felt painstakingly long for Tom… yet far too short for Y/n to come up with a plan.

When the pair finally pulled into the driveway, they both didn’t even exchange glances before heading out the car and slamming the doors shut. The crunch of their shoes on the gravel path to the front door was deafeningly loud as Tom fished the keys out of his pocket - this time with a sense of dread that contrasted so strongly the excitement he’d felt less than 24 hours ago doing the exact same thing.

Tom held the door open for her, as she fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve; eyes still glued to the floor. He flicked on the light to illuminate the hall as she slipped off her shoes. He mirrored her action and then for the first time since his parents' house looked her in the eye. Just that action had him near spilling his guts about how worried he was about her, before Y/n beat him to it.

“I’m…I’m gonna take a shower.”

And it had him floored. How could she just ignore the bloody massive and luminous elephant in the room? He couldn’t even respond, his brain was so confused as to what the fuck was going on. So she just nodded smally and headed straight upstairs. Leaving him in a stupor by the doorway.

Meanwhile, Y/n was just about holding it together until she got behind the locked door of their ensuite. Then it broke. She broke.

She pulled the clothes that drowned her off frantically, scratching and grabbing until the garments ripped off her body and were thrown across the room in haste. In the mirror, the reflection of the person that stood there somewhat had her transfixed. Tilting her head to the side, Y/n took careful steps up toward it - her eyes transfixed on her exposed abdomen. She was hollow. So very empty and it had her hypnotised. How barely weeks ago she was growing a real human inside there - creating something that should’ve gone onto laugh and smile and grow and learn. And love.

Now she was empty.

The poor thing though had been so deprived by their own mother; so unwanted and hated. They had been starved of all love by the person who was supposed to love them the most. The person who was supposed to be half their world for the first few years at least.

It was her fault.

Y/n hated herself, heck she wanted to punish herself for what she’d done. And yet, there was something so pure about her stomach, about where that angel had been. She wanted to punch herself, to kick and hurt, to make her feel pain. Except for this little life force, or the remnants of them - had her respecting it. Instead, she gently rubbed her stomach, which was flat rather than full like it should’ve been, and yet it felt like a relief. At a snail's pace, she trailed the tips of her finger across her belly just drawing (what she thought were) random patterns - however to anyone else they would have noticed the silhouette of a small human.

She took her time int the shower, having the water close to blisteringly hot but not quite there - using it as an attempt to purge her body of the thoughts, of the guilt. Eventually, though she couldn’t drag out the bathroom routine any longer, she had to go and face him. In reality, Y/n was well aware of how unfair this was on Tom - he had been terrified on the way back here, she knew that. But the thought of admitting to him this truly abhorrent thing she’d done, selfishly she didn’t want to tell him tonight. Just one more night sharing a bed with him, one morning of seeing his puffy eyes and bed hair, one last time hearing his gruff morning voice. Before he found out the real her and before he left.

Thankfully, when she finally drew the courage to unlock the door and leave her sanctuary, their bedroom was empty and she took that opportunity. As fast as she possibly could, Y/n changed into an old nightshirt before huddling under the covers. Tom had been so careful with her feelings today, he might just leave her be. Delay the conversation till tomorrow. It was the dream.

And dreams don’t come true.

Tom walked in, she could hear the soft pad of his feet on the cream carpet as she tried to act fast asleep - regulating her breathing and relaxing every muscle she could. When in fact that the whole process was the opposite of relaxing, she was on such high alert, waiting for a sign of him leaving her alone for the evening. Quite expectedly though, it didn’t quite go down that way. She heard him sigh, felt him sit on his side of the bed as her body rippled with the dip on the bed, felt his eyes piercing her.

“Y/n…” the tone of his voice had her wincing internally, he was hurting. “Y/n please… just talk to me?” She was too scared to move. “ I know your awake Y/n we both know who’s the actor here” Y/n knew Tom was trying to lighten the mood, trying to make her feel a bit more comfortable but then he switched back to an underlying hint of desperation. “Please talk to me.” She didn’t have a choice, he wasn't going to let up - Y/n could tell. So she rolled over and opened her eyes facing him.

“I’m tired, Tom. Can we do this tomorrow?” His face completely morphed and she knew she fucked up. He wasn’t upset or worried or scared any more.

“I’m sorry but that is not fair.”

“Please just-“

“NO. ah” He sighed, as if disciplining himself for the instinctive angry tone. “Look- I-I’ve been going at your pace. I’ve been treading on eggshells all day. I didn’t want to push you but I’m bloody terrified! I mean you told my mum! And she’s worried so that means I’m even more stressed and-…. Just please Y/n. You know I’d never judge you I’m just worried because I care.”

And just like that, she didn’t have a choice. She was really hurting the man she loved.

As a result, Y/n pushed herself up into a sitting position, still hugging the duvet around her in a protective blanket as she looked into his glassy eyes. It tore her heart out.

“I’m really sorry” she pursed her lips blowing out an exhale, trying to collect all her thoughts, feelings and emotions together. “I’ve been trying to all day but-.. it’s just I’m finding this really hard to express in words.”

“I don’t mind if it takes all night, just I-I want to understand.” He was just too kind and she didn’t deserve it. So picking at the duvet while pulling her legs closer in protection she nodded.

“Okay, so-so I just take you through it chronologically? And-and then I can go to Y/f/n’s place so.”

“Why would you got to hers?” He asked, his eyebrows drawn tightly together in confusion. He knew you hadn’t been unfaithful - his mum most definitely wouldn’t have reacted in the way she did had Y/n betrayed Tom.

“Just… just listen first.” She didn’t want to answer that question, to speak it into existence. Him kicking her out, in a rage of fury and anger at how evil she could be. She thought he’d just reply and accept it, not feel the need to calm her.

“I could never ever hate you Y/n please, it’s a bit insulting to me that you think I would.”

His words had her a little shocked - she had definitely not expected that reaction. His offence.

“Umm okay just… just don’t promise till you hear.” He gave her a stern look, not enough to make her back down or change her mind from what she thought was inevitable. “So. So it was when you were away. You’d just gone to Atlanta I think and-and I woke up one morning and was sick and it was weird I don’t know… um so I took the day off but I was okay until the next morning and-and I was sick again. It was weird so I took the next day off because you know Elliot I work with? He’s-he's got some broken immune system or something so we really can’t go in if we are ill. But I was fine until the next morning again and-and then it kind of hit me. I hadn’t had a period in ages and-and yeah.”

“Your pregnant?” Tom asked, trying to wrap his head around the current situation and what she was saying.

“Was…” Her voice wavered and she paused a second “ I-I was. I was shocked you know? We…we weren’t ready.” Y/n shifted uncomfortably, pushing herself closer to the headboard. “You said you didn’t want kids now and I mean … we- we are barely adults ourself right? It-it was so stupid but I couldn’t tell you could I?… Phone you up and say by the way I’m pregnant with a kid you don’t want!...” She dared to look at him, only for a second, seeing the way he just stared at her as though transfixed. She couldn’t keep looking at him.

“So I was waiting till you would get back … er next week, well when you were supposed to be back anyway.” She scoffed lightly at that, how the whole entire situation had been completely flipped on its head. “I would have had the scan then. And-and I went and it so stupid because they were a blob but-shit. They were so beautiful.” She hadn’t even noticed, suddenly absorbed in what she was saying but Tom leant over to grab one of her hands because it was trembling so vigorously. It wasn’t that he wanted to comfort her, he needed to. Because really? When it mattered, he hadn’t and that was already eating away at him.

“And I stupidly…. So fucking stupidly… I thought what if? I got excited and in my head… I don’t fucking know I just thought that I-it, it might work. I really - really thought it could work.” She couldn’t feel it but Tom wormed his arm around her shoulder, squeezing her into his side. “But by that point, I’d already filled them with so much hate. I wanted them out for so long and…and then I just- well I got what I thought I wanted.”

For the first time since she started her speech, Y/n wasn’t absorbed in retelling the story. Noticing her position with Toms arms protectively wrapped around her, she dared to look up into his eyes. And they weren’t right. It was wrong. Because here he was still looking at her with these incredibly soft warm brown eyes, his thumb rubbing up and down on the back of her shoulder blade.

“Love, I’m so so sorry.”

She was bemused. What the hell was he doing? Was this just a double bluff, acting all soft before he was about to rip her heart out - even if it was what she deserved, that was exceptionally cruel?

“No Tom your not listening. I-I couldn’t keep your baby alive! I-I wished them away… I wanted them gone!” Now she was plainly hysterical, shouting and yelling at Tom as her hands shook.

It broke Tom’s heart. He knew this was his fault - at least a little. Clearly, she should never have been in a position to have to deal with this herself, that was obvious. And it made him guilty… but what hit harder? She had very clearly implied she was worried about his reaction, he should never have let her worry. Because Tom knew he loved Y/n unconditionally, at this point that should be a given - for all he cared there was nothing, within the limits of reason, she could do that would make him seriously reconsider his opinion of her. Even then, if his opinion were ever forced to change so dramatically... he still knew he wouldn’t be able to stop loving her. Loving isn't an option, it is not a choice. You helplessly surrender yourself to it. And yet she was apparently less sure of this fact.

“I’m so sorry you had to deal with this by yourself.” And he meant it. He truly meant it. However, Y/n was not having it at all - in her state, in her frame of mind, this was him just torturing her; acting it out only to break her heart. His words and her position wrapped protectively in his arms dawned on her. It had her leaping up from the bed, tears streaming down her face as she gestured wildly.

“Tom that’s not fair! Don’t you get it? I KILLED YOUR BABY! They were alive and then I wasn’t enough for them! IT’S MY FAULT!” To put it simply, she looked insane. Screaming, with tears streaming down her face, arms flailing about as she yelled at Tom, who was still sitting on the bed.

He’d never seen her like this- with so much anger. What was even more disturbing was the fact that it was targeted so inwardly at herself.

“This isn’t your-“

“BE ANGRY TOM. For fuck sake… I-“ She choked out a sob “I murdered your kid! RAGE AT ME SHOUT AT ME it’s-it’s what I deserve.” It was insane but the look in her eye was one that seemed to Tom as though she needed him to hate her. As if in some fucked up narrative that was how the story should end.

He was not having one bit of it, tearing his eyes away from her maniacally shaking frail frame and instead to the corner of the ceiling. There was no precedent, no guidebook on how to deal with this, no past experiences to rely on. Unlike if Y/n had had a shit day, Tom knew then to subtly keep her within reach, to silently be there so she could literally and figuratively lean on him when she was ready; unlike when she was angry at ignorant politicians, he knew not to argue but prompt her to explain more, give a more reasoned argument so anger became thought through intellect; unlike when her grandma had died, when she just needed his contact, she needed his thumb rubbing against her hip, needed to sleep listening to the rhythmical thumping of his heart. None of these were applicable - his touch seemed to make her worse; his words seemed to anger her more; his mere presence didn’t seem to be doing an awful lot of good.

And yet, he couldn’t leave her even if it seemed to be the most logical option. Because she was wild, not herself and not logical and he, for the first time, was terrified of the danger she could be to herself.

Y/n stared at him, wide-eyed, waiting for him to react. She saw his Adam's apple bob up and down - readying his voice to scream at her. She saw his brown eyes collect a sheen of tears of rage - ready to bore holes into her skull as he degraded her to what she was worth. Which was very little. Then, as if in slow motion, his sharp jawline tilted back level and his eyes met her. He was frozen as if a statue, ready to rage at her.

“I love you both. So much and equally.”

Tom was pretty sure he could imagine Y/n’s runaway train in her head slam on the breaks. Her eyebrow twitched a little, as she stood completely still trying to analyse his words. Because to her, it didn’t make sense. So he took this moment of (at least surface level) calm to smoothly and slowly stand up, actions much like mirroring how someone approaches a spooked cat on the streets. Movements slow and preplanned, trying not to set off the fight or flight response on the women in front of him.

“That little baby you made… I didn’t know he ever existed till minutes ago but…but I know for a fact I love them.” He was trying to both figure out and decode his own emotions while explaining them in a way Y/n would accept and understand.

“I love them because�� they are made by the love of my life. And that’s incredible and indescribable and just… just part of you, an extension of everything you and me together are… They would never have been perfect right?” Tom softly asked, though realistically knowing he wouldn’t get a response from a still motionless Y/n - besides a single tear, which appeared to have a mind of its own, escaping over her bottom lash lid. Tom watched it roll down her cheek as he composed his next words. “No they wouldn’t, no ones perfect… neither me nor you. But they would’ve been safe and have been loved. They were loved, you-you loved them right, even if you didn’t think you did or when you were terrified?” This time Y/n nodded minutely and Tom mirrored this, taking a small step a little closer to her. “And I did love them while they were in your stomach because they were part of you and I always always love you…. So they were so full of love okay? There's no rhyme or reason to why what happened happened but it’s… it’s definitely not because they were starved of love okay?” Y/n still didn’t have appeared to have released a single breath since Tom stood up, so he made a calculated and risked assessed movement to reach his hand out to touch her upper arm. In reaction, she sucked in a sharp shaky breath and then expelled it just as quickly - just like Tom knew she would. He physically felt a pull in his chest seeing the torment in her glassy eyes, now barely a rulers length from her.

“This, it’s an awful… awful situation. It’s sad and heartbreaking but I really need you to know that it changes nothing about how I feel about you. I need you to really understand how much I love-and always will-love you, and how I love them too.” Another tear escaped the same eye and Tom reached up with his other hand so his thumb could brush it away before the glassy orb met her pronounced jawline. To be honest he was quite grateful for the moment as he felt his voice getting a bit sticky in the back of his throat. She still wasn’t ready to speak yet and he was okay with that.

“We’ll never forget them and we will always love them, but I want to do that with you, as we get older together. They tie us closer and I refuse to disrespect them and force ourselves apart….a-assuming you don’t want to either?” Still cupping her cheek with his left hand Tom felt as well as saw her nod, this time more emphatically, her eyes darting between focusing on his left and then right eye - as though she was just checking they were saying the same things as his mouth.

“I’m sorry I-“ Finally feeling the connection between her brain and voice box, Y/n stated to jiltedly speak but was interrupted as Tom tentatively feathered his lips on hers. “You can be sorry for scaring the crap out of me today, you can be sorry for shouting and you can be sorry for not telling me at all… I don’t think you should, but if you’re staying sorry that’s all you can be sorry for.” He was barely speaking, more like just moving his lips against hers, yet they knew and understood each other completely Y/n got everything. So she sighed and repeated.

“I am sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. I’m sorry for you not having the faith to know I’d be happy, that was my fault. I’m sorry for not being here and not noticing when you were struggling on the phone. I’m sorry I crept up on you last night. But I don’t think there’s anything else for either of us to apologise for.”

“Okay” Y/n then pressed her lips firmly and almost desperately against his, feeling his warmth wrap around her, as he literally wrapped his arm around her waist, from where it had been on her upper arm. And really she was very incredibly desperate since it was very very incredibly clear now with him pressed against her that he might’ve been all she needed this whole time. Tom went with it for a couple of moments, but then broke them both apart - it sounds odd but he sort of felt like he was taking advantage of her.

“Darling you’re grieving. We can tackle this together …. But your grieving so we need to look after you first. And, and we’ll remember them and face this. But we gotta look out for each other too and…”

“I’m ill aren’t I?” He was oh-so relieved that she could see it too.

“I’m not a doctor but I think so… think we need to get you eating properly.”Y/n nodded and Tom kissed her forehead, pulling her completely against his chest - only exacerbating and exaggerating his awareness of how boney she felt. It hadn’t gone unnoticed how she’d spent the whole of Sam’s dinner pushing the meat round on her fork - rearranging it numerous times- whilst picking at a few carrots. “We can do whatever you feel will help you this evening but you need to tell me what you want to eat.”

*

You agreed but you still felt incredibly nauseous, so managed to put off the whole snacking thing in lieu of cuddling up on the sofa with Tom. You were still incredibly confused, feeling slightly detached from reality if you were completely honest. And you knew Tom was a good actor, his career kind of speaks for himself yet, all the same, the sheer truth in his eyes, voice, heart. It had you feeling safe. He no longer felt a flight risk and although you still couldn’t understand why he was forgiving you so easily, you believed he was. In the softest voice, he kept just saying ‘your grieving’ when you tried to challenge his logic- admittedly proving difficult in your scattered and hazy mind.

So you found yourself lying almost completely on top of his right side, your head tucked underneath his chin, a fluffy blanket weighing down on your back to keep you nice and toasty. Silently Tom had trailed his fingertips tentatively, under the hem of your t-shirt, round over the top of your hip to his stomach. Initially, it had felt like the worst and most alien feeling in the world- but he told you to relax and you listened; he told you to take deep breaths and you listened; he told you he loved you and you listened.

It must’ve been incredibly boring for him, I mean the TV wasn’t on neither was the radio and you knew his phone was in a pocket you were currently lying on. He didn’t complain though, he just let you lie there. Just sort of being with him.

*

At some point Tom realised she’d drifted off, after a long time fighting exhaustion, as though she were worried about what Tom would do once she finally gave in to sleep. It wasn’t surprising though, considering her energy intake from food for today was limited to a couple of roasted carrot slices, Tom knew her falling asleep on his chest was inevitable. The time it took had also given him enough time to fully digest and process the whole day as well as for deciding what he needed to do. So once she appeared fully out of Tom dared to worm his hand between their bodies and, with a few muted grunts of effort, phish his phone out his back pocket.

‘Hi, I know this asking a lot but would you mind getting Sam to make that pasta bake Y/n likes and dropping it round? Just she’s asleep but I don’t want to leave her alone but could do with getting something in her?’

‘Sams already on it and it doesn’t take long. I’ll be at yours in about an hour, shall I just let myself in?’

