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thornescratch · 4 years

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(Okay I usually don’t repost stuff that’s behind a paywall too often, but this is too good not to share. Tarik has done a stellar job taking over at the Athletic; I highly recommend him; he’s worth the subscription.)

From wearing an American flag patterned Speedo on South Beach to scoring four goals with a couple dozen stitches in his leg to subjecting teammates to techno blasted at ear-splitting volume levels in his car, the tales from Alex Ovechkin’s first few seasons in NHL are the stuff of legend inside the Capitals’ headquarters.

In recent days, as Ovechkin authored the hottest goal-scoring stretch of his career in chasing another historic milestone – he is two goals shy of 700 for his career – The Athletic talked to more than a dozen of his teammates throughout the years, as well as members of the Capitals’ staff. The question was a simple one: Tell us your favorite early(ish) Ovi story.

Some had to think long and hard. Others began answering before the question was posed. A few refused to share because, well, it was a little too juicy for public consumption.

But more than enough did tell their Ovi story. And they’re a hoot.

Former Capitals forward Brian Willsie, Ovechkin’s first NHL roommate on the road: One thing we’d often do is we’d dine together or with the group, and we’d come back to the room and we’d order room service dessert. At the start, Alex’s English was coming but it was coming slowly. So I would do the ordering, whether it was fruit, ice cream or something of the sort. But I was telling him the whole time, “You’ve got to start doing this. I’m not going to be your roommate forever.” So finally, one of the nights we got back and he really wanted ice cream. I said, “Nope, I’m not ordering. You got to do it.” It was almost like a father-son thing. I said, “It’s your time, you got to do it.” He was so mad. We just sat there watching TV. He had his arms crossed. It was a staring contest. I told him again, “If you want ice cream, you have to do it.” He was so angry. Eventually, he just jumped out of bed and said, “OK, I do it. What do I say?” So he went over to the desk and ordered ice cream with chocolate sauce. I said, “Order two. Don’t leave me out.” He was super nervous. But he got it all out. He wasn’t confident in his English, but it was better than he thought it was.

Former Capitals defenseman Brian Pothier: We landed in Fort Lauderdale. We hadn’t been south in a while and it was wintertime. Ovi and (Alexander) Semin were like, “Let’s do it. Let’s get in the water.” They changed, ran down to the beach and did this like wild sprint into the water. It was reckless, and it was pretty cold. Then all of a sudden they come flying out of the water screaming because they were getting stung by jellyfish. That was probably 2006 or 2007, so his second or third year. They were fine. They were little jellyfish, but there were a lot of them. They had little marks on them. It wasn’t like they were mutilated, but they had little stings on them. It was pretty funny.

Former Capitals forward Matt Bradley: The people at the hotel were like, “Hey, you can’t go in the water, there’s jellyfish.” We didn’t have swimsuits. I’m pretty sure they went in their underwear. They were excited. It was like they had never seen the ocean. It wasn’t even warm. They just wanted to go in the ocean. I’m 90-percent sure they just had their underwear on.

Former Capitals captain and linemate Chris Clark: He came in the next day and had that big welt. It was all red. The welt is how we found out. I think he ran right through the jellyfish warning signs that were everywhere. I don’t know if he didn’t believe the signs or if he didn’t read them. The fact that there wasn’t anyone in the water should have been a warning to them, too.

Former Capitals forward Brooks Laich: I think he was named captain mid-year one year. Anyway, the first day of training camp the next year we kept saying, “We can’t wait for captain’s dinner this year because Ovi is buying.” Captain’s dinner is at the start of every year; the captain and the two assistants take the entire team out for dinner before the first road game. The captains take everyone out and pay for the entire meal. It’s a gesture to the guys from the leadership group. “We’re like, oh, we can’t wait! Ovi, you’re going to be buying captains’ dinner and we’re already starting to plan it.” He’s like, “Captain’s meal, what’s that?” We couldn’t believe that he didn’t know from the previous three years that he’d been bought dinner by the captains. We’re like, “You gotta take the whole team out for dinner.” And he’s like, “Okay. Sushi Rock, right after practice.” And we’re like, “Whaaaat?” He’s like, “Yeah, we do it today.” Okay. This was Day One of training camp. We tell everyone on the training camp roster that Ovi is buying lunch at Sushi Rock. So 63 guys go to the Sushi Rock for lunch on Day One of training camp – all on Ovi’s credit card. Then we make him buy captain’s dinner again once the team is settled a couple of weeks later. I think he got pissed when we told him he had to do it again. He was like, “I already did it.” We were like, “No, no. This is for the team now.”

Sushi for 63 guys? That’s like at least five, six grand. I love that story because it just encompasses Al. What a fantastic teammate. He’s just like, “Okay, let’s do it today.” And then buys lunch for everybody.

Brooks Laich: It was early on in our career. It might have been our first year, in fact. He was around like the 35, 40 goal mark. He’s established. It’s the second half of the season, and he’s cruising. We get home from a trip. We just got shit-kicked in Florida. We got beat up by Tampa. This is when we flew out of BWI and we had to get on the bus to get shuttled over to our cars. We get to that bus and Ovi gets on the phone with one of our trainers or one of the (equipment vendors). And he’s yelling. The whole bus is quiet. It’s dark. It’s like 1:30 in the morning. And he’s yelling, “These fucking sticks are shit! Call the fucking fabric and tell them to make better sticks!” He called the factory “the fabric.” He thought the word for factory was fabric. Everybody on the bus is just dying.

