#not because of like a heated game or anything marcus just hates it by concept

[hoperays-song]

The Gang Being Brother’s Part. 2

Marcus, watching Stan being absolutely insane: Is he stupid?

Barry, not even looking up from his book: Yes, but he prefers to be called Stan.

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

Marcus, trying to figure something out: The odds of this happening by coincidence are vanishingly small.

Barry, nodding along: I would say infinitesimally.

Stan, feeling left out: And I'd say teenily-weenily. We all know words.

Marcus, confused: Teenily? ...Don’t you have a major in communications Stan?

Barry, also confused: He does. Did you just say-

Stan, slightly panicked: Look, as I said, we all know words, let’s just move on.

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

Barry: What are you writing?

Stan: The government wants to know what kind of weapons we have in the house. I'm letting them know it's private information.

Marcus, looking over Stan's shoulder: This just says 'fuck around and find out' in calligraphy.

Barry: So we’re gonna go back to jail. Bloody brilliant, I’ll start packing now.

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

Barry, exhausted after staying awake for 3 days straight: Do you think different paints have different tastes?

Stan, playing video games: They do.

Marcus, suddenly very worried about both of them: ...Stan, why did you say that with complete bloody confidence?

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

Marcus, running into the garage apartment: WHY. Why did you give STAN a KNIFE?!

Barry, just sitting on the couch: I'm sorry. He said he felt unsafe.

Marcus: Now I feel unsafe!

Barry: I'm sorry.

Barry, reaching for his bag: ...Would you like a knife?

Marcus: That will not help the- STOP GIVING OUT KNIVES MATE!

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

Stan, going through the kitchen cupboards: Who thinks I can fit 15 marshmallows in my mouth?

Marcus, cooking dinner: You're a hazard to society

Barry, pulling out his phone: And a coward. DO TWENTY.

Marcus, sighing: Do not.

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

Marcus, watching Stan scheme to beat Johnny in Clue: Stan, I am questioning your sanity...

Barry, raising an eyebrow: I never questioned it, I knew his sanity was missing from the start.

Marcus, rolling his eyes: Yeah, yeah, Stan, come off it mate, you do know the lad’s only 9 right?

Stan, manically: I. Don’t. Care. He’s won every damn time and that’s not even possible!

Marcus, whispering to Barry: You told Johnny the cards, didn’t you?

Barry, grinning: And I’m gonna keep doing it til Stan breaks.

[elen-aranel]

Cards on the Table

For @autumnleaves1991-blog​ Writer Wednesday. A break from struggling to write something else! Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (no Y/N) Warnings: cursing, excessive alcohol consumption  WC: 2k A/N: I write for other characters named Pike now? I guess that’s a thing! I feel like I may have copied this concept from something I read a while ago. If that’s the case and it was yours I’m sorry and I’ll take it down. A small part of this inspired by Real Life Feelings!

This is the last time, you tell yourself, as you stare at your reflection.

You’re in the bathroom of a colleague’s house – Jakobson from homicide – and you’re giving yourself a talking to in the mirror. You keep it in your head – if this were you apartment you might speak aloud, but while you’ve definitely had too much, you aren’t that far gone. Yet.

You hate playing cards. You’re bad at it. You don’t even like beer all that much – alcohol is fine, but you’d prefer wine. And you had been close to saying no, you had weekend plans, even though you definitely didn’t, when Pike and the guys from art had swung by and you heard he was going too.

You need to stop deciding which work social events to go to based on whether you think Marcus Pike will be there. This is the last one.

He doesn’t see you that way – to him you’re just one of the guys. Even if today you’re one of the guys in a cute outfit, there are other girls here. You’re not going to pluck up the courage to ask him out, so once you get through the rest of today, that’s it. No more pining. No more, “did you ask the art theft guys?” No more listening for his name.

That’s it. You’re done.

Decision made, you walk out the bathroom, out the house, into the garden – it is pretty; Jakobson and his wife must spend a lot of time to get it looking so good, and the weather is gorgeous too – and back to the table.