Tom was so grateful for his family, and for how they’d taken Y/n in to. Although she’d never admit it, her tougher than average upbringing always had her feeling a bit isolated- she never had ‘her’ people. The people who completely accepted her for who she was and never judged her. But as soon as he’d introduced her to them, it was as if she'd always been there. He endlessly appreciated the talks Nikki and you had, the way his Dad would come over when she was home alone to help with the simple stuff like knowing what lightbulb to buy for the lamp that had blinked out.

She had a place in his family.

Quite impressively, Sam had managed to bake the dish and then Nikki had managed to drive round before barely three-quarters of an hour had passed. Y/n was still completely out, so when he heard his mum unlock the door with her spare key, he felt able to wiggle out from under her without disturbing at all. He met Nikki in the kitchen, leaning against the door frame as he watched his mother fly about the kitchen - preheating the oven on a low temp to keep it warm while pulling plates and cutlery out the drawers so it was easier for Y/n and Tom when you woke up.

“Thanks for all this” Tom announced his presence with a soft sigh as he padded further into the kitchen. Nikki instinctively threw her arms round her eldest’s shoulders, squeezing him tightly.

“You guys okay?” Tom replied with a rather uncertain hum, before recounting the evening to his mum in a low voice - as though Y/n could be disturbed from the other side of the house. Nikki was in two frame of minds at this point, clearly heartbroken for the pair; but also incredibly proud of her son because it appeared he’d reacted and said exactly the right things.

“And you?… it must’ve been a shock?” To be quite honest, Tom hadn't thought about his own emotions yet, he’d put himself on the back foot for the time being.

“I mean it’s just a bit surreal… I don’t know I didn’t really have anything to do with it but - I just know that it's made me so certain that one day we will... you know?” Nikki hugged her son again with a little nod.

“Well I won’t outstay my welcome but I do want you to give this to Y/n too.”’ With those words, she fished a square box out of her handbag - it was about the size of two matchboxes and Tom raised his brows in curiosity. “She’ll understand when she sees it.”

And with a brisk parting gesture, Nikki left, Tom tucking the box into his side pocket before getting the pasta ready.

////////

Waking you with a gentle rub on your upper arm, you mewled a groan and pushed your head hard into the sofa below you in an attempt to alleviate the tension that instantly rippled through your skull. With hazy eyes, you blinked heavily, slowly focusing on the pale yet soft skin of the boy crouched opposite you.

“Hey darling, nice nap?” Nodding gradually, you still tried to completely recollect and piece together everything that had happened today “… you need some grub before we head upstairs yeh?” Again you nodded in compliance because at this point, even having been asleep for the last however long, you really didn’t have the energy for any conflict or disagreement. With a little prompt and poke from Tom, you reluctantly sat up, grasping the plate he offered to you while still rubbing one of your eyes. Busying himself with running back to the kitchen and grabbing his own plate and drink, you had time to look at the food and notice what was served to you. Tom plopped himself next to you and turned his head with a small smile, meeting a bemused and slightly suspicious look from you.

“You didn’t cook this…?” Really it wasn’t a question. You knew for a fact Tom was not and would never be a good chef. No judgement though, since neither were you, meaning the pair of you heavily relied on the ingenious invention of uber eats most evenings. Tom chuckled at your perceptiveness and admitted defeat without even trying to feign it.

“Nah mum dropped it round. Though I think Sam cooked it so a joint effort.”

“-didnt have to-“ You hated feeling like a burden. You hated people worrying because you just felt bad. Not worth the attention and effort. And Tom hated you feeling like that - naturally then, he had the need to shut you down instantly.

“No, you’re right. But they did.”

The air was filled with the quiet clinks of ceramic against the silver or the cutlery as you forced mouthful after mouthful down your throat. He was trying to be subtle, and yet you could feel Tom’s concerned glance checking you were eating. Truthully, you really didn’t feel like eating at all (even if it was Sam’s gorgeous tomato and sausage pasta bake - an odd combination but it worked). However, what more crucial in that moment was not disappointing your incredibly sweet boyfriend.

After having consumed as much as you physically could - which Tom deemed suitable with a small nod- he took your plates away and came back to sit beside you. More and more silence.

“Are-are we okay?” Whispering quietly you felt Tom’s body seize up into a rigid state, his face whipping round to look at you. He chose to reply with actions first reaching up so that his hands cupped your cheeks, he turned your head and then slowly leaned into to press his lips softly against yours. Once retracted, he pressed his forehead onto yours.

“Of course. I bloody love you and we’re going to get through this together.” His eyes were almost intimidating, with the seriousness he placed in his gaze - just to make sure you knew he meant it.

What you had done to deserve this boy you’d never know. But you were so incredibly grateful for him.

It gave you the confidence to take the first move this time, pressing your lips against his, holding for a moment before arching away - a small yet real smile on your face.

“Oh… nearly forgot” He muttered, leaning forward and grabbing a black leather box that you’d failed to notice had been placed on the coffee table. For the second time this evening, you were caught off guard and bemused as to how he’d sourced this item within the time frame. “It’s from mum… she wouldn’t tell me what it is but said you’d understand.”

His words had you biting your lip, in a weird way eager to see, purely because you knew Nikki understood you. And understood what you were going through. With one last look to Tom, you reached out and grabbed the box, thumb running over the sleek leather exterior. Once your thumb reached the bottom you flicked the lid up, unveiling a simple silver chained bracelet. It had five dainty silver charms hanging off it, they looked a bit like leaves but were kind of too small to tell. Moreover, it looked a little worn and preloved but it didn’t stop your eyes from watering when you saw at the bottom another charm, not yet attached that looked newer and pristine.

5 charms already attached and 1 new one.

“Oh” Tom muttered, also clearly very much intrigued, hovering off you left shoulder to see properly. ”That’s mums bracelet. She never really takes it off… that’s nice I guess?” He was obviously confused and it had you chuckling wetly, at how oblivious he could be. You did love your dear idiot.

5 charms for her 5 pregnancies… and now one for yours. One to wear forever, to love, to keep close to your heart.

They were tears of happiness, you were certain of, however, Tom was not at all sure why your flood gates opened again and was worried.

“You-you don’t have to take- I mean if you don’t like it don’t worry-“

“I love it” You breathed, looking up at him with glassy eyes before hastily picking up the extra charm and with shaky fingers clasping it onto the chain next to it. Tom perked up, if still bemused, wrapping his arm around your shoulder with a gentle squeeze.

“I don’t know how you convinced her to take it off, I’ve been trying to buy her a new bracelet for years but she’s always stuck with this old thing.”

“Because it’s beautiful!” You yelped in argument, making him laugh at how suddenly you’d switched into a happy and overexcited mood. Though don’t get me wrong, he was loving it.

“You Holland women I will never understand.” He whispered into your ear whilst you looked back at the chain, fixing it round your wrist. His comment made you freeze up, as you felt his grip tightening on your waist as he realised exactly what he might have just let slip out. “No I er- I don’t mean… but-but one day maybe if-if you wanted.”

“I love you” You sighed, kissing him once again to save him the embarrassment of watching his cheeks flush and ears pink up.

“I’m serious though… one day because… because you’re my family and when it happens our family will grow too.”

He was right. And you would, one day,

But you would never forget the two little lives remembered on this bracelet.

tagging people that might be interested (sorry if u don't care ahah): @wayfaring----stranger @vanillanestor @333dolans @thevelvetseries @whitewolf51 

[technofantasia]

Rise of the TMNT Timeline

Alright, by piecing together some clues from the show and making some educated guesses, I’ve put together a tentative chronology for Rise!

(Note: not all episodes are included, just a couple that either have timeline evidence or are somehow plot notable. This is assuming the canonical episode order is also chronological order.)

[EDIT] Added some more information (namely Splinter’s birthday month).

1600s-ish: The Shredder was created and sealed away September 1960: Splinter was born 1966: Splinter’s mother left (Finale part 1 flashback) 1979: Splinter left for America (Finale part 1 flashback) 1980-1984: Splinter became an action film star, dated around 1984: Splinter started dating Big Mama 1987: Splinter’s “Hot Soup: the Game” was released 1989: Splinter proposed to Big Mama, was imprisoned in Battle Nexus November 2002: April was born April-August 2003: (Presumably) Raph was born April-August 2004: (Presumably) Leo and Donnie were born April-August 2005: (Presumably) Mikey was born October 2005: Splinter and the Turtles were mutated February 2014: The first Lair Games was held 2014-2016: Donnie made his first battleshell, goggles, and tech bracer Early 2018: Piebald was flushed August 2018: Mystic Mayhem (the series begins), Down with the Sickness September 2018: The Turtle Tank was created (The Fast and the Furriest), Bug Busters, Hypno part Deux October 2018: Bullhop,  Evil League of Mutants, Shelldon was first created (Smart Lair), Shadow of Evil November 2018: April’s 16th Birthday (Warren and Hypno), April meets Sunita (Operation: Normal) December 2018: Snow Day January 2019: S1 Finale February 2019: The sixth Lair Games was held (Lair Games), Repairin’ the Baron March 2019: Air Turtle April-May 2019: S2 Finale

(Reasoning below the cut!)

So. Assuming that the episodes occur in chronological order, we can reasonably assume that the course of the show proper takes around or slightly less than a year.

In Hypno Part Deux, April is going to a homecoming dance; homecoming dances happen usually around the beginning of the school year, in late September or early October. Since she is canonically 15 at the time (she says she’s 16 in Always Be Brownies, which happens after her birthday) and has a birthday that comes after homecoming, that would likely make her a high school junior! That’s not important, just a fun fact. Placing the beginning of the series around August makes sense, then, since it’d be before April started school and during flu season, giving Splinter a good reason for catching the rat flu in Down with the Sickness.

The other solid time marker we have is Snow Day, which obviously takes place during snow season in New York (which is usually December to March). It’d likely be closer to December, since I’d like to imagine that they would have gone out to have fun in the snow as soon as they could have, potentially even at first snow. Since Lair Games comes chronologically after Snow Day and confirms the year as being 2019, we can assume that most episodes that happen before Snow Day happened in 2018 while those after happened in 2019.

Another, slightly more tenuous time marker is Bullhop, where a calendar is shown that says the 21st of the month was on a Sunday; by our previous assumption, this is 2018, so a calendar shows this must have been during the month of October, which falls in line with the rest of our timeline here! Neat. The 2018-2019 NBA season went from October 6 to April 10, so, since Air Turtle presumably showed a late season game with potential for turnaround, early March seems like a fair bet. All of those episodes combined give a pretty good sense of time throughout the series, spanning from probably around August 2018 to Mid-2019. The finale could have happened any time after March and before June (when high school would end, meaning Sloppy Joe wouldn’t have had to be working Draxum’s kitchen). Because there were quite a few episodes that should have happened before the finale, though, I’ll split the difference and say the S2 finale happened in or around May.

Fun detail: by this timeline, April’s birthday is sometime between October and December/January, likely November (seeing as it comes after Bullhop but before Snow Day, and judging by the fall colors of the foliage in Operation Normal which comes directly after her birthday episode.)

As for the brothers, we can assume that they might have different birthdays judging by how in Lair Games, Mikey says that one of his favorite days is “my birthday”; if they all shared a birthday, he might have been more likely to say “our birthday”. They were mutated sometime close to October, but since they didn’t seem to see the date of their mutation as anything special in ELoM, we can assume they don’t celebrate it as their birthday. We know that at the beginning of the show, Mikey is 13, Leo and Donnie are 14, and Raph is 15; at no point during the show do any of them have a birthday, which leads me to assume that they are the same ages by the S2 finale. They COULD have had a birthday offscreen, but since birthdays are a pretty big thing for teenagers, I’d think that if one of them had a birthday it would be pretty noteworthy. I’ll just guess and say they didn’t have one. If that’s the case, then all of their birthdays would be some time between April-ish and August-ish. By the time the show starts, then, they would have already had their birthdays, confirming for us their (probably only guessed anyway but whatever) birth years as 2003, 2004, and 2005. Realistically, Splinter probably didn’t know how much older Raph was from any of the others or anything like that, but the years are still somewhat important for age calculation purposes. I could try to guess their birthday months by saying they might all have wanted a unique birthday month, but that would be complete conjecture on my part (as compared to the rest of this which is just mostly conjecture), and would honestly be more headcanon territory than an educated guess? So for the timeline I’ll just say that their birthdays are between April and August.

Now, reaching further backwards to figure out Splinter’s life timeline!

In Splinter’s memories in E-turtle Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, we see a clip of a teenage Splinter. Said “teenage splinter” looks to be on the older side of teenager, as he seems to have his own apartment and just looks older besides, so I’d place him at either 18 or 19 (leaning towards 19). Additionally, taking a look around his room, it looks like he might be using a Sony Walkman (first made in 1979), and has what looks to be a Star Wars poster on his wall (1977). Additionally, he has a TV in his room that looks to be a Toshiba Blackstripe model that was popular in the mid-to-late 70s. While I can’t tell if he does actually have a walkman or not, I’d probably place this scene as being 1978 or 1979 anyway, so let’s just say it’s 1979. If he was 19 in 1979, that would place Splinter’s birth year as 1960, which is nice and even so I’m keeping it. That would make Splinter 58-59 during the course of the show, which seems to track! He has a birthday in Mascot Melee (the turtles are buying him a new robe as a birthday present), which, according to my episode timeline, puts his birthday around early September.

The flashback of Splinter as a kid is a little bit tricky, since he looks to be about five or six judging by how he acts in the scene? But he’s also holding a Kamen Rider doll, and that show didn’t exist until 1971. I nonetheless place the scene in 1966, since this is a cartoon and hey, maybe the Kamen Rider equivalent came out a few years earlier in this world, who cares. The bottle flip challenge already apparently happened in 2014 here, why not move some other stuff around? This exercise has already had me comparing calendar days, I will not be deterred

In Many Unhappy Returns, the clapperboard for the film “Crouching Shrimp, Hidden Tiger Prawn” in Splinter’s flashback shows that it was 1984 when he first met Big Mama, meaning that he was not only Lou Jitsu by then (at just 24 years old!), but that he had been making movies for at least a few years. After all, he and Big Mama were supposedly inseparable after meeting, and in The Shadow of Evil, it’s shown that Splinter did date around a bit as a star. Assuming that rat dad isn’t the cheating type, that would have had to be before meeting Big Mama. In Fists of Furry, Splinter mentions that he hasn’t seen any of his dojos in thirty years; while he may not have meant literally thirty years on the dot, assuming he’s at least close, that would mean that he was first abducted around 1989 (age 29). At that point, he and Big Mama would have been dating for around 5 years, which seems like a reasonable amount of time for him to wait before proposing. He also would have had time to build up quite a bit of fame as a movie star; the game he had of him looks to be on a system similar to the Atari 2600 and in fact looks pretty similar to the real life game “Kung Fu Master” that came out on Atari in 1987, a year which would have been the prime of his career. Sure, that date works as well as any. After that point, we know he was imprisoned in the Battle Nexus until Baron Draxum kidnapped him in order to use his DNA to mutate the turtles 13 years before The Evil League of Mutants. That would have placed his kidnapping and their mutations at around October of 2005, judging by the monthly timeline of the show. So, Splinter would have been around 45 when he adopted the turtles, after having been imprisoned and forced to fight for ~16 straight years. Dang.

Finally, I figured that the whole deal with Shredder and Karai would have happened at some point in the 1600s as it was 18 generations ago, judging by the number of “greats” in Karai’s grandma title, and if you average out a generation to be about 20-25 years, that lands you in the range of the 15th century. That works especially because Ninja apparently first started becoming a thing in the 15th century, so the timing checks out well enough.

(and, just as an extra fun note for the timeline, the lair games was said to have been going on for 6 years as of early 2019, meaning it must have started in 2014. We see that, in 2014 (year 1 of the Lair Games), Donnie doesn’t have his goggles or battleshell and is instead wearing glasses. In 2016 (year 3), though, he looks about the same as he does in the present, meaning he must have created all his tech that he wears on him (battleshell, goggles, tech bracer) between 2014 and 2016.)

So, the above timeline is a guesstimated and shoved around compilation of all this totally meaningless investigation, typed in a form that makes some kind of chronological sense! I hope that someone finds it useful, or just fun to think about :D

[mi6-cafe]

THE FINAL DRABBLES ARE IN!

COME READ THEM AND DECIDE WHOSE IS THE BEST, BETTER THAN ALL THE REST!

But first, what was the prompt again?

Our writers had to use the phrase “be careful what you fish for” in their 300-word drabbles verbatim. 

See the drabbles below the line and VOTE!

(Image description: James Bond off on a fishing expedition)

But how, mods, how do we vote? you ask.

Step 1: Read the drabbles, making notes along the way.

Step 2: Pick three favourites and vote for them in the VOTING FORM while adding feedback for others if you so choose!

Step 3: Profit! (Because it’s all anonymous and even the writers you didn’t vote for end up getting your lovely feedback and it makes them so happy!)

You have until Sunday at 8:59 9.m. PST/11:59 p.m. EST/3:59 a.m. UTC to cast your vote.

Now, come READ&VOTE! (You can also read on wordpress for nicer formatting)

#1

Title: Compliments Author: sunaddicted Warnings: explicit flirting Summary: Q wasn't expecting to hear such a compliment

Seeing Silva bent down over his computer still sent a thrill down Q's spine; despite the fact that the man had become a more or less permanent fixture in Q-Branch, it didn't mean that the adrenaline kick he got out of facing the former rogue agent had gotten any weaker.  

"That's some of my best work."

"Is it."

Q swallowed as he went to stand by the other man, peering down at the lines of code that Silva was studying with the kind of keen eye that made Q squirm, feeling naked even when Silva was looking at his work rather than directly at him.