Former Capitals head athletic trainer Greg Smith: We were down in Miami on our day off. The kid decides to go out on the beach. So he goes out and buys like a European bathing suit, like a bikini, a Speedo. It was an American flag. It was hilarious. It was a Speedo! We’re like, “Ovi, you can’t wear that.” He’s like, “Why? Because of American flag?” We’re like, “No, because it’s a fucking Speedo and your junk is hanging out.” But he thought it was because of the American flag. I have a picture on my phone, of Ovi, in an American flag Speedo, on South Beach. So, of course, we posted it up all over the locker room.

Chris Clark: Half the time it was just the stuff that he wore. He’d come in and I’d be like, “What are you wearing?” He’d say, “What? It’s Dolce.” I’d say, “I don’t care how much it costs or who makes it. It might be the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.” He had this one pair of pants, that were like jeans on the top but sweatpants in the legs. He was so proud of them. He thought they were the best thing ever.

Former Capitals forward and linemate Mike Knuble: Well, he used to wear these pants that were basically Daisy Dukes with cotton sweatpants attached for legs. We would always point and scratch our heads. One day someone says to Ovi, “Those pants are terrible. What the hell are they? Do you go to the club or go to work out? You have both covered, and we know you don’t work out!” He turns and smiles and says, “Dolce and Gabbana” and just keeps strutting away. We yell back, “They’re ugly as hell.” Now we are interested and decide to look them up. They were like $800 or something like that. Needless to say, we were shocked. We then coined the term “hobo-chic” to describe his really expensive clothes that look like they were from a dumpster. But we loved to give it to him about his attire.

We are eating pregame one day at (then Kettler Capitals Iceplex) and he pops into the room in a freebie NHL entry draft t-shirt from Carolina. It had sort of a Hurricanes logo on it. This is 5-6 years after he was drafted and has been making $9.5 million (a season) for three years. They probably gave him a pre-draft goody bag with a bunch of free crap. He still had the t-shirt from the bag! He didn’t hear the end of that one for a while. Needless to say, he didn’t wear that T-shirt again. I would really love to have a look in his closet one day.

Former Capitals defenseman Steve Eminger: He used to wear these jean shorts that looked like women’s shorts his rookie season. They were so tight, so high. We got a hold of them, cut them up and threw them out. And that was that. He had to go home from the rink in some Capitals gym shorts. That was the last we saw of those shorts. I don’t think he had a lot of clothes at that time. (Jeff Halpern) might have been the aggressor on that one. We were like, “Ovi, that’s it. You can’t ever wear anything like that again.” They were acid-washed!

Capitals forward Nicklas Backstrom: In the beginning when we got here, he was driving me everywhere. The first thing I noticed is, well, you never talk when you go in the car with him because he plays the stereo full blast. Techno, everything. It’s just really fucking loud. There’s no way to talk. If he’s about to say something, he’ll reach over and turn it down, and he’ll ask you a question. And then put it back on full blast.

Another thing with his driving, especially when he was younger, was he loved to go a little faster. He’d always push the pedal and then hit the brakes. So you’re sitting like this (Backstrom pushes himself back in his locker stall and then snaps his head forward). That was a fun thing he always did when we drove together to the airport. He’d go full speed and then hit the brakes. But he would only go full speed for like 200 feet. Then he’d go, “Oh fuck, I’m so scared in case the cops are coming.” That was when he first got that white Mercedes (AMG S63). I think he’s got that back in Russia now.

Capitals defenseman John Carlson: It was maybe my third year, and my aunt made dinner for the whole team (prior to a game in New Jersey). It was a traditional Italian dinner. My cousin owns a deli, so he brought the appetizers and all that. We were all there. And after a couple of rounds of appetizers and soup and whatever else we were having, the pasta and meatballs came out. And Ovi goes up to one of my aunts and asked for, uh, ketchup. That’s a deadly sin. I would say in most cases that gets a slap in the face. But they’re not like that. But it was certainly a shock to them. They couldn’t fathom or understand that anyone would ever want to put ketchup on pasta or meatballs. But they went and got the ketchup because they were good hosts.

Capitals defenseman Dmitry Orlov: Like four or five years ago, we tried to make a reservation for sushi restaurant in Vancouver. We called ahead and tried to get a reservation. So, I remember, we say my last name and (Evgeny) Kuznetsov. And they said, no. They don’t have any space, available rooms, tables, whatever. And we said, what about if we bring Alex Ovechkin? They said, hold on one second. I think the guy talked to the manager or whatever. They give us a table. It was pretty funny because it was all of us – Stan Galiev, me, Kuzy and Ovi. We all were in the hotel room. It was on speaker so all four of us could hear it. It was so funny. Alex just started laughing. At first they had nothing, then right away it was, “Oh yeah, yeah, you guys can come.”

Former Capitals defenseman Brendan Witt: His rack (at Piney Orchard Ice Arena) was always full with like 50 sticks. One day I sawed a bunch of them. He’d wind up, take a shot and he’d go, “What the fuck?” Then the next one would snap. “What the fuck!” You have to think of Ovi yelling, “Fuuuucccckkkk!” You know Ovi taking those big slappers. Just imagine broken blades on one-timers. It was awesome. Usually, when I cut someone’s stick, it was always in the blade and then I would re-tape it properly. I would take off the tape and then hide the cut behind the tape because then you never know. If you do the shaft, then you would see a cut in the graphite. I’d always cut it in the blade, underneath the blade, different angles of the blade. So it breaks differently each time. I swear he went in and got a new stick each time. I don’t think he ever figured out it was me.

Former Capitals coach Bruce Boudreau: I remember telling (then-general manager) George (McPhee) after we traded Chris Clark, “It’s Ovi’s team now, and we got to make him captain, even if he’s not completely ready for it. He’s the captain and the leader of this team and he will be for many years.” So I asked him if he wanted to be captain and he said, “YESSS!” It was really emphatic. “Yes, I want to be captain. I really want it.” He wasn’t like, “Yeah, I don’t know if I’m ready.” None of that. It was, “Yes!” Adamantly. He wanted to be the captain. I said, “You’ve earned it and you deserve it and you’re our leader and we’re going to follow you.”