“Good, you’re back. Marcus is about to deal. I stole your chair, I hope you don’t mind?”

“Of course not, Emma,” you say, smiling down at your pretty brunette colleague from fraud. You had forgotten that she has designs on DeLuca, who you had been sitting with. He’s also a homicide detective and one of Jakobson’s best friends but – good for her. Someone should be getting some.

You look around for a vacant chair – Emma is not the only one who moved while you were gone, other people going to get more drinks and snacks – and the only one open is next to Marcus Pike.

“Hey,” you say, smiling, as you sit.

“Hey,” he says, smiling back, as he shuffles the cards and gets ready to deal. His smile lights up his face, making him look even more handsome, if possible, and you want to say something more but the moment passes.

And those are almost the last words you exchange. The afternoon fades into the evening, your terrible run of luck and lack of skill continues, and being honest, you have much more beer than you should.

But it’s difficult. You want to talk to him. But you need to concentrate on the game, which is hard when he is right there. You chat to Libby Jakobson on your other side; she seems sweet, and is very happy when you compliment the garden.

You’ve definitely had too much – you have to concentrate on not blurting out something stupid, like how Pike has such pretty eyes, and no, you cannot embarrass yourself in front of all these people from work, or in front of Libby, so you hold it together, even if, as you get up as other people do, thanking the Jakobsons for hosting, the flower beds seem a little... blurry.

You stand alone on the street outside, fumbling with your phone. You don’t have a car, you need to call an Uber. You stare at the map on the screen, trying to make it make sense, and somehow the phone is on the ground.

“Fuck,” you mutter, as you try to grab it and miss, and suddenly you’re colliding with a warm presence and he’s holding you and helping you stand back up.

“Need a little help there?” Marcus’s eyes are amused but warm, and you find yourself gazing into them, losing yourself a little.

“ ’m fine,” you mumble after just a little too long.

“Of course you are. Let’s get you home,” he says, tucking your phone into your purse and getting his out his pocket. “My ride is almost here. Where do you live?”

“Dupont Circle,” you reply, as a car drives up.

He keeps hold of you, keeping you steady, as he exchanges a few words with the driver, then gently guides you into the back seat.

“Buckle up,” he says, as he sits beside you, but then he has to help you because your clumsy fingers won’t co-operate. “You still remember your address?”

“Of course I do. I’m not that drunk,” you say, defensively, and you give it to the driver, who pulls away from the curb.

“This is all your fault, you know,” you mutter as the car drives through the nighttime streets.

“What is?” His expression is curious, eyes still warm, but the amusement from earlier is gone.

“Me... being here. Like this. I only came out today because you would be there. I’m useless at card games.”

“Yeah, you are. But... why come out just for me?”

You scoff. “Have you looked at you in the mirror lately? You’re hot. And kind, or you wouldn’t be giving me a ride. I like you. But you don’t like me, so today is the last time I do that.”

You lapse into silence. He doesn’t reply, and the movement of the car lulls you into a light doze.

Your hand is bring squeezed. “We’re here,” he says, opening the door on his side.

“This is my place, not yours. Why’re you getting out?” You ask, as you open the car door. You’re momentarily confused about why you can’t get out yourself until you realise your seatbelt is still done up. You pop the clasp and step awkwardly onto the pavement.

“Here, let me help,” Marcus takes your keys from you as you fumble with the lock on your apartment building. “Which floor?”

“Second, but I’m fine. I don’t need help.”

“Of course you don’t.” He helps you up the stairs, to your door, and he helps you get that open too.

“Thank you so much, Marcus,” you say, over-emotional, as you flop onto your sofa.

“Any time,” he says. “I think you should be okay now. Have some water. Give me a call if you need anything.”

*****

The sun has no right to be so bright, you think, as you reluctantly get up to use the bathroom. Your head is pounding. At least you managed to change for bed, but you should have had that water last like Marcus suggested, and... fuck. That really happened, didn’t it.