Though, what was his work if not an extension of his being?

"Are you fishing for compliments, Quartermaster?"

Saying his title in such a caressing and satiny voice should have been made illegal. "Do I need to?" Q tried to ignore the hint of neediness in his voice, even as the flush he could feel blooming up his neck surely betrayed him. He couldn't help it: in his life, he had only met a man who was his equal - better, he had only met a man who could code circles around him, pushing him to do better; to think faster; to outgrow himself. It was exciting.

Raoul slowly turned around, a smirk already painted on his lips. "You have a great arse I would like to bend over this sturdy desk of yours."

"Wh- what?!"

The blonde bent down, lips ghosting against the shell of Q's ear in a caress that was barely there. "Be careful what you fish for, Quartermaster," Silva reached down and closed his hand on the other's hip in a steadying manner, fingers digging into the jutting bone there "You never know what kind of compliment will get thrown your way."

#2

Title: A Fine Kettle Author: Anyawen Warnings: none Summary: LIke shooting fish in a barrel, really.

"This isn't what I had in mind when I said I needed an exit," Bond groused as his feet squelched in his ruined shoes. He'd never get the stink of fish out of this suit. He'd be lucky to scrub it off his skin.

"Well, you know what they say, 007. Be careful what you fish for," Q said, snorting at his own joke as Bond groaned.

"Don't even start, Q," Bond growled. Well. Tried to growl. If it came out as an amused whine Q was polite enough not to call attention to it.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Q said primly. "I found you an exit and left your adversaries floundering. You didn't even pull a mussel."

"I've endured torture more pleasant than—"

"Stop your carping; you’re giving me a haddock."

Bond inhaled slowly. Exhaled.

"What will it take to make you stop?"

"You'll have to shell out more than a few clams."

"Q," Bond begged. Yes. Begged. And yet, he knew that if he were standing in front of a mirror right now his reflection would be grinning. Q's jokes were terrible, and his puns were worse, but hearing him so lost in his amusement was a glorious thing.

"Bring all of your gear back for a start. No losing or breaking anything just for the halibut."

"I'll do my best," Bond promised.

"And dinner."

"I beg your pardon?" Bond asked, shocked. He'd been asking the Quartermaster to dinner for weeks.

"You need time to mullet over. That's fine. Just let minnow."

"Yes, Q. Obviously, yes."

"Excellent. I'm thinking sushi."

Bond couldn't help the laugh that slipped out. He could hear Q's smug grin.

"Just squidding," Q said, then hurried to add, "About the sushi. Not about dinner. And dessert. And afters."

"Afters?"

"Cuttles."

#3

Title: Retrieval Author: stormofsharpthings Warnings: none Summary: Q knew it had never been about her

Q came upon Dr Madeleine Swann serenely fishing from the riverbank. “Got one,” she announced, before handing the rod to him and walking away. Bemused, Q tugged, and the fish leapt from the murky river into his hand, scales flowing like water to engulf his entire arm. Face to face, it gave him a toothy grin.

“Be careful what you fish for,” it snickered as the trees around him exploded with gobbets of blue flame. Q dove into the river to escape and was dragged deeper, drowning, webbed hands holding him tight.

He flailed awake to a bed stained green with murky water, strands of river weed draped about. The windows were wide open, moonlight making the wet marks on the floor glisten.

“James?” he whispered. There was no answer. Not since James had taken the damn car and driven off. But there had been enough clues.

----

He took the river road, heading north. Every bridge was washed-out, every access to his destination blocked. He finally came upon an old-style ferry, its raft drawn along a heavy cable strung across the river.

The old raftman eyed him, then shrugged. Halfway across, the raft slowed as if hung up on something. The ferryman cursed and stamped his boot on the boards. As the raft drifted free again, he gave Q a wry look. “Hope you know what you’re about, lad.”

----

The waterhorse waited for him at the loch edge, burning eyes watching him warily as he approached.

“I never believed you left for her,” he said, tangling his hands in the wet mane. “And all the warnings of all the fair folk in the world couldn't keep me away.” He swung astride and held on. “You can either drown me or come home with me, James. It’s up to you, now.”

#4

Title: Gone Fishing Author: Hexiva Warnings: None Summary: Alec is just trying to have a nice vacation. James has other plans.

Alec is fishing. He’s taken some much-needed vacation time after a knife to the leg on his last mission, and he’s chosen to go to Jamaica, in part because of how James’ face falls when he learns Alec is going without him. James loves Jamaica. Alec, for his part, loves having anything that James can’t have. The sky is blue. The ocean is a beautiful shade of blue-green. Alec lets his line dangle down into the warm water, and leans back in his boat with a sigh of contentment. And then the peace of the summer day is shattered as the water erupts, and a black-clad figure in scuba gear surges up out of the sea, gasping, and clambers into Alec’s boat, almost upsetting it. Alec’s hand flies to his gun, but before he can draw it, the diver pulls off his mask and reveals James’ familiar face. James is bruised and bleeding, and he gasps out, “Near miss. Good thing you were here.” “What the hell are you doing here?!” Alec demands. “I’m on vacation, James!” “Underwater base,” James explains, pointing down into the depths of the ocean. “Spying on our submarines. Blew it up and escaped.” “How do you do it, James?” Alec says, acidly. “How is it that no matter where you go - no matter where I go - there always seems to be some madman with an increasingly improbable scheme gunning for you? Can’t I have one vacation to myself?” It’s not James’ company he minds. It’s that this was supposed to be something he could take away from James. A chance to one-up the always charming James Bond. “Well, Alec,” James said, leaning in with his charming smile. “You know what they say. Be careful what you fish for.” “I hate you,” Alec said, with feeling.

#5

Title: Dare to Wish Author: sorion Warnings: none Summary: A very nice welcome-home.  

"Are you going to put away that blasted machine?" Bond asked, not even looking away from his skilled cooking.  

"Hm?" Q hummed distractedly, not ceasing his typing.  

"Your laptop, darling," Bond complained, making 'darling' sound more like a demand than an endearment.   "Hm." The typing never faltered.  

Bond reduced the heat on one of the other pans that he was juggling on the stove. "I was gone for over a month," he grumbled. "I even dared to hope that you were looking forward to seeing me again."  

Q smiled, and the typing slowed. "One minute, and I'll be all yours, and yet you'll still be giving your attention to our dinner."  

Bond couldn't help but grin. "What's so terribly important anyway?"  

"Oh, just some matter of national security that I'd like off the table before we eat."  

Bond laughed. "Bare feet, unbuttoned shirt, and saving the world. A marvel, you are."  

"One step up from working in my pyjamas," Q quipped.  

Bond sighed. "I'm never going to live that down, am I? What about the incident where you basically plugged Silva into our network?"  

Q pulled a face. "That was... my first week as Q, and I desperately wanted to prove myself, and I may have-"  

"Q," Bond interrupted. "I won't let you live it down, but I'm not holding it against you."  

Q smiled. "Thanks. I do, on very rare occasions, get insecure."  

"There's no need. Everyone knows how brilliant you are. And there's no need to be fishing for compliments."  

"Not tonight. I'm just... fishing for affection."  

His typing instantly stopped when a small box of unmistakable shape was put in front of him.  

Bond caught his eyes and smiled. "Be careful what you fish for."  

Q's breath stuck in his throat, and his eyes lit up. "Never."

#6

Title: A Fishy Companion Author: Nana-chan Warnings: Summary: Bond makes friends with a merman

“Bond,” said the creature, his tone quite serious.

Bond merely grunted as he continued to mend his nets. He would not even look at the creature as he swam around him in the shallow water, his movements graceful. A bloody merman, for god’s sake. He’d found him tangled in his nets after a fishing expedition some way from the island and the merman, having been rescued, refused to leave Bond’s side ever since.

Now he queried: “Why is the fisherman so stingy?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not,” said Bond brusquely.

The merman replied, “Because his work made him sell-fish.”

Bond closed his eyes briefly. He’d been a double-O agent— a bloody good one— once upon a time. So long ago, it seemed. Retirement on this remote Caribbean island, in a wooden house with its own small pier, had been something he’d dreamed of, until retirement became more like exile and solitude gave way to loneliness.

Until this.

Bond found himself smiling despite himself as the merman persisted, “Why did the fisherman start doing drugs?”

“I don’t know. Why did he?”

“Pier pressure.”

The merman was beautiful, with dark hair and large green eyes that gazed into his rather owlishly. For reasons of his own, he’d named him Q.

Bond looked away. “I think I need a massage,” he said, wincing as he flexed his biceps.

“Have you heard about the Sauna that serves food?” Q piped up. “Their specialty is steamed mussels.”

“Why you—” Bond laughed before he could stop himself. “I ought to have left you in the nets. That might have made you less talkative.”

The merman swam up to him and settled his head boldly on his lap.

“Be careful what you fish for,” said Q, smiling.

#7

Title: Go Fish Author: soufflegirl91 Warnings: adult humour Summary: Q Branch tech must be recovered no matter where the double-ohs lose it.

“Another bloody spoon,” Bond complained, releasing it from the magnet and tossing it on the pile building up at his feet. “How do people even lose spoons in a lake?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the same way you lose proprietary weaponry?”

“Q, for the last time, I didn’t-”

“Can we get any closer to the middle?” Q cut him off, tapping a few times on his tablet screen. “Maybe if we start at the deepest point and move outwards?”  

Bond sighed, dropping the line back into the boat with a clatter. He pulled the engine cord, and with a roar, they were moving.

“THIS SHOULD DO,” Q yelled over the din.

Bond brought them to a stop, but Q didn’t wait for the engine to die down before continuing:

“I’VE ACTIVATED THE HOMING BEACON. THE LAKE’S DEEPER THAN I’D LIKE, BUT I SHOULD GET A SIGNAL ONCE WE’RE-” the engine died down with a final splutter, leaving Q yelling, “DIRECTLY OVER IT - oh.”

“You don’t get out on the water much, do you?” Bond quirked a grin at his flustered Quartermaster, flinging out the line on the starboard side.

“I wouldn’t have to get out on the water at all, if you didn’t go throwing away rocket launchers like they were crisp packets. Bond, what are you doing? I haven’t got a signal, yet.”

“Signal or not, I’ve caught something.”

Bond pulled on the Q-branch reinforced line, trying to reel it in. Whatever the line had caught, it was heavy. Finally, his catch cleared the water line.

He stared.

“Is that a tentacle dil-?”

“Well, you know what they say,” Q cut in.

He giggled. Giggled. Bond had a terrible feeling he knew what was coming next.

“No. Don’t you dare say it.”

“Be careful what you fish for!”

#8

Title: Do I Really Want To Know? Author: IrishWitch58 Warnings: none Summary: Mallory contemplates a recent mission and the behavior of agent and Quartermaster.

Mallory hadn't gotten to his present position without understanding the value of differing approaches to acquiring information. There were circumstances when a simple question was all that was required. There were others when a figurative bludgeon was necessary. That was more often the case when he had someone dead to rights and just wanted an admission. But when something was more delicate, a search for something he suspected but hadn't been able to prove, he needed the skills of a wily fisherman tricking a trout out from under a rock to rise to the bait.

It was unacceptable that his Quartermaster and 007 had gone off coms for eighteen hours. True, the mission was completed, but Bond's bad habits seemed to have rubbed off on Q. Interviewing both had been useless. 'Yes', 'no' and 'equipment failure' were the sum of the responses. Utterly respectful but complete obstruction from both.

They were hiding something and he was worried. Certainly, disloyalty was possible but he had thought better of both of them. There was a chime from his computer and he glanced at the incoming message from accounting. “Can we have some clarification on these charges, please? Uncertain whether these are mission related.”

Mallory scanned the receipts. A moderately expensive hotel suite, room service, and a concierge fee for a trip to a chemist. All charged to one of Bond's aliases. On impulse he called the hotel. Five minutes later he ended the call and stared at the phone. Well, better than treachery certainly but still, Bond and Q? The concierge had found the couple charming and was sure they were a couple. Be careful what you fish for. Now what was he supposed to do? Better that they hadn't admitted anything. He didn't have to act if he didn't officially know.

#9

Title: Shark Bait Author: Venstar / 1amvengeance Warnings: violence? People dedding Summary:  what would you do for those you love?

Bond swam to the ladder access of the dock. A creak of the boards and he froze in place. He swung himself up, his movement was swift and deadly. The guard dropped as suddenly as he had appeared. Bond rolled him into the water. Through the mist, he could just barely make out the tip of a fin. He smiled. It was cold, calculating, and lacking in teeth.

“Almost there.” Bond smiled as a soft breath was let out over comms. “Were you worried?”

“About you or my mortgage and two cats? Because if you live, then maybe M won’t find out about this.”

This time Bond’s smile was wide and bright. “I’m glad we agree then.” 

Bond cut a slit through his wetsuit until he could see his skin underneath. Slightly tan with a smattering of darker freckles. Was that a new mole? Maybe he should have it checked out. Too late. Blood welled up from where the mole had been. He grimaced.

“Bond? What are you doing?”

“Chumming the water.” He heard Q’s sharp intake of breath at the sound of him re-entering the water.

“Bond. This is the worst idea on the list of bad ideas.”

“I know what I’m doing, Q. Moving in, now.”

Silence from the other end as Q listened to him work. He slid through the water, coming up just under the opening of the warehouse. He pulled himself out, his eyes on his targets. He spared one glance for his lover, hoping that Felix could keep the two men distracted enough for him to...yes...to do that. The two men were tossed cut and bleeding into the dark water behind him. Their shouts of surprise turned into screams of pain and terror.

"Be careful what you fish for." Bond murmured, smiling at Felix.

#10

Title: Witnessed Author: oldestcharm Warnings: n/a Summary: James observes Q's methods. It pays off. Q is flexible. He can play an agent like a fiddle. Any time, any place. He knows exactly how to approach his agents — something James is rather impressed by. He'll let them stew for half an hour when necessary; he'll cosy up to them, all charm and innocence; or play up the socially inept IT intern. Sometimes, he gets mean. James particularly likes that part of Q. Whichever it is, though, Q's got them all wrapped around his long capable fingers. James can't look away. He hears from 002 about the 'banger of a DnD game' she apparently raked in the loot for. He also learns about the Deck of Many Things. It's surprisingly accurate for whatever happens next.

009 loses a chess match and gets equipped with a tractor instead of the Jeep he'd requested, although it goes 300 mph and has multiple cannons attached.

005 fails a coin toss and gains a squirt gun full of holy water for her mission at the Vatican. With a quirk of a smile, Q suggests Russian Roulette to Alec. He wins, but just barely.

Q equips his agents with the bare necessities, but unlike his predecessor, they all have to earn the goods. Q's gambling and James is determined to get his own. Q, ever the gentleman, asks what he's willing to play.

"Let's Go Fishin'," James tells him and just for a second Q looks startled. James' lips twitch into a reluctant smile.

"Be careful what you fish for," Q tells him, voice low and enticing. James leans forward, distracted.

"I win," Q says, eyes alight with excitement.

"It's a draw," James corrects, hoping his exhaustion won't show. Q's gaze grows sharp.

On his next mission, James finds an exploding pen in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

#11

Title: To Fish or Not to Fish Author: scarytheory Warnings: none Summary: Someone is sending weird presents to Q. He needs to figure out who that someone is.

The mug was ugly. Big, brown, and with a ceramic trout holding a plate “I fish you very much!” engraved in bold letters. It wasn’t the only thing that had been anonymously sent to Q for his birthday this week (other items included cheap chocolate and a teddy bear).

“This is getting ridiculous. Who would give me something so hideous?”

“You know what they say – be careful what you fish for!”

“That’s… not what they say.”

James smirked, obviously happy with himself.

Q continued: “Can you at least pretend that you’re jealous? It used to be you, sending me obnoxious gifts!”

“Don’t act like you thought it was romantic now, you hated it.”

He did. But he still had all the awful trinkets that James had sent him from missions before his retirement. They were displayed in his office, he couldn't force himself to throw them away. Maybe he was sentimental, after all.

“Perhaps it’s from a criminal who wants to infiltrate the MI6,” Q wondered.

James laughed. “I can guarantee you that it’s not a villain, the gifts are indeed from the heart.”

Of course he had something to do with it!

“And you can’t just tell me?”

“Nah. Let minnow when you figure it out!.”

“James, this was a terrible pun, even for you.”

“It’s not kraken you up?”

Truly not.

The question was who could send him these kinds of gifts? It seemed that they weren’t from some admirer either, seeing as James didn’t feel threatened. On the contrary, he was amused.

“Oh my God!”

Suddenly he knew. And it was horrifying.

“It’s from my mum.”

James grinned: “I love that woman. She understands that fish puns are fin-tastic!”

With horror, Q realised that against his better judgment, he had ended up marrying his own mother.

#12

Title: One Hell of a Strange Fish Author: Misha / artsytarts Warnings: none, just lols Summary: Fishing at lake Erie can be more exciting than you think. 

Felix sighed happily as he sat on his little bench in his little boat and let his mind wander. Bliss like this was hard to come by. A weekend of fishing, peace and relaxation was awaiting him and there was nothing that could spoil it.

Just as he’d finished the thought, a sudden tug at his fishing rod almost made him topple over the rim of his boat. Felix caught himself and cursed, put his feet down and with all his strength, he started reeling in the gigantic fish. It was putting up one hell of a fight. Gritting his teeth, Felix pulled and pulled, until, with an almighty splash, it broke the surface and screamed, just as the hook zinged past Felix’ ear.

Wait… Screamed?

Felix blinked.

“What do you think you’re doing, you bloody idiot!!” the man, not fish, exclaimed and ripped his diving mask off. He glared daggers at Felix, who still stood poised with his rod in hand.