Greg Smith: Early in his rookie season, he turns to me on the bench and says, “Do you have a wodka?” I said, “A what?” He said, “You know, a wodka?” He does the drinking motion. I said, “Oh, vodka.” I said, “No, I don’t have any vodka. It’s the middle of a game.” I’m thinking what’s wrong with this guy? Then he shows me — and honest to god — it’s a little paper cut on his finger. He’s like, “You know, wodka? It kills germs.” I’m like, “No, no, we have peroxide for that. But don’t drink it.” He pours it on his cut. And then he says, “I need a plaster.” I said, “What is a plaster?” You know how he gets. I have a fanny pack on. He grabs my waist and starts digging around in my fanny pack and pulls out a band-aid and says, “See? Plaster.”

Bruce Boudreau: My go-to stories about Ovi are about how he’s able to be as physical as he is and not get hurt. I remember him going knee on knee with Tim Gleason, who is a big 225-pound guy. Alex went to the room. I went in and he was like, “I’m fine.” It was like nothing happened. I also remember him going knee-on-knee in the playoffs with Sergei Gonchar. Nothing happened to Alex and that guy misses the rest of the playoffs. Those physical things are what I remember most of all. One time, we played Pittsburgh and he got a big cut on his leg. It was about eight inches long and he needed about 25 stitches. He couldn’t even walk. Two days later we were in Ottawa and he played, even though I was amazed at the scar on the inside of his leg. And he scored four goals that night. He’s done that kinda stuff every year of his career. The toughness of him is overlooked sometimes.

NBC Sports Washington play-by-play announcer Joe Beninati: You know he loves cars. It’s his rookie year. He’s a puppy. But he’s Alex. He’s a star and he’s got the big car – a BMW M6. A white M6. He sends it off to get all this aftermarket work done, air dams, ground effects, brakes, rims. One night, we come out of the garage and we’re stopped at a light. We were going to the airport after a game. He’s got his car, he’s all happy, he’s all proud. And here’s this schlub TV announcer pulling up next to him in an M6. He looks at me. I look him and I wave. And he just drops his head. I look back at him and I go, “What, I can’t have one, too?”

Former Capitals senior director of communications Kurt Kehl: We were at a Ravens preseason game, and we had gone down to the sideline. Now we were walking back up to the suite and he sees this stand for Dippin’ Dots. So he buys a little carton of Dippin’ Dots. We take a few steps as he’s eating them. He looooveeees them! He goes back and buys two more. So now he’s got three things of Dippin’ Dots. We’re up in (former Ravens executive) Dennis Mannion’s suite. I’m sitting next to Ovi and he’s got these three things of Dippin’ Dots in front of him. I see George (McPhee), who was big on nutrition, walking into the suite. So I remember sliding the Dippin’ Dots away from Ovechkin and in front of whoever was sitting next to him. Ovi looked at me all confused. I said, “Just wait until George leaves and then slide them back over.”

Joe Beninati: Rookie year, again. Shy, not really good with the language. Whenever we put him on camera, he would be very self-conscious. It’s just about time for Russia to announce the Olympic team. Our producer/director, Bill Bell, is like, “Just get him on camera for a soundbite and ask him what would it mean to you to get selected for the team? Pavel Bure is the GM.” He comes in our studio and he sits down and he gives me an answer, and it’s good. He walks out of our studio where he’s shy and intimidated and not sure about the sound of his own voice. He walks into a scrum of other media. Someone asks him, “What would it mean to you if you make Team Russia?” He answers, “You tell Pavel Bure that I’ll play goalie! I’ll do anything to make the team!” And I’m like, “Ack! Why couldn’t you give that to me just two seconds ago?”

Kurt Kehl: When he first got here, Nate (Ewell, the Capitals’ former director of media relations) and I took him somewhere to do a media interview. We’re coming back and parking at the arena. And on the way back, he’s like, “I’ll take you to lunch. I’ll take you to lunch.” We’re like, “No, it’s okay, Alex. This is part of the job; it’s what we do. You don’t have to reward us for doing our job.” But he was really badgering us. “I’ll take you to lunch. I’ll take you to lunch.” So finally, Nate and I said, “Sure, we’ll go.” He took us to McDonald’s. Because he wanted a burger. I was like, “Wait a minute. I put up this big fight because I thought he was going to take us to Capital Grille. If I knew it was going to be a Big Mac, I wouldn’t have made such a fuss.”

Longtime Capitals equipment manager Craig “Woody” Leydig: It was probably Ovi’s second year and we’re in the equipment room at – I guess it was called MCI Center back then – and anyway I’m sitting there doing some work and he was lacing. He had laced a couple of eyelets. And then there was an impromptu meeting called. He said, “Woodman, would you finish it for me?” And I did. Then he went out that night and had a multiple-point game. And from there, it just became habitual. He’s a creature of habit, like a lot of guys.

Kurt Kehl: When he first got here, he lived with McPhee. I remember telling George at one point, “Hey, if he totally gets in your hair, let me know if I can do anything.” One day George says to me, “Can you take Ovi to Laurel to skate with a couple of guys?” We get up to Laurel in that back rink. (Olie) Kolzig was there. (Jeff) Halpern was there. (Trent) Whitfield was there. I had never seen Ovi skate. And he comes on and starts skating on that back rink. You know how it echoes in there. Hearing him skate. He isn’t a graceful skater. It wasn’t like (Mario) Lemieux or (Alexei) Kovalev skating. It was just pure power. You could hear it in that rink. I had never seen or heard anything like that. And then he let a couple of shots go. And I remember Halpern looking up at me in the stands … and Halpy was almost like, “What the fuck is that?”