You wash your face, washing off yesterday’s makeup. Trying to wake up a little since it’s gone eleven. You pull on a comfy sweatshirt and leggings, and eye the kitchen. You don’t have strength to do anything other than pour yourself a glass of water, which you take to your sofa for a good sulk.

Why did you even go yesterday? And why couldn’t you have made better choices? Switched to water before you got drunk? Before you needed help to get home? Before you told Marcus Pike how you feel? You hope no one else realised how drunk you were. You check your phone – there aren’t any messages, and surely Emma would have sent you something if you had been that bad? She likes to tease; it’s the sort of thing she does. But Marcus. Why couldn’t you have kept your big mouth shut for ten minutes longer?

Your sulking is interrupted by the buzzer. The sound is annoying and brings your headache back to the front of your mind. Maybe if you ignore it whoever it is will go away? But no. That would be rude.

You press the button for the intercom. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Marcus. Can I come up?”

Oh boy. “Sure,” you say, and you buzz him through.

“Marcus I’m so sorry about last night,” you say as you open the door. He is as handsome as ever, looking perfectly fresh. Not like you. “Thank you for taking care of me. I don’t know what I was thinking,” you step back for him to come in.

“You’re welcome. No need to apologise—we’ve alI had a little too much at some time or another. I brought you breakfast. And aspirin,” he says, handing you a packet of pills.

“Oh Marcus you really didn’t need to,” you’re embarrassed. You don’t know where to look as you feel your skin heat up. You pop a couple of pills out and have them with your water, while he heads over to the counter separating the living room from the kitchen.

“I wanted to. I—I thought you would probably need a little TLC today.”

He hands you a breakfast burrito, from your favourite place, you realise, as you look at the wrapper. The diner down the street where you often pick up breakfast on your way into the office. He puts cups of coffee and orange juice on your low table, and takes a seat at the sofa. You sit down too.

“How’s your head? Did you have some water last night?” He asks as he unwraps his burrito.

“No, I didn’t. It’s beginning to ease now though,” you say, taking a sip of juice.

You eat the rest of your food in silence, saving your coffee to last. The burrito is good, and eating something makes you feel a bit more human.

You should say something to him, though, but it’s difficult. Finally your burrito is gone and you’re out of excuses.

“Marcus, about last night, in the taxi. I’m so sorry.” You stare down at where you have your drink, cradled in both hands. “I shouldn’t have drunk so much, and I never should’ve said those things to you, I—”

You trail off as you feel his hand on yours, and even though your breath catches as he touches you, you raise your eyes slowly to meet his, afraid of what you’ll see. But there’s an intensity there, and something a little vulnerable.

“But did you mean it? Was it you or the alcohol talking?”

“I—I meant it.”

“Because I should apologise as well. I—I like you too. And I should’ve found a way to say it a long time ago. But if you feel the same way... maybe we could... see where this goes?”

He’s still touching you, and you put your coffee down with one hand as you take hold of his with the other.

“I’d like that,” you say, and find yourself captured by his deep brown eyes again. You’re leaning in, he is too, and his lips are on yours, soft and gentle. You bring your other hand up to cradle his jaw, feeling his beard under your fingers as you as the kiss gets more heated. He nibbles your lip and you open your mouth, tasting coffee on his tongue as it tangles with yours.

You pull apart, leaning your forehead against his as you just breathe for a moment.

“Well, that was...” he says, leaning back on the sofa but still keeping hold of your hand.

“Yeah,” you say, as you lean back too.

“So normally I’d like to take a girl out, for dinner, maybe a movie, but—” he turns to you, expression warm, open, hopeful. “I think going out might be a bit much for you, today. Would you mind if I stayed, and we could watch a film together here?”

You shift a little on the sofa, getting a bit closer to him. “I wouldn’t mind at all,” you say, reaching for the TV remote and handing it to him.

His smile is warm, lighting him up again. “Have you ever seen Casablanca?”