Then the man frowned. “Felix?” he said incredulously.

“James?!”

“What on earth are you doing up there?”

“Me?! What are you doing down there?!”

James huffed, paddling against the water. “I asked first.”

“Well, I’m on holiday.” Felix held up the evidence. “Fishing trip. What about you?”

“Assignment,” James answered simply.

The mental image of a mushroom cloud above lake Erie filled Felix’ head. “Hell. Should I be worried?”

“Not particularly,” James said. “Anyway, should get going. Nice chatting with you.”

“Hold on, James, what –”

“Next time… Be careful what you fish for!” James called out, shoved his mouthpiece back between his teeth and submerged.

“Did you just…” Felix began, but James was already gone.

With a sigh, Felix let himself fall back into his seat and rubbed his forehead. They had to stop meeting like this.

#13

Title: Gone Fishing Author: Merc / the moon of mercury Warnings: none Summary: sometimes Bond prefers not to talk about his missions.

“Now you’re just preening,” Q says, rolling his eyes for dramatic effect. “Fishing for compliments. Really, Double-O-Seven, must you always make such a show of everything?”

Bond shrugs and finishes straightening his tie, not bothering to argue. He had been admiring his own reflection on the window of the newly painted DB10.

“Quite a dashing image, if I do say so myself. That’s the point, isn’t it? It’s the Geneva Motor Show, no one’s going to take me for a collector if I don’t look the part. What do you think?”

“I’m not the one you need to convince. All I care about is that you get the job done and bring back my car in one piece.”

“Why so grumpy, Q? I’d hoped you’d at least extend the sentiment to my person besides the car. And maybe wish me good luck? I have a feeling this one won’t be easy.”

“Bollocks, you’re going to seduce her, get the intel, and spectacularly blow things up. All of which you invariably accomplish every time. So, off you go and lay your bait. But please, do me a favour and think of the poor car while you’re at it.”

*     *

Q is right. The rich widow falls for his charms, spills her secrets, and buildings explode. Even the Aston survives. A success, all things considered.

Still, it takes him a week after returning to London to face his Quartermaster. The ugly love bites have faded and the overwhelming stench of perfume is nothing but an unpleasant memory. But Q has recordings of the events that went down in her boudoir, and Bond knows for sure he won't let it go.

Unfortunately, his foresight proves right.

“Be careful what you fish for,” he quips the moment Bond steps in, dissolving into laughter.

#14

Title: Look at the Bright Side Author: MrKsan / starrboned Warnings: none Summary: The Quartermaster's job is never easy.

When Bill entered the office, it was dark and quiet. Q sat slumped, painted pale blue under the light of the computer screen.

“Q?” Bill whispered, unsure what he stepped into.

Q looked up, blinking slowly.

“Bill. What are you doing here?”

Bill approached the desk, turning on the lamp. Q flinched from the light, like the sleep-deprived vampire that he was.

“It’s midnight, Q.” Tanner sighed, taking in the wide eyes and the dark shadows under them. “Bond came back hours ago. Why are you still here?"

Q blinked. Bill could almost hear the gears turning in his head.

Christ.

Q pushed a glass bowl from behind the screen. The water inside sloshed wildly from the sharp movement, stirring awake the creature inside.

“It's a... fish?"

“Bond brought it,” Q said. He glared at the fish like it's the source of all of his problems.

“He got you a fish?”

“No,” Q said, eyes narrowing. “He brought back the micro-sized, water-proofed, indestructible hard drive made especially for this mission, containing all the stolen information M asked for."

Bill glanced back at the fish. The fish, who had very sharp teeth inside its slightly gaping mouth.

“Is the hard drive -”

“It's inside the damn piranha!" Q hissed, smacking his head on the table.

Bill couldn't help it.

"Be careful what you fish for, huh?” He said, earning a sharp stare from under the dark mop of curls.

“At least he brought back the equipment this time,” Bill said, smiling apologetically. “Come on, you won’t get anything done by glaring at the fish.”

Q sighed, heavily, but took Bill’s offered hand and stumbled to a stand.

“At least it’s not a komodo dragon this time,“ Q said, as they stepped into the empty parking lot.

Bill couldn't help but laugh.

#15

Title: Cracked Author: solarmorrigan Warnings: n/a Summary: Bond and Q bring down a villain and have a few laughs.

Waves lapped at the sand, offering a gentle, rhythmic backbeat to the sounds of a madman’s island base crashing down in flames.

Bond and Q stood side by side on the beach, each sooty, disheveled, and soaked to the bone. They were sporting various bumps and bruises, some scrapes and burns, but they were pleased with themselves, nonetheless. It had been a grueling few days’ work, filled with more fire, gunplay, and close encounters with sharks and other sharp-toothed marine life than Q was usually comfortable with, but they’d done good work. Yet another villainous plot soundly foiled.

“Well,” Q sighed, “I suppose it’s true what they say.”

“What’s that, Q?” Bond asked idly.

Snickering preemptively, Q answered, “Be careful what you fish for.”

The expected eye-roll and long-suffering sigh never came. Instead, Bond’s expression went curiously blank, before a smile cracked over his face and he began to laugh. It started as a small chuckle before morphing into true, shoulder-shaking amusement, and Q’s own smile slid away in alarm. The joke wasn’t that funny – not that Bond ever laughed at his puns to begin with.

“Oh god, did you sustain head trauma while I wasn’t looking?” Q demanded, his fingers twitching towards Bond’s scalp.

Bond shook his head, still chuckling lightly. “I’m fine, Q. In fact… I’m fintastic.”

In spite of the suspicious anxiety churning in Q’s chest, he couldn’t help it; the pun was so terrible, so ill-timed, so entirely out of place, that Q had to laugh. “Oh, that’s it,” he gasped between giggles, “you’ve finally cracked.”

“I’m fine, Q,” Bond said again, then leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of Q’s smiling mouth before giving him a small shove in the direction of their getaway boat. “Now let’s get out of here.”

*****

GO VOTE!

[not-withoutyou]

One dreary Sunday morning, they’d gone to the cinema together; a matinee showing of a new Cary Grant and Kathrine Hepburn film was high up on Steve’s list of priorities. (And Bucky really wanted to go, too —much as he complained about the likelihood of Steve getting sick as a dog being out in the rain. Much as he sounded like Steve’s Ma used to, telling him to put on a hat if he insisted on going out in this weather.)

Steve was stubborn. He liked Cary Grant, and he liked getting to spend Bucky’s one day off with him. (And he wanted to do something nice for them both—he’d gotten an extra commission that week from the paper.) So, he put on his stupid knit hat and got the umbrellas out of the coat closet, beaming at the way Bucky was so easily persuaded. (He’d only had to turn the corners of his mouth down in a pout and Bucky had groaned and relented.)

Stepping up onto the street from the subway, they made a run for it toward the theater. “When we get home,” Bucky said over the din of the rain. “I’m making you soup. Next time I turn around, you’ll be burnin’ up with rheumatic fever.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but knew Bucky was probably being serious. (And soup was better than the raw onion and honey flu remedy that Bucky’s grandmother had passed down to him, so Steve wasn’t going to take his chances.)

At Steve’s insistance on buying both tickets, Bucky demanded that he at least be allowed to pay for the popcorn. They made it right on time; the opening credits had just started. Understandably, since reasonable people would rather not venture out in a downpour, they had the whole theater to themselves, save for an older couple up near the front.

Toward the back, it was dark enough to hide the pair from prying eyes if anyone came in. Bucky smirked, shrugging his jacket over the back of one of the seats. Taking his cap off, Steve ran a hand through his hair, probably sticking the strands up in strange directions. He got settled into the seat next to Bucky, warmer despite the chill.

“Can you see okay from here?” Bucky whispered in his good ear, quietly enough not to disturb the other patrons. Steve nodded, holding out the popcorn bag for Bucky before taking a few kernels for himself. As the picture started, Bucky slung his arm around Steve’s chair and leaned back, resting one heel of a still street-wet shoe on his knee. It was maybe something bolder than would’ve been acceptable in public, had anyone been there to see. And it gave Steve pause for a moment when Bucky dropped his arm from the back of the chair to his shoulder. But it felt like home; like reading together on the couch in their apartment. It felt safe. (Bucky was a touchy person, he reminded himself—it didn’t mean anything. Steve snuggled closer anyway.)

Halfway through, out of the corner of his eye, Steve caught Bucky staring. He turned his head to look, expecting Bucky to make a comment about the scene playing out in front of them— but Bucky didn’t say anything. And he didn’t look away either. The light from the screen flickered and moved over his face in a way that made his cheekbones sharper, his features more striking. (A face made for film, Steve thought. Bucky wouldn’t have looked out of place up there next to Cary and Kathrine.)

“What?” Steve whispered, craning his neck a little to look up at him. Bucky was so close. He smelt like aftershave, like the warmth of their bed and the coffee they'd had with their cornflakes at breakfast. And his thumb was tracing a pattern on Steve's shoulder. Steve swallowed.

Bucky’s lips parted slightly, he ran the tip of his tongue over the bottom one. “Nothin’,” he said back, quietly enough that Steve could barely hear him.

“I got somethin’ on my face?” Embarrassed, Steve scrubbed the back of his hand across his cheek. It was probably a smudge of graphite.

Bucky didn’t answer right away, but the corners of his mouth quirked up shyly. “No.” He turned his attention back to the screen with this forlorn expression that Steve didn’t know what to do with. Steve almost wished his eyes were better adjusted to the lowlight.

With a pang in his heart, Steve wondered what it was like for the real dates Bucky went on— if Bucky bought popcorn for the dames, if he held their hand, if he put his arm around their shoulders in a room full of people. Steve wondered if—had he been that pretty brunette girl from the ice cream parlor—Bucky would have kissed him just then. What would it be like to lean up in those last few inches so their lips would meet?

(Or maybe Bucky wished he was on a real date right now instead of hanging out with him. Maybe that’s what the look was. It wasn’t like Bucky to be so quiet, he normally provided commentary throughout entire films.)

Pretending any of this could be real the way Steve wanted it to be, he stared down at the mostly empty popcorn bag, the last few kernels that he’d left for Bucky (and Bucky had left for him.) Mentally, he shook himself. No. No, that wasn’t fair of him at all. He should be appreciative he even had the privilege to bask in Bucky’s light, that Bucky spent time with him like this. But maybe Steve was greedy, because Bucky stole his attention from the screen again. When Bucky caught his glance, he smiled, giving his shoulder a squeeze. Later, Steve found he had no clue how the movie ended.

If you like my ramblings, visit me on Ao3

[need-a-fugue]

Trustworthy (Chapter 4)

Summary: You’ve spent the last three years teaming up with Santiago Garcia on every mission you had a hand in coordinating… and the past several months plotting with him to take down the biggest bad to hit your radar. But even all your time at the DEA and all your experience in the field couldn’t have prepared you for this.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader (slow burn)

Warnings: Violence, language

Okay, yeah, sure, fine, you and Santi might not have been 100% honest about what you were planning in the jungle.

In fairness, neither of you ever actually said that this recon mission was at the behest of the CNP or Colombian military or any other government entity. You may have hinted at it. You may have neglected to correct the guys when they assumed. But you never actually told them that anyone had requested the raid on Lorea’s house.

What you had said was that there was a good chance this could turn into… something more. Something that might end up in a hefty pay day for all of you. You just never told the group of men that you and Garcia were actually banking on it.

You didn’t love the idea of lying to a bunch of strangers whom – if they agreed to everything – would end up holding your very life in their hands. Frankly, just the thought of doing so felt… sleezy. Especially considering that these men were Santi’s trusted friends. His brothers. But Santiago insisted that it needed to be played this way – They’ll never go for it if we tell them what we’re really up to. But I promise you, bonita, once they’re here, once they see… they’ll be all in.

He clearly knew his team because after just that single two-hour recce, a couple rounds of beers at a local bar, and a rather stirring, pointed speech, they were, in fact, all in.

And why not, really? The only one of them who had anything to lose – a family beyond those seen at the occasional holiday, wedding, or funeral – was Tom. And he’d been struggling so badly lately with impending alimony and child support and two kids’ worth of college tuitions – eight years minimum – that the money alone did all of their convincing for them.

It was illegal, yes. It was, as the captain said, “downright criminal.” But it wasn’t wrong. And as long as everything went according to plan, no one would know anything about any of it.

In the end, the world would be down at least one piece-of-shit, megalomaniacal drug lord murderer.

Some of the struggling people of Leticia – because you and Santi had promised each other and Yovanna that you’d drop a good chunk of the money into the hands of local charities – would have better lives.

Tom’s girls could go to college without having to worry about paying off student loans until they die.

Will could finally get rid of his old junker and buy a nice car – maybe not the Ferrari Ben was angling for, but a nice car all the same – to get him back and forth across the country for all those rousing speeches he insisted he would not stop giving.

Benny could invest in better training, at better gyms with better equipment… and real trainers. Or, hell, he could give all that shit up and quit getting his ass handed to him by kids ten years his junior, all in the hopes of capturing what was almost always one hell of a disappointing purse.

And Frankie? Well, Frankie wasn’t sure what he’d do with his share. But it sure would be nice to not have to worry so damn much. To not have to scramble to make the house payment every month. To not have to beg that dick who owns the local airfield to let him take on a few jobs just so he could settle into a cockpit for a bit. To maybe have the time – and funds – to take a woman on a date every now and then… not that he had a clue who that woman might be.

And you and Santi? Well, after years of accomplishing nothingin the fight against Lorea – the fight against the drug trade that had ruined and taken so many lives around the world – you two could finally say that you’d actually made a difference. Even if you couldn’t quite say it aloud for everyone to hear.

000

By the time you get to the compound early Sunday morning, rain’s already been falling for hours. The area’s nearly flooded, so your off-road path is basically a sprawling swampland. You barely slept, your hip is aching like crazy from an old injury, and the minute you step out of the SUV you damn near squeal like a stuck pig as you suddenly sink up to your calf in thick, sucking mud.

“Shit,” Frankie mutters under his breath – under a breathless laugh, you’re pretty sure – as he hops out and wraps a steadying arm around your waist. “Let me help,” he says, the words so soft, you can barely hear them over the unyielding pounding of the rain.

You try to balance, holding onto the door, one foot just barely sinking into the soft earth as Frankie leans down to pry the other from what feels like an utterly engulfing quicksand. He struggles, still holding you around the waist while his left hand works to grip your leg, your boot, your ankle… whatever he can wrap his fingers around. But it’s no use. The op has yet to even begin and already you’re stuck. In the disgusting mud. Deep in the endless jungle. With no hope of ever getting out.

You let out a painfully dramatic, completely despairing sigh and glance up only to see Benny laughing. Really laughing… not even trying to hide his utter, unabashed amusement at your awful predicament. You shoot him as threatening a glare as you can muster. But it only makes him laugh harder.

“Go get into position,” Tom orders, slapping him on the shoulder and shaking his head – once again in a seemingly all-too-practiced dadway – before he bends down to help Frankie out.

Finally, finally, the two men manage to free you. Shockingly, your boot leaves the earth as well, though you can feel the muck inside squelching beneath your instep and in between your toes. Your lip curls in disgust as you haphazardly wipe the boot – bottom, sides, and top – on the wheel well, a bit of mud getting squeezed out near your ankle as you do so. “I’m gonna get jungle rot,” you mutter bitterly as you continue to smear grime along the body of the SUV.

Tom swats your leg away. “Just be sure you don’t give away your location with all the squishing,” he says with a hint of a smile. Then, patting Frankie on the back, he finishes with a much more stern, “Let’s do this,” and takes off to find his position, face and shoulders both set as he easily drops into soldier mode.

“I’m still not sure if I like that guy,” you begin as you and Frankie head for the high ground, “or really freaking hate him.”

He bites out a quick laugh, turns to show off that too-damn-perfect smile, and replies with an easygoing, “Yup.”

Once you make it out of your drop-in point, everything else seems to be smooth sailing. The worst part is just waiting, especially with the rain. Waiting for Garcia’s informant to drop off the van. Waiting for the guards to leave for church, the family not so quickly following suit. Waiting for the guys to move in – Frankie shooting a quick wink alongside, “Watch my six,” as he heads out to join them. Waiting for the all-clear from Benny before you can finally enter the house yourself.

The house. Lorea’s house.

You’d been waiting for this for too damn long. Years of hunting the man had led to these last few months of building out this very plan with Santiago… and then to the last week of recon and final plans with these soldiers whom you barely even know. For all of the initial mistrust heaped upon you by them – and you honestly don’t blame them for any of it – the truth is, they know they have each other to depend on. You’re the odd man out here. You’re the one who should be questioning them… their dedication to this mission. Their loyalty to Santi, and by extension, to you. Their desire to end Lorea’s reign of terror.

You’re in this to take that man out. And if just one of these guys decides that’s not going to happen – for whatever reason – you’re shit out of luck. You should trust them only as far as you can throw them, which would be… not very far. But as you catch sight of Ben standing inside the front door, eagerly waving you in, and as you see the trail of blood leading into the kitchen, a voice over the coms calmly declaring, we had to shoot one of the guards in the leg, something inside of you shifts and settles and all of the worries about who may or may not be trustworthy simply flit away to nothing.

But other concerns quickly rise to take their place.

Watching the highly trained special ops team move about you – each man light-footed and fluid, so quiet that their breathing is nearly inaudible, even as one of them leans over your shoulder from his position behind – is nerve wracking enough to make your legs begin to tremble. You knew what you were getting into here. You knew that this would be dangerous, that it would require a certain level of skill and technique and training. But it isn’t until you actually see these men – these elite soldiers – in action that you realize how woefully inept and unprepared you are in comparison.