Former Capitals director of media relations Nate Ewell: I don’t remember the exact date, but we had played in either Philly or New York because we took the train back. Then the whole team had to take the Metro back from Union Station to Verizon Center. Which in and of itself is kinda absurd if you think about it – all the Caps getting on the Metro. I was standing there with him on the platform and we were talking about world juniors for some reason. I said, “Man, I HATED you!” He just laughed and said, “Why? Why did you hate me?” I was like, “You were always taunting the crowd. You had the tinted visor. I thought you were cocky and brash.” He was like, “I was just having fun.” It’s exactly how people’s perception of him has changed. They all thought here’s this guy that celebrates too much. But once you get to know him, you realize it was just him having fun.

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mst3kproject · 4 years

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The Devil’s Eight

The nasty misanthropic Ross Hagen revenge movies were among my least favourite episodes of MST3K, so it’s no surprise I haven’t done one as an Episode that Never Was. But this blog isn’t about movies I like, it’s about movies that were or should have been on the Satellite of Love. The Devil’s Eight is from American International Pictures, and as well as Hagen it features Leslie Parrish, whom you’ll remember as Ev from The Giant Spider Invasion, and Cliff Osmond, whom you probably don’t remember as the Sheriff in Hangar 18. And on a super-duper-extra-promising note, it was written by Willard Huyck, who did the script for American Graffiti… but also for Howard the Duck.

FBI Agent Faulkner has been assigned to arrest a powerful crime lord. Several of his colleagues have already tried this mission and been killed, so rather than use fellow agents, he frees a bunch of criminals from a chain gang and forces them to be his underlings, because we’re here to rip off The Dirty Dozen and we don’t care if it makes sense. Driving specially souped-up cars, this unwashed and unshaven bunch infiltrate the crime boss’ moonshine operation only to realize that he’s set a trap for them. The movie climaxes in a free-for-all of shooting, driving, and blowing shit up, and I have no idea what was happening for most of it but Ross Hagen got to hug his girlfriend at the end so it must have worked out okay.

My number one complaint about The Devil’s Eight (and I have many) is that there is only one piece of music in the entire film. It’s a repetitive and obnoxiously catchy two-line melody that is arranged in a dozen different ways, attempting to sound ominous, mischievous, romantic, dramatic, and so forth, but the only thing it ever actually does sound like is comical old west saloon music. It repeats through the whole hour and forty minutes of the movie and then we have to hear a ditty about the characters sung to the same tune over the end credits. I can already tell it’s gonna be in my head for days and it’s making me want to stab something.

From the beginning, The Devil’s Eight is very badly constructed. We start with the prison break, which was probably a good idea, and follow it until the surprise moment when they find the helicopter there waiting for them. This scene is weirdly reminiscent of its counterpart in Starcrash and I assume both of them stole it from some better movie. Once they’re in the chopper, however, we segue into a flashback of Faulkner and his boss talking about the mission. Skipping back in time to a couple of guys talking in an office totally derails the momentum the first scene built up. We want to know what’s going on, but the same information could have (and partially was) imparted by Faulkner talking to the rest a moment later!

When he does talk to them, he is maddeningly vague about what their plan is. It involves secretly armored cars and throwing grenades while driving them – we can gather that much from the montages that follow. The ultimate goal is to find a guy named Burl, who brews his own moonshine and apparently ‘owns’ most of the cops and politicians in wherever this is, and whom we know nothing about until the movie is half over. When things finally do start happening, we still don’t really know what they’re trying to accomplish, and we’re not sure the characters are. Faulkner acts like he knows what he’s doing, and the other guys (and the audience) just have to take that on faith.

In addition to telling us what the hell the characters are trying to accomplish, the first third or so of the movie should be spent getting to know them and setting up their arcs. The Devil’s Eight tries to do this but it’s pretty half-assed about it. There’s Sonny, the drunk troublemaker, who resolutely refuses to evolve even at gunpoint. There’s Chandler, the guy who is trying to better himself by giving up violence and reading the bible. He turns out to be the most brutal hand-to-hand fighter of the lot, absolutely creaming half of Burl’s guys in a barfight, but he’s given no resolution to his desire for a pacifist lifestyle and is gunned down moments after admitting he doesn’t know whether to believe in god or not. And there’s Henry and Billy Jo, the black guy and the bigot (respectively), who learn to appreciate each other. I have to give this arc a couple of grudging points for ending with Henry weeping over Billy Jo’s dead body rather than the reverse… congratulations, guys, you were slightly less racist than you could have been.

The character with the biggest personal investment in this and the one who tries to have a real story arc is Ross Hagen’s Frank. He used to work for Burl until, for unknown reasons, Burl framed him for murder, killed his younger brother, and stole his girlfriend. He’s now itching for revenge and is personal stake in the mission leads him to take charge and enforce order when the others try to rebel against Faulkner. That sounds like a pretty good storyline for the main character in a movie.

Then they blow it. When Faulkner tells him they have to bring Burl in alive, Frank gets mad and insists he deserves to die. Then, like that other Frank in T-Bird Gang, he gets no resolution for it. The audience expects him to have a moment of confrontation with Burl and then either kill him or decide not to do so. The final confrontation, however, is between Burl and Faulkner, while Frank just fucking stands there. It seems incomprehensible when it’s his girlfriend Burl is threatening to shoot.