[jackymedan]

tagged by @cirnellie :))

Nickname: Jacky, Jacky Medan..

Star Sign: Sagittarius but I’m pretty sure I was born in the wrong month (+ year/decade tbh)

Height: 179 centimeters (5′10.5″)

Time right now: 14:14 :) (2:14pm)

Favorite Music Artist: Celldweller/Valensia... idk

Song stuck in your head: none atm..

Last movie watched: part of the first Harry Potter movie when it was on tv recently

Last TV show watched: I watched a dutch cop show yesterday called Flikken Maastricht.. no, wait- I watched brooklyn 99 after that as well..

What are you wearing right now: a black t-shirt with a dark green zipped hoodie, red plaid/tartan (possibly flannel idk) pajama pants and I have a dark blue fleece blanket wrapped around me as well because it’s COLD in here..

When did you create your blog: made this account back in 2011, started using it in the second half of 2013

What kinds of stuff do you post: The Man from U.N.C.L.E., due South, things about my OTPs, my art, other people’s art, colour palettes, stuff about mental illness and/or autism, other fandoms I haven’t mentioned (the eagle, star trek tos, monty python, twin peaks..), fic recs sometimes, sometimes I liveblog shows I watch, personal things about my life, pictures of cabins and northern lights etc., otters.., memes and shitposts, things I find funny, sometimes important news events etc. idk.. a lot

Hogwarts house: Ravenpuff or Huffleclaw idk.. probably more (60-70%) hufflepuff..

Pokémon team: I only played pokemon go maybe 3 times and then gave up because I still have pre-paid and never have my mobile internet on (I just use free wifi) so when I leave my house it can’t load the map and has no idea where I am.. I once turned my mobile internet on for maybe 10 minutes and walked around a bit and that cost me way more than I’m personally willing to spend on such a thing and I didn’t really understand how the game works anyway..

the only other pokemon games I did play (red, crystal, ruby, soulsilver and pokemon stadium 1 and 2 and pokemon snap on my sister’s N64) do not have any “teams” as far as I know you’re just on your own trying to beat the elite four etc. so.. none, basically..

Favorite color: dark purple.. and petrol blue (the colour of this dress).. but basically I love almost all the colours as long as they’re combined in the right way in a pretty palette or something :).. I also love rainbows a lot.. one of the only colours I p much always hate is this shade of pink >__> *twitch* there’s very little combinations/contexts in which I could find that colour pretty.. and you’d probably never find me personally wearing white or orange because I hate to have them on my body for some reason idk, especially white clothes legit scare me.. but there might even be exceptions to those rules idek, colours are a complex concept..

Average hours of sleep: 6-8 I think.. but I’ve been having trouble getting out of bed in the morning lately even if I’m already long awake..

Lucky number: 9

Favorite characters: Illya Kuryakin, Napoleon Solo, Ray Kowalski, Benton Fraser, Ned the Piemaker, Special Agent Dale Cooper, Jim Kirk, Geoffrey Tennant, Esca Mac Cunoval, Marcus Flavius Aquila..

How many blankets do you sleep with: 1 in the summer, 2 or more in the winter (it’s freaking COLD in my room I have no central heating)

Dream job: idk something that doesn’t stress me out, isn’t full time and still brings in enough money to live off.. if possible something in a museum or involving colours/art

Following: 165 blogs, many of which aren’t active anymore so there’s less than that actually producing posts on my dash.. I’m the kind of person who still wants to be able to get through everything on my dash every day so I don’t follow people very easily/quickly (especially if they post a lot.. I also don’t unfollow people very quickly/often so I don’t want to end up regretting I followed someone after the fact..) but wether or not I follow you doesn’t necessarily say anything about whether or not I consider you a friend/if I like you or not :) there’s plenty of people I don’t follow back but still enjoy talking to.. It’s just that I’m too easily overwhelmed by too many posts on my dash..

[fadinggardenchaos-blog]

Heat Exchange "One Action Ahead" (1979 ).

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