Self-doubt begins to seep from the cracks now forming in your carefully crafted façade. Uncertainty, insecurity, fear starts to build up and rise within you, burning like bile creeping up the back of your throat. By the time you and Santiago finish the second sweep of the downstairs and begin climbing the steps to the second-story landing, your entire body is vibrating with regretful apprehension.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you hear as you approach the study upstairs. It’s the room where your informant took the picture of the stacks of cash after her delivery, the holding area where all of Lorea’s blood money sat, just waiting to be counted. But when you enter, there’s no money to be found, just pissed-off-looking soldiers surrounded by the empty bags they had planned to fill with cash.

“Your girl burned us,” Frankie mutters blankly, eyes full of regret and annoyance as he leans heavily against one wall. His dark gaze collides with yours for just a fraction of a moment before he shakes his head and breathes out, “We gotta get outta here.”

Your brow crinkles in confusion, all of the insecurity bubbling through your body suddenly settling and getting replaced by a sort of righteous indignation. “Whoa, wait,” you spit out, sidestepping Santi and rushing to the center of the room. “We’re not leaving. We’re not done here.”

Will gives you an almost disappointed look and blankly mutters, “Nothing here, sweetheart,” before dropping heavily into a chair in the corner.

You shake your head, a pointed certainty to your words as you level him with a heated stare and say, “Lorea’s here. He’s always here. He does not leave.”

Tom scoffs. “Yeah, well, he left today,” he says, tone full of spite. “And he took the money with him.”

You spin to face him, “No,” pouring from your lips in a firm and unyielding tenor. “He’s here. And so is the money.”

“We did a full sweep,” Will breathes out.

“So we’ll do another,” Santiago chimes in, suddenly at your back.

You look around at all the forlorn faces and roll your eyes, realizing all at once that, for all their training in war, these men don’t have a freaking clue about the kinds of things you deal with in your job. They’re used to encountering soldiers – enemy combatants, trained mercenaries, militias… people who’s purpose is to fight. That’s not what Lorea is. That’s not what he does. He didn’t move deep into the jungle to fight, to wage war, to build an army. He came here to hide.

“You guys are fucking idiots,” you declare with a huff. “I once spent two hours tearing apart a houseboat before finding the guy we were after squatting in a hidden cutout near the bilge. A few years ago, we found fifty thousand dollars under a false bottom in a hot tub while serving a search warrant. Another raid ended with us tearing apart a kid’s tree house that had cash hidden under the floorboards. You think because Lorea isn’t sitting here behind his desk, counting his millions like fucking Scrooge McDuck that they’re not here? That he’s not here?”

“Didn’t McDuck swim in his money?” Benny inquires from behind, the question earning quick huff of a laugh from his brother.

You feel Santi step away from your side. “She’s right,” he says, his eyes dancing around the room, looking for… something. They land on a mostly empty can of paint, and he smiles, sniffing quickly at the air. “Fresh paint.”

Tom’s eyes widen and tick towards the wall to his left as his lips split and out pours what you had all along seen as being an obvious truth. “The house is the safe.”

000

When it rains, it pours. You’d been the one to say that, to inanely mutter the adage through the coms with a huff as Benny took off back inside the house – the safe – while you sat in the now heavily weighted van, so full of money that the suspension sags to the point of extremeconcern.

The guards are coming back, the sound of their SUV’s engine just barely chugging atop the steady beating of the downpour that had engulfed you all for the past few hours. They’re coming back, and everyone but you is still inside.

Call it greed. Call it vindictiveness. Call it whatever the fuck you want. But you all had agreed to get as much plata out of that house as possible, to fill the cars to the freaking brim with as much of that motherfucker’s money – his lifeblood, his love, his everything – before setting fire to the whole damn thing. You’d been in this business long enough to know that bringing down one cartel merely opens up a door for others to grow. But still, the idea of watching Lorea’s empire burn makes you wet in a way the torrential rain beating on the roof on the van never could.

You toss a glance back, over you shoulder at the mound of duffel bags, a child’s suitcase thrown into the pile as well, all filled to bursting with cash. It’s pretty unbelievable. Incredible. You’d never been the type to really worry about money, no more so than the average guy. But damn if being surrounded by millions of dollars doesn’t make you a little lightheaded. And the fact that it’s Lorea’s money?

Despite Santi’s little bullshit pep talk the other night about how all of you deserve this – for serving your country and fighting for what’s right… blah, blah, blah – you honestly don’t feel like you deserve this money any more than anyone else. But Lorea sure as shit doesn’t deserve it. And you trust yourself – and each of these men by your side – to put it to far better use than he ever would.

You can’t see the guards, can’t see the SUV carrying them from your vantage point in the van. But Benny had told you to stay put, he’d get the others and he wanted you ready to drive as soon as they came out. Still, you know now that the first car must’ve arrived at the compound because – aside from the steady pounding of the rain and the wild pulse of your heartbeat echoing in your ears – everything is suddenly silent. No more hum of an engine. No choppy callouts over the radio as Ben seeks out the guys. Everything is silent and still. Until… pop-pop, short and sudden, muffled by the thick walls of the house.

Over the coms you hear – in a calm, controlled tone – Two down in the entryway. Another sharp pop, followed by a voice you’ve come to easily recognize. That’s three.

There’s something in the way their words are uttered, something in the utterly placid tenor of each of their voices. Something also to the sparse shots – so unlike the rapid, automatic gunfire you’re used to being thrown into amid scared and untrained local police and inexperienced, foolhardy kids hired as cheap labor by the cartels. There’s something about the way they all rush suddenly into your line of sight – fast but calm, controlled – as they pour out of the house, a few racing past to find the guards’ SUV, the sounds of their footfalls and quick breaths nearly drowning out the whir of the engine as you turn the ignition. There’s something about it all that leaves you feeling – despite the fact that things did not go as planned and you can see that all-too-recognizable, pissed-off scowl tugging at Santiago’s features as he flies past your window – calm as well. Safe, even.

Frankie climbs quickly into the passenger side of the van just as you fire up the engine, Will slowly pulling himself into the seat behind him. “Shit,” you mutter, eyes widening as you take in the grimace on the man’s face, the blood on his hands and shirt. “What the hell happened?”

“S’fine,” he tells you, punctuating the statement with a nod, a directive to look forward. “Let’s move.”

You put the van in gear and hit the gas, maneuvering steadily through the compound and towards the front entrance. “Did you get shot?” you inquire again, your voice showing less concern and more simple curiosity.

“Yeah,” he groans, a thick breath hitching as you hit a particularly big bump in the road. “Your friend Lorea popped out of his little hidey hole and got me. Guess you called that.”

You whip around to face him, eyes now like damn saucers. “You got him?”

Frankie grabs your arm and gives a little tug to get you turn back towards the front, only speaking, answering for Will, once you do so, once you settle a still-wild stare on the path ahead, “Yeah. Pope took him out. He’s dead.”

You say nothing for a long moment, letting those words seat inside of you. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. How long have you wanted to hear those words? How long have you been gunning for that son of a bitch, waiting for someone to take him out… hoping that someone might be you? Santi doing it is the next best thing, you figure.

A sudden explosion lights up in front of you as you approach the gate and Benny blows past it, and past the van, angrily muttering to himself all the while. “He looks pissed,” you comment blithely, looking to Frankie for something akin to permission before flooring it and ramming through the gate like you’re just itching to do.

He gives a staunch nod forward. “Can’t blame him,” he says, capping it off with a softer, rather encouraging, “Go for it.”

You hit the gas, glancing in the rearview mirror and asking, “The others are in the SUV?” as the guards’ car pulls up behind you and waits for Ben to jump in.

Frankie nods – “Yeah.” – and his eyes suddenly tick your way, narrowing a bit as they rove your body before coming to rest on your hands as they tightly grip the wheel.

“What?” you ask, feeling his stare burn into you.

Will laughs from behind – a swift, stilted thing that tells you just how much pain he’s actually in – and lets out an amused, “Fish always drives.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say, voice dripping with put-on sincerity as you continue down the unpaved road. “Do you want me to pull over?”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s no hiding the plainly obvious pout tugging at his lips when he looks over at you and mutters, “Just watch where you’re going.”

The first half or so of the long drive up to the airfield is spent in tense silence. You don’t fight it, don’t force any sort of conversation, don’t inquire about what exactly happened in that house. You can tell that these men need a long-ass moment to come down from everything. Hell, your own adrenaline still has your pulse thrumming endlessly through your ears. And you’d been safely ensconced inside this van for most of the action. It’s not like you had to fight your way out of there. It’s not like you got shot.

Your eyes bounce up to the rearview mirror, finding Will curled into himself in the backseat. “How you doing, Ironhead?” you ask, purposefully infusing the ridiculous name with a mocking intonation.

He looks up and catches your gleaming eyes in the mirror, notes your slight smirk, and gruffly replies, “Well, I’m not dead yet.”

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Frankie supplies from your right. He spins around to give his friend a quick once over. “He’s fine.”

“That’s awfully presumptuous,” you challenge, raising a brow. “Didn’t see you coming out of there with a new hole in your body.”

“Didn’t realize you were so focused on my body,” he returns with a bit of a lilt.

Will groans loudly from the back. “Don’t start flirting up there,” he practically orders before the no-argument tone slips into something softer, almost jovial. “I’m suffering enough back here as is.”

“You’re fine,” Frankie shoots back, turning bodily in his seat and craning his head towards his friend. “You act like you’ve never been shot before.”

“I’m retired,” he replies. “Think I forgot how much this sucks.”

You nod, almost to yourself, emitting a simple, assenting, “Yeah.”

Frankie leans back, still remaining sideways in the seat, his stare now wholly on you. You glance over and see his brow scrunch in… is it concern? Or merely curiosity? “You’ve been shot?” he asks, an odd edge to his voice.

Again, you nod. “I have. Didn’t care for it.”

“See, Fish,” Will mumbles from the back as he slips further down the seat in an effort to find some semblance of comfort. “Maybe you’ve been so busy flying around rich businessmen in the private sector that you’ve also forgotten how shitty this is.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he mutters with a frown.

Will cocks his head at you – not that you can see it, eyes remaining trained on the road lest you get another watch where you’re goingevil stare from the man by your side. “What happened to you, sweetheart?”

You snort out a short laugh, glancing quickly at Frankie and saying softly – and more than a little bit condescendingly – “He likes to call me sweetheart.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the man in the back sighs out, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “Guess I’m just a run-of-the-mill chauvinist.”

You shrug. “I never said anything about you being run-of-the-mill.” And from your right, you hear a soft snicker. A gentle smile spreads across your face and your hands loosen their death grip on the steering wheel just a bit as you feel the air filling the van begin to lighten, tension seeming to slowly spill away. After a lingering – but not at all wrought – moment, you shift a bit in your seat and say, “Went on a raid just outside of Tijuana. My first down in Mexico. And I took a bullet in the hip.”

“Shit,” Will intones. “Hell of a bienvenido.”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, suddenly all-too conscious of the old ache in your joint that’s been plaguing you all day. “But on the plus side, I’m now always the first to know when it’s about to rain.”

Both men laugh. You laugh – despite the pain in your hip and the worry about the guy in back… and your terribly distracting infatuation with the wide smile now painted on Frankie’s face. You all sit in the van – on your way to flee the country after committing a terrible crime – and laugh about the fact that, despite each of you being a little bit broken, none of you are dead yet.

Taglist:

@tweedlydumbtweedlydoo @icanbeyourjedi @greeneyedblondie44 @mrscrain-x7 @kyjoraven@elephants-are-a-thing @nakhudanyx

[eddysocs]

Science And Chemistry - Chapter One (LA To Las Vegas)

Summary: Everything seems to be going wrong for Kate, and all she wants to do is disappear and put her past behind her, but one phone call can change it all and offer her a fresh start.

Word Count: 1,371

Warnings: Sarcasm (Does that need to be a warning?)

Kate came back to her motel room, the place she’d hardly call a home after having to give up her apartment. She plopped herself in a worn down chair and put her feet up on the table. The clock on the wall in front of her told her it was almost one in the morning. Somehow her Saturday night had taken her all the way to Sunday morning. She was completely screwed. To be fair, she knew it would catch up with her eventually. All of it. She sighed deeply as she pressed her fingers to her temples. She felt a wicked headache coming on.

Where she’d go from here, she hadn’t a clue. She’d made several bad choices during her time here in California. Too many women, not enough sleep, and one case that she was far too desperate to solve. That was the one that had really bit her in the ass. She'd have to pack, which was a joke because what could she possibly want to take from this place? Her plants, pressed flowers and books were the only things of any importance to her.

Tomorrow there would be no trace of her ever having been here. She’d do a deep clean before she left, floor to ceiling, and put this chapter of her life behind her. But she couldn't focus on any of that now. Kate closed her eyes, craving the blissful ignorance of a sleeping mind and that’s when her phone rang.

Kate groaned and fumbled for her cell on the table before reluctantly opening her eyes and taking her feet off the table to reach it. "What now," she wondered aloud.

"Yeah," she answered, leaning back and closing her eyes again, far too annoyed to be any more polite than that.

"Nice to hear from you too. How’s California treating you?"

Kate's eyes shot back open, and she sat straight up at the realization of who that voice belonged to. She almost couldn’t believe it. "Gil, is that you," she asked, suddenly perking up, her budding headache all but forgotten for the moment. "I didn’t recognize your number. California has run me ragged. I think I've overstayed my welcome."

"I heard," Gil said on the other end of the line.

"Oh, so this isn’t a courtesy call," Kate teased. "You have an agenda. Alright, come out with it. How can I help the incomparable Gil Grissom?"

"That depends, do you want a job," he offered.

Kate was struck dumb for a moment. "A job," she asked, as if she had somehow managed to hear him wrong.

"I know what happened out there with the—"

"Anderson case," Kate finished for him. She heard those damn words in her sleep now. "Right. And you’re what? My knight in shining lab coat?" If she were being honest, she'd almost had enough of the job. Crime scenes, murders, maybe that wasn’t her thing after all. Then again, she couldn’t see herself doing anything else. What would she be, a florist?

"Yes," she found herself saying automatically. "If you’re serious, I’ll take the job."

"See you Monday then," Grissom said, and Kate could almost see the smirk on his face. Despite herself, she was smiling too.

Kate hung up, feeling the headache again as it lingered towards the back of her head, threatening to hit her full force when she least expected it. She had to sleep. Maybe just four hours, then she’d pack, clean and get the hell out of California.

Her alarm clock jarred her awake, now at five. She must have been out the second her head hit the pillow because she didn’t even remember setting the alarm. Her headache now a distant memory, Kate rose, stretched, her off white tank riding up as she raised her arms. She shook off the remaining sleepiness that fogged her head and got to work. She hung and placed her plants in the bed of her truck, carefully piled her books of pressed flowers and leaves in her backseat, and after putting aside a pair of jeans and navy blue tank, she folded the rest of her clothes in one big heap and put them in the back as well. Now to clean.

Being a CSI made her an expert in deep cleaning. Though it wasn’t really a CSI's job to clean the scene, it’s where she got her start in the field. She’d had a part time job at sixteen, and then on through the end of college, cleaning up crime scenes, so by the ripe old age of twenty eight, she knew what she was doing.

The place was spotless by the time she finished, though it took her much longer than she’d wanted. She’d burn what she no longer needed when she got around to it, starting with the dart pierced photo of her ex, Gretchen. She didn’t want to think about that woman ever again if she could help it. She couldn’t blame her for everything that had gone wrong in LA, but Kate always had the sneaking suspicion that Gretchen had been the start of it.

Maybe she’d spark her lighter now and get rid of all the bad karma that even a picture of her seemed to carry. Going outside, Kate flicked open the lighter she still carried, though she’d given up the habit of smoking years ago. It had really only ever been a phase for her, but the flame calmed her to look at every now and again, so she’d kept it. As the photo took on the flame, Kate watched the picture curl in on itself, taking the image of Gretchen's dark brown hair and steely grey eyes and turning it into nothing more than ash. She dropped it when the flame came too close to her fingertips, bidding it good riddance.

The trip to Vegas lasted her until a little after her usual lunch time, so with her stomach growling, she called up Gil to meet him for a bite, and, if he was agreeable, a favor. Frank's Diner, he had told her. He’d meet her there in twenty minutes.

Kate had remembered the place from the last time she’d been in Vegas for a convention. She and Gil had ducked out of the convention a bit early, both already having done the presentations they’d come to give, and Frank's was where they’d gone. It took a couple of tries to remember where it was located, but she didn’t get too lost. Only a couple of minutes late. She walked inside to find Gil already at a table waiting for her. She walked over and slid into the booth across from him.

"Almost thought you were going to stand me up," he teased her.

"Never. Just because you stood me up three years ago, doesn’t mean I’m out looking for payback. I don’t hold grudges, Gil." Kate paused for a beat. "Not for that long anyway," she added with a smirk.

They laughed and talked, catching up on the highlights of the past three years. Speaking on the phone twice a year really only covered the basics. Then as their plates emptied, Kate realized that time was closing in on her if she was going to ask for that favor.

"The reason I wanted to have lunch, besides to catch up, of course, is that I sort of need a favor." Gil smiled like he’d been expecting as much. "Is there any way you’d allow me to stay at your place," Kate asked, eyes pleading. She hadn’t had the time to make living arrangements, surely he’d know that. She was resourceful though, she’d find something soon enough, but in the meantime, she preferred not to be homeless. "Promise not to overstay my welcome. I’ll be out in a month, tops. You won’t even know I’m there."

Gil gave a single nod as Kate left the money and tip for their bill on the table. "So I can stay," she asked for clarification.

"You can stay. One month. That’s the extent of my hospitality."

"It isn’t," Kate stated. "It’s the extent of time you can tolerate someone being in your domain, but nonetheless, I appreciate it. So, shall we go home?"