This scene also has a perfect opportunity to pay off another thing The Devil’s Eight set up earlier – there’s a scene in which Faulkner demonstrates his skill as a marksman by putting three holes in a target without hitting the man who is reaching to take the target off its stand. When Burl began threatening to shoot Frank’s girlfriend, Faulkner stood up and I was sure we were going to get a payoff for that, with Faulkner shooting Burl in the leg or the hand to make him let go of the woman, without hitting her. But instead, Faulkner just drops his gun and walks forward to parlay! It’s a failure of Chekov’s gun with an actual gun in it.

I think Faulkner is supposed to be the actual main character. He’s in charge, after all, and he’s the one who gets things like flashbacks and climactic confrontations. The problem with this is that Faulkner never learns anything, never grows, and we get no insights into his character. He’s just a huge asshole to everybody from his girlfriend to the prisoners to the rookie agent the FBI sent to assist him (this character’s age is never established. He’s implied to be young and naïve, but he’s played by an actor who looks like he’s around forty). Faulkner’s final line is not to place Burl under arrest, although that’s coming, but to make fun of him.

If Faulkner is a crummy hero, Burl is a terrible villain. We don’t even meet him until the movie’s half-over, which I guess is supposed to build suspense. The problem is that until that moment, we have seen nothing to tell us what kind of threat he represents. Characters have talked about it, but that’s all. We got a vague impression of a local crime king, but when Burl actually arrives in the narrative he’s a Joe Don Baker-looking guy who lives in a ramshackle log cabin in the middle of nowhere, with a bunch of other hillbillies who differ from him mostly in being dirtier. All he seems to actually do is sit around eating. He never comes across as threatening, just as a hick with pretensions.

Without a compelling hero, a threatening bad guy, or much of an idea what this is all even building to, where does that leave The Devil’s Eight? It’s an over-long movie about dirty men driving huge cars and punching each other. The movie had plenty of time that could have gone into rising action and establishing character and playing up Burl’s threat and so forth, but instead it’s just training montages of driving and punching. Once the actual plan is in motion that turns out to be just more driving and punching as they run Burl’s moonshine deliveries off the road. The driving scenes are set to that annoying single piece of music that sounds more comical than exciting, the bluescreen backgrounds are dire, and the actors are utterly incapable of making their fake driving look anything but fake.

Everybody in the entire movie is filthy, by the way. I don’t know if this is actually supposed to invoke the ‘dirty’ part of The Dirty Dozen, or if it’s an attempt to show how rough and tough these guys are, but they’re all grimy, sweaty, and gross. I could almost smell them through the screen.

MST3K would have had a great time with The Devil’s Eight. I can picture Crow and Tom trying to make their own moonshine… Mike tastes it and doesn’t like it but tries not to insult them, and then they reveal it’s distilled from things like old o-rings and Joel’s socks. And I know exactly what the stinger would have been, too. There’s a bit where Burl and Faulkner are attempting to size each other up over dinner, and Burl orders Frank’s ex-girlfriend to mind her manners and give Frank a slice of her inexpertly-iced cake. I don’t know why this is so funny, but I don’t know what made half the stingers in the series funny, so there you go.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #the devil's eight #the devil's 8 #60s

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statusquoergo · 5 years

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please, can you elaborate on the gender dynamic? how do you think they would have approached marvey if either mike or harvey was a woman?

Certainly, I’d be glad to. Because of the age difference, as well as the hierarchical difference between them, the answer differs somewhat whether Mike or Harvey is the hypothetical woman in this scenario, but I’ll try to explain my reasoning in either instance. Also, as before, this assumes that Suits carries with it a vastly more self-aware emotional sensitivity than it does in reality, so we’ve got all kinds of suspended disbelief going on. Hey, welcome to academia. (Speaking of academia, this is not meant to be indicative of how I personally would go about pairing off a heterosexual Mike/Harvey couple, merely what I imagine would have played out on national television in line with the prevailing media archetypes.)

Let’s assume first that Mike is a woman (soft features notwithstanding). Imagine their first meeting under this circumstance: A pretty young woman, rather adrift in life and in a spot of trouble with the law, stumbles into a job interview with a handsome, successful older man, bored out of his mind and seeking to subvert his boss’s orders that he hire an associate from the standard Harvard pool. Just on the surface, it reads like the setup for a romantic drama; by virtue of the fact that they are a man and a woman of similar attractiveness and not insurmountable age difference (my calculations put them at 10 years apart, though of course your mileage may vary), one instantly imagines that the two will end up together somewhere down the line because that’s how modern standards have trained us as audiences to consume our media content. It’s one of the reasons so many people foresaw Harvey and Donna eventually becoming a couple, as well as Mike and Rachel.

Now, in this scenario, Mike, the woman, being the younger of the pair adds a certain ineludible element; this character is less jaded, more idealistic, and generally hungrier to fight for what’s right, thus easily cast as a token “spunky female” and perfectly suited to loosen up the “stubborn old[er] man.” Granted, this is otherwise very much in line with canon, but with the addition of the potential for romance (heteronormativity and all that), I imagine a degree of the “forbidden fruit” would have been added to most if not all of their interactions; the age difference likely would have played a bigger role than it did in canon, where it very nearly became forgettable, but because the older and more powerful character, Harvey, is male, it’s presumed that he’ll get what he wants in the end, the younger woman will be on board and likely flattered by the attention, and everyone else will just have to deal with it. The funny thing is that most of their dynamic in this scenario would remain consistent with canon, although any mentoring Harvey did would have to be more carefully separated from courtship or attempted wooing. I suspect romantic acts would become very obvious; it would be made more explicit, for instance, that the increasingly personal gifts Harvey gave Mike (from paying for the rookie dinner all the way up to letting them use his apartment for the wedding ceremony, or, arguably, letting Mike move to Seattle with no warning) were not simply acts of kindness between friends but a calculated increase in Harvey’s affection and the degree to which he paid attention to Mike as a person.