Also Read On AO3 + Wattpad

[evilzoldyck]

Strawberry Mushroom

“Is something wrong?” You finally asked as you watched your exasperated boyfriend stab another handful of berries into his fork, his brows furrowed together upon his usually gentle and fair face as his lips turned slightly into a frown. 

Going out for a quick breakfast in a nearby café had been your idea, you thought it to be suitable to start such a beautiful day as his usual work being a covert examiner for the hunter association left little to no time for you both to spend together.

The sun was shining blindingly from the east, there was also a cool breeze in the air as the occasional wind rustled the trees soothingly. The cafe was surrounded by inviting smell of coffees, various types of pastries, breakfast food and yet, Wing’s aggravated mood was enough to dampen the spirits of a lovely Sunday morning. 

“Nothing,” he replied bluntly. For someone with such a stern and intuitive nature, Wing really does wear his heart on his sleeves. It was clear that he was upset and yet you haven’t had the slightest clue for the reason of his discontent. Halting his slightly violent ministrations on the poor strawberries by placing your hand on top of his, you forced him to finally stop and acknowledge you properly.

“Please tell me,” you softly pleaded as you looked into his eyes sincerely.

Wing sighed and averted your look by dropping his gaze before muttering out, “you seemed to be quite interested in that tattooed up barista.”

That was it? You couldn’t even remember your interaction with said man, not to mention his name or his face. Whatever happened previously, it seemed enough to upset your boyfriend.

“What do you mean? Nothing happened back then,” you attempted to assuage him while also genuinely not knowing what he was so irritated about. You didn’t see it but the way Wing clenched his fists underneath his pockets whenever that barista that burnt his coffee flashed you a charming smile and a joyous jest made him want to jump over the counter and strike him down.

Wing knew you might not notice his lecherous, wandering eyes that lingered on you for far too long for it to be a common friendly service but as your man, he couldn’t help but wished that you were more self-aware. In his perspective, all men are the same, sly and perverted waiting for someone naïve enough to toy around with before discarding them carelessly. 

“Sure and you didn’t just flirt with him in front of me.” His retort took you aback. You stared at him in shock as he resentfully ate a small piece of his breakfast, unable to form a comprehensible string of sentence.

“What are you talking about? Of course I didn’t- I would never!” You felt your heart drop at his awful accusation. He hummed dismissively before pushing his chair back to promptly stand up and grab his jacket. You continued to watch him in disbelief, feeling your eyes starting to sting once you knew he wasn’t going to stop.

“I’m going off to work,” before you could argue back that it was Sunday, he brusquely added that he had leftover work to finish to justify his absence; and just like that you were left by yourself, leaving a bitter sting on the brief breakfast date.

Holding back your tears, you didn’t want to start a scene in front of all these people as the door closed behind him with a soft jingle. You could sense where the future for the both of you will end up, you could feel the strain in your relationship as you progressed the days further with him and to be completely honest, you were scared.

You don’t know why but Wing’s inferiority complex grew each day when you were with him in which left him completely different from the man you once met and fell in love with. He was constantly paranoid of your faithfulness for him. Your loyalty, trust and respect all dissipated with the presence of another man in the room. He’d always imply how you would soon leave him for a better, a more attractive and rugged man if you had the chance, continuously putting himself down as if you were too good to be with someone like him.

It seemed like there was no words you could say were enough to convince him otherwise. His jealously was constantly festering and infecting him, detrimenting your once pure and beautiful connection.

All your friends have heard your troublesome tales with the martial arts teacher and each time, they pressingly urged you to leave him, growing weary and outraged by how the seemingly innocuous man was treating you. However, no matter what they say you couldn’t bring yourself to end it. How were you supposed to forget all the times you spent together? You held onto those memories on days like these, where his words didn’t prick at your heart and he was still here with his arms firmly held around you in a loving squeeze.

You never felt anything for anyone as much as you did for him. So you guessed that the old adage is true when they say love is blind, because you clearly were when you were with him. Overlooking his past transgressions and never delving deep into the root of the problem, only choosing to look on the surface and forget about it the very next day.

Clearly you had fallen for Wing so much that you couldn’t see anyone besides him. When he said you should let him take care of you since if the both of you was working it would be nearly impossible for you both to see each other. You weren’t much for departing with the work you clearly enjoyed but before him you did because you loved seeing him smile, seeing him happy because of you, the way he woke you up each morning, the way he shook your father’s hand and meeting your mother.

You don’t want to ever lose that.

When you returned back to your shared apartment and left behind your untouched breakfast, you chose to spend the day by trying to forget that the whole ordeal ever happened, filling your time by talking to your friends, running small errands and reading the daily news. You knew how much his job occupied his time and so you waited until the moon was at its highest for him to return.

Truth be told he hadn’t expected you to be awake when he retired back to the bedroom, instead he was pleasantly surprised when you languidly laid by the couch wearing nothing but the short silky robe that he liked with the strip hung loosely around your waist, showing much of your smooth skin that he loved to caress so much.

You stood up at his arrival letting the delicate garment fall of your shoulder in the process, nevertheless you didn’t care enough to fix it back in place once you saw Wing holding a large bundle of white roses for you. Walking closer towards him with a delighted turn of your lips, you waited for him to snap out of his daze and finally say something.

Red dusted his cheeks as he quickly stammered clumsily to get some words out. No matter how many times he had seen it, you never failed to take his breath away. The way your hair fell so prettily among your face which framed it perfectly, your alluring and graceful features that made his knees buckle at the very sight, and your smile that was so sweet he could admire it for a lifetime.

“F-For you,” he stuttered as you gratefully took it with a wide beam and a brief chuckle.

He couldn’t help but melt at the sound of your enchanting laugh that sounded like twinkling bells. It was at times like this is why he was the way he is, why he couldn’t bare it when other men looked at you knowing that they saw what he did. Wing wouldn’t admit it aloud in front of you, but he would rather die than to let others have you, just thinking of such a thought riled him up to no end that he had no other choice than to exert out his frustration on some test dummies back at the training grounds.

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly blurted out, filling the thick silence. “For leaving you, for getting angry, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that I-“ his words were cut off when you pressed your lips desperately to his. 

Wing’s hands automatically grabbed at your sides, pulling you close to him so he could feel more of you during this passionate moment. He assisted you in putting the extravagant bouquet aside on the bed as the piece that meant to signify his hopeless feelings served more as a barrier between you two.

Wrapping your arms around his neck and tangling it through his endearingly dishevelled yet soft locks, you deepened the kiss entangling your tongues in a further exchange. One of Wing’s hand raised up to graze his knuckles along your plush cheek before grabbing the back of your head lovingly to support it.

He let out a small breath of bliss as you parted from him. There was much he wanted to say, how much guilt he felt when stormed out earlier this morning, for not keeping his emotions in check sometimes and how much he didn’t deserve the love you’re giving him right now. 

 Wing suddenly snapped out of his thoughts when you pushed him decisively to the couch where he dutifully took a seat as you lowered yourself down to the floor, never taking your effervescent eyes off of his. He couldn’t deny that the lustful yet somehow demure look from you stirred a pool of desire within him, craving more of your touches on him as he took in the lascivious view avariciously. 

Getting on your knees, he gingerly spread his legs for easier access. He inhaled sharply when you began to rub the bulge in his pants experimentally, slowly unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers to release his length from the confines of his painfully constricting piece of clothe. Your eyes strayed from his to his crotch instead where you saw a tent forming underneath his briefs. 

Wing didn’t know he could get anymore shameless as he watched you, with half lidded eyes, pulling down on the thin fabric to reveal his already hard cock. His length stood up to attention with the tip matching the pink hue on his face. It took all the will he had within him to remain calm and keep himself from losing composure by the intensity of your admiration towards his dick.

It was a size that satiated you, his girth was one that was appropriately proportional to him but you were more than happy to learn that his length was a bit bigger than average, letting Wing hit heavenly spots inside you that you alone could never imagine to reach with your dainty fingers. Taking in his cock in between your hands, you jerked him off in a slow and careful motion, watching him get even hotter as he struggled to keep his breath steady. 

“A-Ahh..” he gasped and clenched onto the edges of the couch furiously as you stroked him lazily, paying extra attention on the underside of his dick where his vein pulsed out slightly. 

Pretending to not notice his stifled whimpers and shudders, you’d hope that this would encourage him to let out his voice more. A bead of cum suddenly came from the tip of his reddened head as you squeezed onto his cock attentively. Wing saw exactly what you you did to him as his gut further constricted into a tight rope when you wiped the pearl of cum with your thumb and placed chaste kisses around the tip instead. 

Gulping down the air greedily, he grit his teeth down harshly as he shifts his face when you gave him tiny licks around the tip of his dick, playing around with the edges of his head and his slit. Finally you took his whole head into your mouth where your soft and wet tongue freely enveloped him for a sweet moment before that pleasure intensified by you rubbing your silky soft mouth further into him. The kind of pleasure that had his toes curling and his eyes rolling back.

He couldn’t contain his moans anymore when you began to zealously suck at it, gripping at his base and occasionally rubbing on his balls. You hummed down pleasantly on his cock as you went further down on him, he could feel the repercussions of your vibrations travelling through him, pulling him closer to the edge. 

This was a problem that Wing faced. If you continued to suck his dick while looking up at him with that pretty face of yours he’s afraid he could combust at any given moment.

In the midst of you going back to the tip of his head and teasing the slit to lap more of his precum before going back down to the base, Wing suddenly held onto your head to pull it back gently as if he would hurt you in the process.

“L-Let go, please l-let go sweetheart.” He hissed when you did so with a slightly audible pop as his cock recoiled up immediately after, slapping into his stomach with a wet sound from your saliva. 

Guiding you back up on the seat with him, you straddled him with your legs on either side as he pulled your hips hesitantly closer towards his. You let out a breath of laugh when you found that Wing’s glasses has been crooked all this time. While you found it endearing and so heart wrenchingly cute, you pulled it to the side safely on a nearby table as he smiled sheepishly.

His slim fingers trailed slowly closer to your cunt, pleased to find it coated and dripping in your own slick. Shyly rubbing on your entrance you let out a dreamy sigh and held onto his said hand with the other on his tensed shoulder. Lifting your hips up higher his hands moved securely up to your sides. Looking up at you in a dazed state he could’ve easily mistook you for an angel by the way the moonlight was hitting your skin, making you glow ethereally. 

As your lips hovered the tip of his cock, Wing tugged on your loosening robe letting the fabric pool down to the floor swiftly, revealing your bare self for his eyes only.

“Wing..” you sang before him as you sank slowly down on his dick, wrapping your arms around his neck and arching your back heavenly when you bottomed out. Gyrating on his length sensually, you felt him hitting your most sensitive parts with ease making you grip onto him as he hoarsely whispered out your name.

Pinching one of your peaked buds into his slightly calloused pointer finger and thumb, he rolled it fondly while he looked up earnestly at your response, going just a little rougher when you urged him on through your weak whines. 

Mewling when he tugged and pinched onto your tits, you pushed out your chest out towards him more as he eagerly fondled your mounds, tracing his lips up from your sternum up to your neck kissing and nibbling the sensitive skin affectionately. Raising your hips up only to sink back down made your tight walls drag along his cock in all kinds directions sent butterflies flying in your stomach. 

“You’re so pretty...” he breathed out absentmindedly as his thoughts were too preoccupied with how your plush walls hugged him in hot and sticky embrace. His hips moved up to meet yours, holding onto your ass this time, squeezing and groping them as he bounced you up and down.

“Wing,” you called out softly and in an instant he’s listening thoughtfully like an obedient little puppy. “Kiss me.” Immediately he leaned in to fulfil your wish, lips melding in with each other while encouraging you to open your mouth by flicking out his tongue occasionally in between to meet yours. 

Though you felt like you were on floating with the stars, it still tugged on your heart strings that no amount of sex could ever placate his jealousy. Wing may say that regretted what he said, feel remorse or become apologetic but nothing in his words implied that what he said wasn’t true. At this point you were stuck in a cycle of his envy, forever trapped in trying to balance the fine line between his ever raging emotions into one that is complacent and calm.

However there’s no telling he would ever change soon. Sometimes you feel as if you might break down by trying to pick yourself apart and build yourself up to satisfy his ever so capricious moods. You don’t know how to be good enough for him, to be something he could trust, to convince him that he had you completely besotted. 

Many might commend you for your love and patience for this man, his rancorous jealousy was one that wasn’t easy to handle. As words didn’t seem to work on him and so you naturally came to the conclusion to give him something in an attempt to show your feelings for him in the purest form. 

It was something beyond sex, a conduit to express how much you cared for him and where he stood in your heart. Looking into his eyes, you attempt to show him how much you appreciated him, how much you were dedicated and loyal only to him, valuing every thing he taught you and expressing your gratitude for every time he made you feel loved and special. 

Wing murmured out your name as his hips rocked furiously into you, feeling himself get closer to his edge. “A-Are you close?” He timidly asked as if wasn’t continuously 

bouncing you on his cock. You nodded and cried out loud when he desperately rubbed onto your clit instantaneously making you see sparks fly. Holding onto Wing, you buried your face into his neck and muffled out your moans hoping that your cries didn’t traverse too much from your bedroom and into the quiet night. 

Your orgasm was still coursing through you in jolts of electricity as he pumped his cock vigorously inside. Your plush, silky walls pulsed down on him tightly from your recent release had Wing closing his eyes and clenching on his teeth from the intensity. With a broken groan he buried himself forcefully all the way inside, letting his cum erupt from the tip and coat your cunt in white. The speed was unceremoniously welcomed, bursting out faster than you anticipated feeling the thick liquid filling up your insides.

Wing was heaving by the time he finished riding out his orgasm. Sweat perspired from the both of you as you could feel a bead rolling down your back and one along his face. He pulled out carefully and laid you against his chest, holding onto your hand to briefly kiss it on the back before rubbing it soothingly, basking in the  serene afterglow that always came after.

“I hate it when we fight,” you murmured weakly while looking up at him languorously. Wing returned your pained eyes, bearing a guilty look. 

“Me too,” he replied softly, holding your body even tighter and kissing at your shoulder sweetly. 

The night always ended with him embracing you securely in his arms, the time where you felt the most safe and loved. Though there was a whisper at the back of your mind that reminded you this wasn’t the end, that you would have to endure far more of these days with him but nevertheless, you were going to continue to fight for him. 

You’ve always pondered how long this would go on for but you have yet to contemplate on an even bigger conundrum. It wasn’t the matter of the time you should be worried about but when he would finally snap is the question. 

[degrassi-fanatic]

Your Father’s Son

With his back towards the door of the master bedroom, Reid rests on his side as he attempts to even out his breathing. Though the house is completely silent, he can barely register the sound of the front door clicking open over the breaths he has to heave into his lungs, nor does he notice the footfalls steadily making their way towards his direction, not until Aaron is stood in front of him.

Reid doesn’t bother making eye contact, only dropping his focus to the wooden panels of the bedroom floor and the socks adorning Aaron’s feet.

“You okay?” Aaron asks, the worry evident in his voice as he sits down on the empty space beside Reid.

The only response he receives from Reid is a barely-there nod.

“Doesn’t seem like it.” he says softly.

Without another word, Aaron tugs the younger man upwards, just enough to be able to slide in and sit behind him. Arms wrap around Reid’s midsection, while Aaron pushes his chest further into Reid’s back.

For a while, the two of them remain quiet. Reid doesn’t say anything and Aaron doesn’t ask him anything else, only waiting patiently for him to gather the courage to say whatever it was that was bothering him.

How could he, though?

Everytime Reid merely thinks about what happened, his throat closes up and his eyes begin to sting.

God, it’s just like him to be dealt a mortal blow by a seven year old’s words.

The day had started off as a regular Saturday for the three of them; Aaron went for his daily run, while Reid watched over Jack, who was practicing his soccer drills in the backyard. They all ate breakfast together and soon Morgan was calling Aaron, asking if he was available to help him fix up some houses.

Once Aaron had left Jack and Reid alone in the house, all hell had broken loose. All Reid had done was ask Jack to go finish up his homework so he wouldn’t be cramming Sunday evening, and soon the two of them were arguing over nothing.

For someone with an eidetic memory, his brain didn’t seem to want to recall the details for once. Perhaps, his brain was only trying to protect him from the worst of it all.

Yet, Reid has no clue what could be worse than hearing your son shout that you weren’t his father?

“He said I wasn’t his father.” Reid croaks out, water already collecting in his eyes.

“What?”

“We had a disagreement,” he explains before swallowing hard, in an attempt to keep himself from crying, “Then, suddenly, he was shouting at me that I wasn’t his father.”

Palms run up and down the sides of Reid’s arms to help soothe him but it’s to no avail as he begins to hiccup uncontrollably; tears rolling down his face and dripping down his chin. He presses his face into the side of Aaron’s neck, as if to hide away from all of his problems.  

“Jack doesn’t know what he’s saying.” Aaron murmurs softly, almost unheard over the sound of Reid crying.

“Sounded like he did.”

“He’s just a kid,” he says, “Jack didn’t mean it.”

“Easy for you to say.” Reid mumbles into the skin of Aaron’s throat, “You’re his father.”

He hears Aaron sigh before his fingers lace through the thick strands of Reid’s hair, tugging him up to face Aaron. Using the ends of his sleeves, he wipes away at the tears pooling under Reid’s lashline and his runny nose.

“How about this?” he begins, “I’ll get Jack to apologize to you.”

Before he has even finished speaking, Reid is already shaking his head in refusal.

What’s the point? He knows Jack means it, that he doesn’t think of Reid as his father, no matter how many times he calls him Papa.

“Don’t be like that.” Aaron admonishes gently.

Before Reid can start on a disapproving tangent, Aaron gets up from the bed, and heads out of the bedroom, marching down the hall to Jack’s own.

Knowing that there is no way out of the situation, Reid takes a deep breath in as he forces himself to calm down and get a hold of himself; Jack may not be his son but he refuses to let him feel guilty at the sight of Reid crying.

As Reid focuses on drawing in consistent breaths, he hears the telltale sound of sock-clad feet hitting the floor and he looks up to find Aaron carrying Jack. The boy is frowning, and just the sight of him makes Reid want to start crying all over again.

Reid positions himself so he’s sitting cross-legged as Aaron sets Jack down right in front of him on the comforter. Beside the bed, Aaron hovers over Reid with his hands on his hips as he looks at his son expectantly.

“Jack, don’t you have something to say to your papa?” Aaron questions.

In front of him, Jack scrunches up his face in disdain before folding his arms across his chest and pointedly looking away from the two of them.

At his reaction, Aaron loudly exhales before bringing a hand up to wipe at his face, while Reid tries his absolute best to rein in the tears.

“Jack,” Aaron says sternly, “If you don’t apologize to your papa, you’re not going to the planetarium with him tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere with Spencer.” Jack sneers as he finally turns to look at the two of them again.

“Don’t call your papa by his name.” Aaron scolds.

“Why doesn’t Spencer go with Henry, huh?” Jack retorts.

What?

The words are enough to pull Reid out of his little pathetic episode as both he and Aaron twist to look at each other; sharing a look of confusion at the abrupt mention of Henry.

Why on Earth did Jack mention Henry? He had nothing to do with this.

Or did he?

Before anyone else can get another word out, Reid reaches out for Aaron’s hand. He tugs on it to gain his attention before tilting his head in the direction of the door. Needing no further prompting, Aaron leaves both Jack and Reid alone before shutting the door behind him, giving them some privacy.

“Why did you mention Henry?” Reid questions.

“Who cares?”

“I care, Jack.” he says, “Okay, listen, I just want to know why you said I wasn’t your father.”

“Whatever.”

This was going to be a lot harder than Reid thought.

“Jack…”

Scooting closer to the boy, Reid reaches out for Jack’s hands, only to have him yank them away from his grasp. The reaction has Reid biting back a sob because before this afternoon, Jack used to cling to him at every available opportunity. He used to hold Reid’s hand no matter how many times his cousins teased him for not being a big boy. Jack used to climb into Reid’s lap for his bedtime story. He used to—

Jack never used to move away from Reid’s touches.

What had happened to the two of them? What did Reid do to them?

“Why don’t you go ask Henry?” Jack snarls.

And what did Henry have anything to do with all of this?

“What is your problem with Henry?” Reid asks, exasperated, “I thought you two were friends.”

The frown on Jack’s face tapers off. Instead, his brows come together as if he is deep thought. Soon, he drops his head down to stare at the comforter, in place of looking at Reid.

“He is my friend.” he answers back, slowly as if he’s confirming with himself.

“Then, why do you keep mentioning him?”

“Because he’s your godson.” Jack says as if that’s an answer.

“I still don’t know what’s going on, Jack.” Reid pleads.

Jack’s arms fall away from his chest. His tiny hands forming fists in the comforter he’s clutching between his fingers.

“You don’t remember do you?” he questions, quietly.

Reid has no clue where this sudden streak of sadness came from but, all he knows is he wants to remedy it as quickly as he can. He lowers his head enough to meet Jack’s eyes, which are now full of unshed tears.

“Remember what?” Reid asks, gently.

“Last week, you forgot to come to my science fair.” Jack explains as he lifts his head up to look at Reid, “I spent so long making my project and I was going to show it to you and I kept waiting and waiting and waiting but you never showed up. When I asked Dad and Aunt Jess where you were, they thought you already told me you weren’t going to be there.”

Reid had missed Jack’s science fair?

It shouldn’t have been that terribly big of an ordeal except Reid had promised to be there. Jack said he was going to make a project that even someone as smart as Reid would be impressed by, proud of even.

Little did Jack know, Reid was going to be proud, regardless of what he made.

Except he couldn’t be because he had somehow missed it, which should have been impossible with a memory like his and even if it wasn’t, Reid had written it into every single calendar in the house and at the office, and he had Garcia help him set a reminder on his cellphone.

“I thought your science fair was next Tuesday.” Reid admits, brokenly.

How could Reid have missed Jack’s science fair?

“No, it was last Tuesday.” Jack says.

Suddenly, Reid knows exactly why Jack has been mentioning Henry this entire time and it makes his chest ache.

“The same day I went to Henry’s soccer game.” Reid states.

“You picked Henry over me.”

“Hey, that’s not what happened.” he says desperately, “I’m sorry I missed your science fair but I was just confused. I would have been there.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.” Jack corrects as he shakes his head, “You’d probably be helping Henry with his own project.”

“Are you…” Reid begins, “Are you jealous of Henry?”

He doesn’t get an answer from Jack. No nodding or head shaking, no verbal reply, not even a physical movement that Reid could have interpreted.

Yet, Jack’s silence is more than enough of a response.

“You know you’re important to me, Jack?” he reminds him, “I love you.”

“No, you don’t.” he cries, tears finally spilling down his cheeks, “You don’t love me because I’m stupid and I cry like a baby over stupid things and I get nightmares and I mess things up. I make your life suck. I make Dad’s life suck. I make Aunt Jess’s life suck too.”

As Jack takes in a ragged breath, he drops his gaze before shoving his hands underneath his armpits, curling into himself. Sobs wracking through his tiny body with such intensity that it has Reid worried the boy is going to make himself sick.

Reid’s hands move out of their own volition and soon he’s dragging Jack into his lap as he wraps his arms around him, guiding him to rest his head on Reid’s chest. He rubs a palm down his back as Jack lets out sob after sob into Reid’s shirt.

“Hey, shh, you don’t do any of those things.” Reid whispers.

Hair tickles Reid’s neck as he feels Jack shake his head against his chest.

“I do.” he says, “Which is why you love Henry more.”

“I don’t love Henry more.”

“Why not?” Jack asks as he lifts his head off of Reid’s chest, the tears still streaming down his face, “You’ve known him since he was a baby. You’ve only known me for a couple of years.”

“That’s not how love works, Jack.” he explains as he smooths a hand down his hair, “You can’t compare it, and you certainly can’t put its value in time.”

“Henry’s smarter than me too.” he admits as if that’s enough to convince Reid to love him less, “He gets the highest marks in class and he’s not like me. He doesn’t need help with math or reading big words.”

“There’s nothing wrong with needing help.” Reid says, “Everyone needs help at some point.”

“You never need help with reading big words.”

“Well, I’m not like most people.” he reminds, “I’m weird.”

“A good weird.”

A soft smile appears on Reid’s face. It was just like Jack to comfort other people, even when he was the one in need of it. He really was his father’s son.

“Henry is my godson.” Reid says as he cradles Jack’s face with his hands, “But, you Jack? You’re my son. The love I feel for you is different than the one I feel for Henry but, one’s not better than the other; just different.”

Jack darts his eyes downward and stares at the collar of Reid’s shirt, instead of Reid himself. The tears in his eyes have come to a gradual stop.

“So, you’re not gonna get sick of me?” Jack asks quietly.

Later, Reid is going to figure out how on Earth Jack could ever entertain the notion that he, or anyone for that matter, could get sick of him. He’s going to figure out how that idea got into his head and make sure it never does again.

Now, Reid just leans over and presses a soft kiss to Jack’s forehead, his palms still encompassing the boy’s face.

“Never, Jack.” he swears, “Are you gonna get sick of me?”

“Never.”

After a moment, Reid’s palms fall from Jack’s face but the boy doesn’t let him stray far; he grabs at Reid’s fingers and holds his hands in his own like he’s done every other time.

“Why don’t you show me that project you made?” Reid asks.

“It’s okay.” Jack says as he shakes his head, “It’s not that good anyway. I didn’t win anything.”

“Anything you make is award-winning, even if it isn’t to others.” he answers, “After all, you’re my son.”

At his words, Jack flashes Reid his toothy grin.

[c-is-for-circinate]

It’s New Years’ Eve, and for once, my dash isn’t full of the sorts of fun-silly-memey end-of-year posts celebrating the past 365 days.  Which is fair.  We all know what this year has been, and for all the hoped-for relief that it’s finally over, we all know it’s going to keep being hard for a while yet into the next one.

But there have been so many little moments this year, too.  So.  A list:

In the courtyard of my apartment building in the middle of Chicago, in a part of the city where trees don’t get planted on the sidewalks, there are two tall trees, taller than the three-story roof of the building, like trees should be.  This spring, one of my neighbors (and I will never know who, because I have met none of my neighbors in person) left a package of sidewalk chalk on the concrete path in the middle of the courtyard, and one by one, bit by bit, people began to use it--the woman with the little girl who looked about two through my window last January and looks about three now, and the people with their dogs, and the neighbors passing by or sitting in the sunlight under the green trees in the summer, one or two at a time, never talking to each other, but sharing the chalk. Every rainfall it washed away, and a few days later there would be art again: bright flowers and shaky hopscotch courts, scrawling letters of BLACK LIVES MATTER and GO VOTE and HAPPY 4TH OF JULY, the oddly-colored fish I circled around the middle of the yard in June and the only jack-o-lantern I put out this year at the end of October.  Nearly every person in this building is an adult, very nearly no children at all, but everyone played this summer, or if we didn’t play, we saw it out our windows under the green trees all year long.

The neighbor downstairs on the other side of the hall took up clarinet this year, or started practicing at home in the middle of the afternoon--not at the start of quarantine, when we were all shy and quiet, but later on, bit by bit, as the hair came down and the cabin fever set in.  They are good at clarinet, and they are taking joy in it, and some days I turn off my own music just to listen for a while as they practice.  Today they played the Totoro theme song, just loud enough to be quiet and smile at.

On weeks my D&D group can’t convene a quorum (we’ve tried so hard to hold zoom sessions, and sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t and sometimes the Japanese prime minister resigns and a house none of us have ever lived in catches fire and things go wrong), our cleric screenshares the New York Times crossword, and whoever’s there works in laughing diligent cooperation to fill out puzzle after puzzle, tripping each over each other to answer clues first while our cleric tries to keep up with typing in the letters.  We can solve a Sunday in about twenty minutes. Last month we worked on the Cryptic Crossword for well over an hour before we had to break up for the night, but it got shared to the group chat.  Three days and well over a hundred text messages later, I unmuted the thread to discover that my players had managed to work together and solve the entire thing, and I found I was so proud of them I could burst.  (Then I wrote them a five-dimensional logic grid puzzle to solve on a time limit, because they keep talking their way out of combat and if they can do THAT, then they can figure out that the Marquis of the Mews is an archfey wearing pink in the midst of a ball where they can only ask yes or no questions and must be done by midnight.)

All year long, we have held virtual knit night on Thursdays from our homes.  All year long until it grew too cold, the owner of our little yarn store set up chairs on her sidewalk on Saturday afternoons, six feet apart, where we could bring our masks and our yarn and knit in the bright sunshine and see each other face to face and be seen in return.  (And the owner of our little yarn store has stayed in business, and not just because she made that place a home for us over months and years before 2020 even happened, but because so many people have learned to knit this year, and so many people have found something to do with their hands and their hearts and their yarn that is soft and beautiful to look at and warm in the cold.)

I have a friend who texts me every weekday morning at 11:30 AM to check in and poke my executive function into gear if it needs an external starter.  I have a friend seven time zones away who makes lists of the things they need to do that day in our discord chat at 3 AM my time, and when I wake up and check in I make lists back while they’re at work, and if they wake up the next morning again and I’m still awake they prod my executive function to put me to bed again.  I have internet friends I’ve fallen out of touch with and internet friends I’ve found again and I’ve gone through seven different fandoms this year skipping from rec to rec to rec, and had people to talk and cry and flail at about every single one.

Sometimes strangers do nice things for strangers just because they can.  This year I have commented on more fic than ever before in my life, essays that took half an hour to write because I could and I needed somebody to know they’d touched me, to maybe touch them back.  This year, someone on my dash gave me access to a whole trove of personally-uploaded movies because I’d lost my Miyazaki library and she had one to share and, fuck, if you can do something like that for a friend of a friend of a friend, why wouldn’t you?  An acquaintance gave me a free handsewn mask that fits better than anything else I’ve bought this year.  I am so, so, so proud of the students I have helped survive this year of remote learning, bit by painstaking bit, as they passed AP Calculus and junior high biology and learned to write beautiful papers and run statistical analyses and make lists of ADLs and cope with getting out of bed every day when there’s nobody to notice if they don’t.

I’ve spent more time sitting on my back porch this year than I have in longer than I can remember, even when I have to put on a winter coat and extra socks to eat dinner.  The people across the alley have put up their Christmas tree on their back deck for the season, and their downstairs neighbors strung lights.  They’re beautiful in the dark.

[yourfavewriteress]

pda | josh anderson

Teaser: “Don’t leave without saying bye, okay? I know you, and you better not.”

“Have you seen Josh yet?” April asked.

“No, but I haven’t really tried looking. We’ve been in here since we came.”

“Do you want to see him? You guys have been pretty close lately.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s just really affectionate with me, I didn’t expect it.”

“Why?”

“Cause we’re not official or anything. He doesn’t have to kiss me in front of his friends.”

“I think he really likes you,” She smiled. “And, I think you really like him.”

“He could be playing me.” April rolled her eyes, sliding me another drink. “He is a professional hockey player that has girls throwing themselves at him on the daily.”

“True, but like you said, he’s pretty affectionate with you and I don’t think I've ever seen him like that with anyone else.”

“I don’t know,” I pursed my lips. “I’m fine with just going at his pace.”

“I think you’ve been spotted,” She said, her eyes focused behind me.

“Josh?” She nodded just as a pair of arms wrapped around my waist from behind.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you,” Josh mumbled into my ear, kissing my cheek in the process. “Hey, April.”

“Hey, Josh. I’m gonna use the bathroom really fast,” April responded, leaving us in the kitchen.

“Hi,” I said, turning around in Josh’s arms. “How are you?”

“Better now that I’m seeing you,” He smiled, pressing his lips to mine. I melted against his touch, holding his arm for balance. “When did you get here?”

“Like twenty minutes ago.”

“And, you didn’t come find me? How dare you,” He joked, looking down at me. 

“I didn’t know I was supposed to,” I responded. His eyes searched my face for a few seconds before he stood up straight, reminding me of our height difference and the fact that he was much larger, stronger, and definitely hotter than I was.

Josh and I had met three months prior, at one of his teammates’ parties. I was conflicted over which drink to make myself in the kitchen, and Josh was in a rush to get his own. He grabbed a beer, eyeing me carefully.

“Do you need help?”

“No, I’m just trying to decide which drink I want next,” I smiled politely before turning my attention back to the options. It sounded as if the guy left for a few moments, before I heard his voice behind me again.

“What do you usually drink?”

“Uhm, I usually go for either a beer, or rum and coke. But, I’m not feeling either of those right now.”

“What about a Whiskey Sour?” He suggested.

“I’m flattered that you think I could make that from scratch.”

He laughed, “Fair enough. Lucky for you, I’m pretty experienced with Whiskey Sours.” 

I watched as he opened the cabinet, pulling out a cup, mixer, and whatever else he needed from the fridge.

“You’re pretty comfortable in this house,” I commented.

“I’m here a lot,” He smiled. 

“What’s your name again?” I asked.

His smile widened as he rinsed his hands, drying them with a towel quickly. He extended his hand out to me, “I’m Josh.”

“Y/N,” I responded, returning his handshake. He squeezed my hand gently, before pulling away to work on the drink.

“So, how did you end up here, Y/N?”

Josh and I talked that night for over an hour. Before I could leave, Josh made sure to ask for my number, saying that he wanted to hang out again. I didn’t believe him but I gave him my number regardless. He surprised me by texting the next morning, asking to go out later that week. 

After agreeing, Josh and I began to spend a lot of time together. We were friends, of course, but Josh made it very clear that he was interested in something more. On our third “date,” Josh sealed the deal by kissing me good night when dropping me off at my apartment. Ever since that night, Josh kisses me every time he sees me, and every time he’s saying bye. 

It’s cute, and flattering, but it’s been going on for over two months, with no progression in our actual relationship. We were still friends, just ones that really liked each other, or at least made it seem like they did. I truly like Josh, but I know his type and I know the women that want him. His lifestyle is nothing that I could ever compete with or even want to. But, the more I hung out with him, the more I liked him, and the more I believed that he liked me, too. 

“How have you been?” He asked, changing the topic.

“Pretty good, busy,” I said.

“Not too busy for me, I hope,” He said. “What are you doing Sunday?”

“I’m not sure, why?”

“Do you want to hang out? Watch a movie or something?” He asked.

“Yeah, sure. But I’m picking since you picked last time,” I narrowed my eyes at him. He laughed.

“Whatever you want,” He kissed my forehead, making the butterflies in my stomach move around in circles. “Don’t leave without saying bye, okay? I know you, and you better not.”

“I won’t,” I rolled my eyes.

“Have fun,” He said.

“Wait, who are you with?”

“Just some of the guys, why?” He responded.

“Nothing, just wondering. So, I know where to find you if I’m leaving or anything,” I shrugged.

“Yeah, just the guys,” He smiled as if he knew what I was really asking. “I’m gonna come find you later though if that’s okay.”

“Sounds good.”

****“

“It’s so nice out here,” I said to April, pulling the blanket up over my hands. 

“What kind of a party has people sitting out watching the stars,” She mumbled to me. “If I get bit by anything, I’m gonna kill someone.”

“You’re so dramatic,” I laughed. “It’s nice.”