One facet that might come into play on top of this development is a rivalry between the Mike character and Donna. As I mentioned previously, it was obvious to many at the outset that Harvey and Donna had the potential to end up together, and in this scenario, if the showrunners had chosen to lean into that earlier (i.e., pre-season 4), Donna might have ended up a very different character than the one she is in canon. Similarly Rachel may have been cast as more of a confidant, potentially playing some kind of mediation role between Mike and Donna, and she may have had more interaction with Harvey overall (although I don’t know how much of it would be professional versus her attempts to indulge in romance and push Harvey and Mike together).

Now let’s assume instead that Harvey is the female character. In addition to the age difference, which I suspect would be emphasized in a more negative fashion than with the genders reversed (sexism ftw), the power imbalance between them introduces an unfortunate “cougar” mentality; while in reality this isn’t necessarily a negative thing (age-wise, not power-wise), it does, particularly in the media, bear a whole host of unflattering stereotypes, such as that the woman is seeking out something inappropriate to her station in some ill-advised attempt to recapture her youth. Since Harvey’s character is so confident and self-assured, this may be circumvented, particularly if one recalls Jessica’s lamentation to Rachel that a woman in a position of power needs to be seen as heartless and unfeeling in order to succeed in the world. Mike might be used to great extent to help Harvey’s character learn to wield power more deftly or with more humanity; though they would surely still learn from one another, Harvey’s character would probably undergo a more radical transformation over the series than Mike’s. I imagine that whole thread of the powerful woman in a man’s world would have gotten much more play, which would potentially have downgraded Jessica’s role a truly unfortunate degree.

I suppose the overall sexist milieu of Suits as it stands wouldn’t be completely avoided by making Mike and Harvey a heterosexual couple, as the female character in both of these outlines seems to be the one…undergoing more adjustments, for lack of a better term, to suit the male counterpart. I’m certainly not arguing that it would have made for a better show, but definitely a different one. I’ll tell you one thing, I bet they would’ve gone full-tilt on the whole soap opera angle a lot sooner than they actually did.

#marvey #suits usa #analysis #Anonymous

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tattooedsiren · 4 years

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SUITS

Favorite character Harvey (that lovable arsehole)Second favorite character Jessica (the one I get annoyed at least often lol)Least favorite character DonnaThe character I’m most like Honestly I can’t think of any I’m particularly like… feel free to tell me if I remind you of anyone..Favorite pairing Harvey/Mike, obviouslyLeast favorite pairing Harvey/Donna (if you have to retcon the ship that’s never a good sign)Favorite moment oh man, how do I choose? I’m gonna give you two moments (I can’t pick just one lol) that i love that I think get overlooked a lot. one, when Harvey pays for Mike’s rookie dinner. two, “do you trust me?” “that’s what I wanted you to know”Rating out of 10 season one gets a 10. season two gets an 7. every other season gets a 4.

#in which rachel expresses her sometimes complicated and occasionally unpopular and often shippy thoughts on suits #machtaholic #asked and answered

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love-indonesian-soccer-news · 4 years

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Life of a First Time Fantasy Football Owner

When I signed up for fantasy soccer league the 1st time I wasn't certain what to anticipate. I understood a lot about soccer and players from various teams across the league generally. I'd always cheered for specific players I enjoyed, and desired other players could only run in the goal post during games such as Terrell (T.O) Owens. So when a friend of mine asked me to join his Fantasy Football League, I figured what the hell all I do on Sunday's is watch NFL games anyhow.

A few Weeks after I got the confirmation email to get online and register my own group name and put my account up prior to the dream league draft. After I set my account up I discovered that you might actually position the players so that you wanted in your team. It looked easy; I moved found gamers which are usually great playmakers but following the 50th individual there was another 300+ titles to form out so I simply left it alone.

It Was two weeks prior to the draft and I had been paying additional attention to this preseason soccer games merely to make certain players I wished to draft still looked great going into the regular time. I also paid attention to high rookie prospects particularly wide receivers, running backs and quarterbacks. You know whether they are drafted in the first round of this actual NFL draft they've a fantastic prospect of seeing a while when the individual before them on the depth chart goes down with an injury.

It Was currently draft day and also my study has been completed, I had eventually compiled a listing of all of the players I needed to draft. Together with the next pick of this draft I picked QB Tom Brady in the New England Patriots, I went to get running backs Brian Westbrook (Eagles), Ryan Grant (Packers), Cedric Benson (Bengals), Darren Sproles (Chargers), Earnest Graham (Buccaneers) and Leon Washington (Jets). For recipients I picked up Reggie Wayne (Colts), DeSean Jackson (Eagles), Eddie Royal (Broncos), Devin Hester (Bears), and Donnie Avery (Rams). I just lacked one tight end Owen Daniels (Texans), 1 shield the Patriots, also a kicker David Akers (Eagles). With my very last draft pick I picked Jake Delhomme (Panthers) as a backup quarterback since Brady spent all last year on the sidelines.

Going into the season I believed I had a Fantastic group And I was eager to see the way the very first week goes. Among the qualities of fantasy league I have discovered drives you mad is that the Berita Prediksi Bola, which I know never to trust. For my very first match it said I had been favored to win the match 101-92 and made me feel like much more of a draft whiz, first time playing and it looked like I had been planning to win my first match.

After the very first week of the NFL Season began, while viewing the match on TV I kept wondering at the back of my mind how my players were performing. Then I recalled one of those men said you may add a stat tracker which provides you up to date stats on players for all of the matches, but in a little cost or you could assess the NFL Network station through 1pm and 4pm games. So every single commercial I had been leaping into the station to see how my players were performing, it sort of felt as though I had been a real owner of a group minus all of the cash along with also the luxury booth

Following the 1 o'clock matches I logged in to my ESPN dream Football account simply to find out what time my additional gamers were around. That is when I noticed that there was a stat tracker on the web site which provides you up to the moment live scoring to your own players. After the 1 o'clock games finished I had been shedding 60 to 35 and it did not seem good the predictions currently explained I would shed 101 into 89. I'd 4 players and another group had 5 throughout the 4pm games I had been always looking at my notebook while watching the matches on TV needless to mention my wife wasn't too pleased. In the close of the afternoon I was up 94 to 84, and moving into Monday nights match we had one participant left. I was convinced I would win but since I had heard earlier in the afternoon dream soccer scores can alter for the worse fast.

After I got home From work Monday I did my fatherly responsibilities made sure that the kids homework was completed, helped make dinner, and enjoyed time with family prior to putting the children to bed. From the time the match began I had my notebook display open so I could monitor my participant points throughout the sport. I moved on to win my first match 106 into 89 and felt as a proud proprietor. That is all it required after week I was hooked and could not await another week to get started.

During the next few weeks I Learned when a staff is about their bye week is the participant, which I Wasn't ready for (I know I'm an idiot). I moved on to shed my following Three matches before deciding I needed to make some transactions to enhance my Group, so I exchanged QB Jake Delhomme and TE Owen Daniels for TE Chris Cooley (Redskins) and RB Rashard Mendenhall (Steelers). After I Fell WR Avery and picked up WR Mike-Sims-Walker (Jaguars) off the Totally free agents list. Since the transactions I have won two matches in a row and Stand at 3-3 going into week

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frivoloussuits · 7 years

Text

3 Marvey Endings That Could Become Canon. Maybe.

. . . If we shippers get reeeeeally lucky.

If I were in charge of Suits, the series would probably end with Mike and Harvey making out in Mike’s new office. Sadly, I am not in charge, and I don’t think we’re going to get any ending that so openly ships them . . . So I started dreaming up final scenes that, to me, scream “Marvey” but still play within the heteronormative lines that this show seems unwilling to cross.

I finally got around to outlining three of those scenes for the @suitsmeetup. You can find them below.

1.) Rachel and Mike have split up-- maybe because their dynamic just doesn’t work for them anymore, maybe because Rachel’s gotten a better opportunity that requires her to leave New York permanently, even as Mike refuses to abandon PSL. That night, Harvey comes over to Mike’s apartment.

“I thought you might appreciate some support,” Harvey says. “I thought you had a rule against caring.” “You’ve always been an exception.” They share a sharp, knowing look that turns into something more tender, and then Mike opens the door wider and steps out of the way. Harvey comes in, looks at Mike, then leans in for what is presumably a hug. Before we see them touch, Mike’s shutting the door.

It’s a Platonic expression of brotherly love, for those who are determined to see it that way. But there are also definite echoes of this:

youtube

2.) Basically an ending where Mike and Harvey do the same non-serious flirtation thing they’ve been doing since day 1, except maybe this time they’re serious . . .

Example: Mike and Rachel split up. Mike tries to bury himself in work, but Harvey shows up in his office late one night.

“You should eat.” Mike makes a vague noise of agreement and keeps reading. “Client cancelled on me, so now I have a free table for two at Gallagher’s.” Mike’s eyes flicker up when he hears the steakhouse’s name. “You paying this time?” Harvey rolls his eyes, and Mike chuckles, the first time he’s laughed all day, and starts to put away his files. They stroll down the firm’s hallways and wait for the elevator, continuing their banter all the way. “Harvey, I never thought it’d take you eight [or however many years the show runs for] years to ask a guy out.” “Excuse me? Have you forgotten our previous steak dinner?” “Ah yes, the one where you swooped in while my fiance was in the hospital and then got me investigated for collusion.” “What can I say, I’m a classy guy.” “You spent most of the dinner talking about Louis’ codpiece.” “I would never--” “You doubting my memory?" “You must have misunderstood.” “You had some very graphic questions about his size, and you figured I’d know because I’d gone mudding with him. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.” “Jealous. Of Louis.” “And you didn’t even bring me flowers,” Mike says with an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll buy you some orchids on the way to Gallagher’s, happy?”

They get into the elevator, still snarking at one another (”You know where the word ‘orchid’ comes from, rookie? Of course you do, you’re the genius.”). The camera doesn’t follow them in, instead shifting the focus to the wall. It reads “Specter Litt Ross.”

3.) The sad, one-sided pining version. Earlier in the season, the firm faced an existential threat again, but Harvey worked out a settlement to save it. But then Louis Litt left the firm, maybe to become in-house counsel for The Donna, and Harvey ended up taking Mike on as a new named partner. The final scene is the party celebrating Mike’s promotion.

Harvey’s standing with his champagne, staring at the wall with the firm’s new name on it, and Donna slips up to him. “Congratulations,” she says. “You won.” The camera turns to look at the wall. “Specter-Ross.” Mike is standing in front of his own last name on the wall, and Rachel’s in front of him, blocking part of "Specter,” and she’s kissing Mike so sweetly, so joyfully. “I settled.” There’s something oddly wistful in how Harvey says words, and then he moves to greet another guest. The camera lingers on Donna as she keeps watching Mike and Rachel, and you can see her confusion, her worry that there’s something here that she doesn’t yet know . . . And then you see the flash of bittersweet understanding, as she finally realizes something she and everyone else around Harvey have missed for years.