“Shut up.”

“Hey,” I heard from above me. I looked up, locking eyes with Josh. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“No, join the gang,” April said.

Josh looked at me as if waiting for my approval. I moved over on the bench I was on, making room for Josh. He sat down next to me, putting his arm behind me.

“How’s hockey?” April asked.

“Not really playing so it’s sucks,” He said. I moved the blanket over his lap as he moved closer to me instinctively. 

In the time that we’ve known each other, we physically act like a couple. Josh never shied away from PDA and I wondered if that was with everyone, or just me. I knew what this was from the start, so I let Josh do his thing and only focused on us and how he was with me, because I had my own options. But, now that I’m starting to have genuine feelings for him and completely stopped seeing other people, I hoped that we were on the same page. I obviously don’t expect him to be, but he was also giving me clues that this wasn’t one-sided.

“When do you think you’ll be good to go?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” He shrugged. “Just kind of taking it day by day.”

“Well, at least you’re improving.”

“True.”

“You’re probably still more active than Y/N.”

“Shut up,” I laughed, slapping her arm. “I’m active.”

“Oh, yeah? What do you do?”

“I walk,” I trailed off. “Around.”

“Yeah, your apartment. And, even then you’re still the laziest person I know.”

“I still get everything I need done so I can’t be that lazy.”

“Mhm, sure.”

“I’m not lazy,” I said, turning to Josh who was already looking at me. He smiled, nudging my leg with his.

“I know,” He responded. “You’re ‘active.’”

“You’re really gonna join in on chirping me?”

“I’m not,” He laughed. 

“Hey, you can’t deny the truth,” April said.

“I’ll be back, I need a refill,” Josh kissed my cheek, moving the blanket off of his lap and onto mine. 

“He was staring at you so hard when you were laughing,” April said once he was gone.

“What?”

“It was cute,” She smiled. “He was, like, admiring you.”

“Oh, my god,” I groaned. “I have no idea how to read him.”

“From what I see, he clearly likes you. I haven’t seen him with another girl since you guys met.”

“I feel like I’m just gonna ask where his head’s at and tell him how I feel. This is just too intense for me,” I said.

“Well, he’s coming back so now’s your chance.” Josh sighed, taking his spot back on the bench, this time much closer to me.

“I’m gonna go see if Boone wants to face me in beer pong.”

“Such children,” I said.

“Whatever,” April laughed, getting up. She walked away, leaving Josh and I alone. I looked over at him, turning so now my knee was on top of his thigh. 

“Hi,” He smiled. “I finally get you alone.”

“You can get me alone anytime,” I said, mentally face-palming myself after. Josh raised his eyebrows and I blushed, “Not like that. I mean, you can pull me aside any time, it’s a party.”

“Yeah, but then I feel like April would hate me.”

“She wouldn’t,” I rolled my eyes.

“How have you been really?” He asked, pushing a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Feed it to me straight.”

“I’ve been thinking about something,” I said, looking down.

“I had a feeling,” He said. “What’s up?”

“I just want to know where your head’s at? With us?” I asked, looking back up into his eyes. “I know we’re not ‘together’ but sometimes I feel like we are and I don’t want to be confused so I felt like I should just ask.”

“Honestly,” He cleared his throat, looking around. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot, actually.”

“Yeah?” I said, trying to catch his attention again.

“Sorry,” He smiled sheepishly. “Just trying to get my words together.”

“That’s okay” 

“Alright,” He said, looking back at me. “I really like you. Like more than I expected to. Not that I wasn’t expecting anything, just that, I really like you and I haven’t really liked anyone in a while.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I smiled.

“Because, I didn’t know how you felt. But, you never pulled away from me when I kissed you so I hoped you felt the same way.”

“I liked it,” I blushed. “I like it.”

He leaned in, kissing me while holding my neck in place. “I really like kissing you, don’t even get me started.”

I laughed against him, kissing him again. “You’re such a clown.”

“Let’s be exclusive, yeah?” He asked, pulling away slightly. “If you want.”

“Yes,” I said. “No more puck bunnies.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I knew that as soon as I met you.”

[star-spangledstud]

Better Than Me (2/2)

Part one is here!

Summary: You really are better than them. 

Pairing: Steve Rogers x (female!)Reader.

Word Count: 3000-ish.

Warnings: Angst. Fluff.

It was ridiculous. So ridiculous that it bordered near downright insane. Absolutely fucking ridiculous. Impractical, stupid and completely, utterly ridiculous. Beautiful, sparkly and downright amazing, but ridiculous. You fucking loved it.

The baby pink, bejeweled handgun sat inside a pink velvet box on your lap. The bow, which was also pink, of course, was lying at your feet, which were clad in bedazzled silver Louboutins. Gems of all colors on the rainbow covered it on all sides, from the barrel to the handgrip and along the safety pin.

You gazed up at Tony, who wore an amused expression on his face, before glancing over at Pepper. She had her hand over her mouth in embarrassment, clearly horrified by Tony’s gift choice. The card read that it was from both of them. Clearly, that wasn’t the case. 

“Happy birthday, kid.” He said with a smirk that nearly extended from ear to ear.

“I don’t even want to know how much you spent on that,” Pepper muttered, shaking her head while you took the thing out of the pink and white polka-dotted tissue paper.

The others sighed audibly when you smiled, annoyed that Tony’s gift overshadowed theirs yet again. To be fair, they’d all expected it, but all of them secretly hoped any one of their gifts would be your favorite. 

“I love it,” you said, twirling the weapon around in your hand, “and I agree with Pepper, I can’t even imagine how much you spent on this thing...”

“You’ll make it work,” he mused, “Two million dollars, by the way, and you could just thank me.”

Your breath caught in your throat and for a moment, you were sure Pepper was going to faint. Natasha shook her head, watching the scene unfold in horror. It was the ugliest thing she had ever seen. Wanda, who seemed to share none of her feelings, had created a monster out of you.

“Thanks, Tony,” you blew him a kiss, unable to get up from your seat at the dinner table that was covered in white roses in silver vases and wine that came from expensive bottles.

“It’s very pretty,” the witch said, “Can I hold it?” 

“Please,” you shoved it into her hands, “by all means.” 

“You’re insane, Tony,” you said as you took the gift Bruce had gotten for you from his outstretched hands with a smile, “Absolutely fucking nuts, but I love you for it.”

Your eyes went around the room, finding Steve at the end of the table of which you sat at the head. You were the birthday girl, after all, the pink satin sash draped around you said so in large, cursive letters and so it was your turn to have the most important seat of the house. It was a ridiculous ordeal, he thought so anyway, but you were smiling and chatting and enjoying the company of your friends and it was good to see. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened and knew very well he was to blame. 

He was the one who pushed you away, even though it was for your own good.

You took Thor’s gift just as the waiter began to serve your first course, and since he was seated closest to you, you thanked him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Steve’s gift came last. You didn’t expect anything from him given the circumstances.

Four hours, six courses and many glasses of wine and Asgardian mead later, you found yourself back in your room. Gifts given to you by your fellow team members were sprawled out on your bed, ranging from a pair of silk pajamas with glittery Ugg slippers to match from Wanda to Starbucks and Sephora gift cards from Sam and everything in between. Chocolate covered strawberries in a glittery box, two romance novels, a bottle of beautifully aged red wine from Asgard and a peach-toned Dior lipstick, all tokens of appreciation given to you by the people you cared about the most. 

Despite the hardships that you faced the previous year and the social distancing that occurred during that time, you couldn’t deny how good it felt to be with the team again. You’d changed a lot in a year, grown to be a different person than the one you were before. It wasn’t necessarily a good or a bad thing in your mind, it just happened naturally.  

You sat down beside the velvet box, eyes automatically flying towards the item on your far left. A drawing of you, sitting on a terrace, staring out into the sunny skyline with a cup of coffee in your hand. It was an old drawing by the looks of it because your hair was much shorter and a different shade and your clothing was far plainer than it was now; black jeans and a white t-shirt. A signature that read SR sat in the bottom right corner in messy, doctor-like handwriting. It made your toes curl. 

Of course, he was the one with the overly personal gift. You didn’t know whether it was because he simply had no fucking clue what 21st-century women liked to receive for their birthdays or whether he’d purposely done it to make you remember the day it was drawn, but the latter happened and now, you were sitting on your bed with prickling eyes and goosebumps that lined your skin.

You remembered that day very vividly. You’d only been an Avenger for three months and were struggling to adjust to the fact that you had to suddenly follow orders. Before joining the team, you’d worked alone, hired by people with deep pockets and dark intentions. You made your own rules. 

The first time Steve had taken you out for coffee he kind to offer you advice. At first, you thought it felt a little like he was trying to be the human resource manager with the way he talked to you, you continued to meet up every Saturday afternoon and as the weeks passed, something in the dynamic changed.  He loosened up, got rid of his Captain America persona and instead became Steve. You didn’t know what caused the change, but it was good, allowed you to actually get to know the man behind the suit and vice versa. 

That particular day was a good one, It was a sunny day in spring, not too hot and not too cold, with a soft breeze that carried the scent of fresh flowers across the terrace. You’d ordered a latte, Steve liked it black. You weren’t talking, but instead, a comfortable silence hung between you. You’d brought a book just like you always did and read it while occasionally eyeing the people that passed you by. Steve, whose cheeks had become fiery red out of the blue, pulled out a leather-bound sketchbook and began to draw.

You never asked him what he was drawing, even when he stored away his pencils and shoved the book back inside his tote did you not bother to pry. Not even when you became so close you’d sometimes fall asleep together on the couch, did you not ask. 

You knew now, but they didn’t say ignorance is bliss without reason.

You began to mindlessly pick at three layers of lavender toned sparkling nail polish, pulling at it as it came off your fingers with far too much ease. You’d paid the lady $60 for your manicure three days prior and now, you were ripping it off. With a deep sigh, you pushed yourself up, gripping the back of your heels so you could slip them off with ease. You’d probably never wear them again. 

You slowly began to clean up the mess, discarded packaging, boxes, and gift bags and placing them in the corner of your room near the door. You put everything away except for the drawing, which you couldn’t decide what to do with. Why was it such a big deal to you, anyway? You hardly spoke to Steve anymore and if you did, it was during pre- and post-mission briefings. Maybe that’s why it made you feel so strange. it didn’t feel right, such a personal, intimate gift after how far the two of you had drifted apart. 

He hadn’t asked you about Netflix in four months and you hadn’t offered your expertise on which shows and movies were the best. You didn’t bring him coffee anymore but instead, he made his own, never leaving enough in the pot for you to make a cup as well. The message he sent you was loud and clear and in return, you were an open book. 

He’d grumble when a stranger was seated at the breakfast table on Sundays courtesy of your hospitality, avert his eyes when they tried to kiss you openly (which you refused). The pang in his chest would hit him when he saw Ubers out front whose engines were running to carry you to your dates in high-end restaurants and fancy bars. He wasn’t jealous, he kept telling himself. He was just worried about your safety when you disappeared into the night with strange men. Men that weren’t him, ironically. 

He should’ve seen you when you were right in front of him. When you were there, literally waiting for him to make a move on you, begging him with your mannerisms and your looks, your glances, and smiles even when his jokes weren’t funny. He knew damn well you would make an amazing couple, that you could take on the entire fucking world as a duo, but he was too scared to put it on the line, too scared of what might happen once the bad guys caught a whiff of your relationship. They’d already tried to destroy Bucky and Jesus Christ, they nearly succeeded. He couldn’t handle the thought of losing you to an organization like HYDRA, or worse. He never told you this. You had no idea. You were convinced he didn’t want you because of your flaws. Because of who you were. 

You got over it, shut out the thought of ever holding hands with Steve in public, the thoughts of ever feeling his lips softly pressing against your plump cheeks and his body weighing down on top of you while his voice vibrated against your ear and neck. You managed to forget about him, managed to exchange the memories and fantasies of him for diamond necklaces, silk blazers, and expensive shoes. You traded him in for strangers with big bank accounts driving nice cars wearing expensive suits. They managed to fill the void he created by pushing you away. 

So yeah, the gift bothered you. It was too nice, too sweet, so sweet you had to struggle to stay stoic when thanking him earlier. You literally had to stop yourself from smiling too big, from allowing tears of gratitude and happiness to completely ruin your make-up. if things had been different, you would have done those things. They weren’t. He didn’t want you and now he was being nice. It didn’t make sense. 

Just as you were about to change into a different outfit for the evening, your phone vibrated. You picked it up off your nightstand and opened it. It was a text message, but not from the guy who would be knocking on the front door in the coming hour.

I didn’t get a chance to personally wish you a happy birthday. Can we talk? -S

You gripped the device so hard you nearly crushed the screen. Six months ago, a message like this would’ve had you crying on your bathroom floor for four hours. Now, it just made you angry. So angry, that you picked your studded Louboutin off the floor and chucked it at the wall. The heel broke off against the concrete, but you didn’t notice. You weren’t going to wear them again anyway.  

Your fingers typed furiously, breathing coming out in shallow huffs. Images of the girls he’d brought back to Tony’s party’s flashed before your eyes while your fingers went faster than your brain could keep up with. 

Roof. Omw. 

Whether he understood the abbreviation ‘omw’ or not, you didn’t take the time to guess. You left your room without changing into the other dress or putting on new shoes. The elevator went up agonizingly slowly, but it was too late to go back and take the stairs. The buttons were pushed and the door closed. 

He was standing by the edge, leaning against the railing with his arms crossed over his chest. In contrast to you, he had changed his attire, leaving the light blue button-down he was wearing earlier for a plain white t-shirt and black sweatpants. He looked down at your feet, noticed how your polished toes were bare and opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again when he caught the expression on your face. You weren’t surprised to find him there first. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d come up there running. Apparently, though, he did know what ‘omw’ meant.

“What the hell is this?” You asked, waving your phone in front of his face, “what do you think you’re doing?” 

“What do you mean?” He asked, voice wavering. 

“What do I mean? What...,” you snorted, “What do you mean?! The gift, the talking? We shouldn’t be here.” 

“But why?” He knew why but chose to ignore the sensical part of his brain that told him he shouldn’t be doing this.

You lifted your arms, a deep breath leaving you while you considered what to say. You wanted to come up with an excuse, tell him you were busy or that you’d lost sight of not just him, but the entire team, but fuck it, lying wouldn’t get you anywhere. It had never gotten you anywhere before.  

“Because I have to get over you.” 

He was silent, taking in your words. They stung, even though he already knew the truth they carried. 

“I couldn’t have you constantly hanging around me anymore. I couldn’t stand seeing those girls hanging off your arm at those stupid parties and I sure as hell didn’t want to hear how fun they were and how great and wonderful and how amazing, and-”

He stepped forward, gripping your arms. The sudden contact made blood rush to your head, making you nauseous and dizzy simultaneously. 

 “I spent so much time wondering why they were better than me,” you mumbled, “I still haven’t figured it out.” 

“They aren’t better than you,” he replied softly, “they don’t even compare to you.” 

You looked up, eyes large and glossy and so goddamn pretty with that champagne eyeshadow and winged liner and Steve thought he was going to lose his mind then and there.

“I had to let you go because I’m afraid,” he admitted, “terrified of what might happen if anyone tries to get to you because of me.” 

“Steve,” you tried, but couldn’t find words. 

All this time, you thought he didn’t like you. That he wasn’t interested in you, didn’t want anything from you but a friendship at most. You’d taught yourself to ignore your constant desire for him because it would never be reciprocated.

“When you distanced yourself from me, I knew I’d messed up, but it was too late. I’d dug a hole for myself and there was nothing I could do to get back out,” he snorted, “I needed those girls as a distraction, but none of them are as good as you.” 

He smiled sadly, taking your hands in his larger, calloused palms and began to rub circles on your knuckles. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, “I’ve been stupid and an ass and I don’t deserve to even be in the same room as you. I fucked up, Y/N.”

The skin on the back of his neck was soft when you clasped your fingers around it, muscles tensing up when you began to pull him down to meet you. Without heels on, you’d lost a significant amount of height on him, causing him to tower over you. On a hot day, he could be your personal parasol, shielding you from the sun with his entire body.

“Idiot,” you mumbled before his mouth found yours. 

He kissed you, hands gripping your waist out of fear that if he were to let go, he’d wake up in his bed alone. But it wasn’t a dream, he knew it because the soft feeling of your glossy lips against his own was unlike anything he’d ever felt. 

“Idiot,” you said again when you took a moment to breathe. 

“I am,” he kissed you again, the sweet taste of Chardonnay and that night’s dessert - creme brulee and vanilla ice cream - still lingering on your tongue, sending his senses in complete overdrive. 

“I don’t want to stay away from you anymore,” he said finally, “I’d never let anyone hurt you.” 

You smiled, heart ready to explode from the sudden burst of happiness you experienced for the first time in a long time. Maybe Wanda was right all along. 

“Steve, I can defend myself. You know that, right?” You mused.

“I’ll kill them if they try.” 

He captured your lips with his again. The scent of his cologne, oud, and pine, nearly caused your knees to buckle from under you. You didn’t even realize the goosebumps that lined your skin, or the fact that the date you were supposed to meet up with had already bailed on you. It didn’t matter, because you finally had Steve where you wanted him. It only took for the two of you to drift apart almost completely for you to realize that you could never truly get away from one another. 

You placed your head on top of his chest, allowing his body heat to warm you up in a hug that engulfed you. It was nice, the feeling of his chest rising and falling slowly while you watched the city’s skyline in the dark. The want for it had been suppressed for so long you almost forgot what it felt like. 

“Steve?” You asked, peeking up at him through false eyelashes and three layers of waterproof mascara. 

“Hmm?”

“Your gift was my favorite.”

Yeah, all of those bitches definitely weren’t better than you.