And I hope that something like this might happen. And then I hope that the actors and other people associated with the show will show up on social media a little while after and confirm that yeah, Marvey ended up a little bit canon :-)

#suitstumblrmeetup #suits #marvey #harvey specter #mike ross

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statusquoergo · 5 years

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“he needs a break and he needs it to be with you.”“you mean someone who’s lost both parents.” no mike, not just that. but someone he trusts, someone he feels safe with, someone he loves more than anything and that’s you. it so pisses me off when the writers refuse to acknowledge what these two mean to each other. and especially from mike’s part? he just acts like he doesn’t really care anymore? i don’t even know.

I must admit I had a similar reaction; especially after Louis openly acknowledged that Mike is the person Harvey really wants to go to for comfort, diluting the reason for that to something like, “We’re both orphans, let’s chat,” is pretty insulting, isn’t it?

(Yikes, this got long.)

The more I think about it, the more peculiar it seems, as though the writers have forgotten how to write Mike as more than a stock lawyer character who happens to have personal relationships with most of the main characters. Harvey’s implicit trust in him allows him to get away with something like that aborted apology at the beginning of the episode, but as for their actual friendship, they’re kept apart so much (being on opposite sides and all, how convenient) that it doesn’t really need to be addressed too often. And when it is, it’s all flashbacks; “Here’s a callback to the time Louis said Mike made Harvey into Batman instead of Superman,” “Remember that time we won a case with an idea from Mississippi Burning,” “How about that time we took on Travis Tanner.” Nothing about their relationship or what they mean to each other (Harvey paying for Mike’s rookie dinner, saving him at the Harvard Club, fighting for him when Jessica wanted to cut him loose, threatening to beat someone up for hurting him, taking him back after he went to work at Sidwell’s firm and giving him his old office, the prison arc, and so on), we just get reminders of a bunch of work stuff that happened awhile ago. Then about half the conversation is about Harvey and Donna being such a wonderful couple, and pardon my belaboring the point, but I think we get quite enough of that when Mike’s not around, thank you very much. No need to waste this opportunity.

Much the way that, as I mentioned in my review, Harvey seems capable of thinking kindly of only one of his parents at a time (i.e., dragging Gordon in the eulogy as a means of commending Lily), the writers seem content to give him only one close personal relationship at a time. Everyone needs to fit into a box to be part of Harvey’s life, and each box is only big enough for one person; Jessica was his mentor and, arguably, maternal figure, but once she was gone, he was able to reconnect with Lily. Mike was his best friend and, often times, his sole focus (e.g., when Mike was in prison, literally the only thing Harvey could think about or act upon was a means to get him out), but once Mike left, he was able to hook up with Donna. Louis has always occupied the slot of “work friend and rival,” with those two categories being represented in variable ratios, and Katrina, Samantha, and Alex are rotating background characters. Workplace acquaintances who become friends and confidants when convenient to the plot.

Harvey has actually quite a polar way of thinking; he’s focused on the win, and even when he knows he has to do “the right thing” instead of the “winning” thing, it almost always turns out that they’re one and the same; David Fox, for instance, was a “bad guy” who was taking advantage of Harvey, making him do things he knew were wrong because of Fox’s deal with Donna, but then it just so happened that Fox was actually doing those things for a reason Harvey could relate to and understand, and the situation worked out perfectly well to soothe everyone’s moral sensibilities. The whole show is like this, evidenced most recently by that meager effort to turn Faye into a sympathetic character (“crossing a line” to try and protect her daughter from learning about her husband) being completely abandoned to transform her into a one-dimensional antagonist just in time for the final battle for the soul of the firm. At its most pessimistic, this is a combination of laziness by the writers and disrespect for their viewers; there’s no room or time for moral ambiguity, and you can feel about it however you like, but at least you know who the heroes and the villains are.

Think about Mike’s appearance in “If the Shoe Fits.” Mike is a hero, right? We know him, we love him. The script got flipped somehow as he began to act like a villain, but they still tried to portray him as sympathetic and it completely backfired; the whole episode was a mess, it was awful. (I guess that’s why they don’t try to do moral grey areas more often.) The thing about Mike’s return this time is that they’re not trying to re-develop his character. We know who he is and we’re comfortable with that, so they’re reverting to the safe space of Mike as we remember him from the earlier seasons and leaving it alone, except that now that Donna’s become Harvey’s most important person (see: the number of Mike-and-Harvey scenes in this episode that she just so happens to also appear in), Mike has, on an interpersonal level, been relegated to the sidelines along with Katrina and the others. He pops in for scenes like the last one, drinks with Harvey at a nice club, because that’s part of the character we know, but it’s all for show. Flash without substance. Harvey is the main character now, so when Mike gets angry and frustrated and shuffles off in a hissy fit, we sympathize with Harvey for how much it hurts him not being able to tell the truth, and feel frustrated with Mike for not getting it on his own. (And all the while, Harvey just so happens to be explicitly prevented from talking about his feelings, fancy that.)

This is one of the things I was worried about when I first heard that Mike was coming back, that he’d be a shiny object for us to coo over while we try to ignore the fact that all his substance has been stripped away. The same way the writers counted on Lily’s death being sad because, you know, death is sad, they’re hoping Mike’s appearance will make us happy because, you know, it’s Mike. He’s there, isn’t that enough?

I dunno, I think maybe they could’ve put a little more effort into it, but that’s just me.

#marvey #suits usa #s09e09 #analysis #Anonymous

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tattooedsiren · 7 years

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affixed to you (harvey/mike)

AN: written for the suits100 fest where my prompt was: tattoos. also available on AO3.

Mike gets the tattoo the day before his twenty-second birthday.

It’s been a rough year. Turning twenty one was such a milestone, and yet it felt completely hollow. His parents’ absence was always obvious during big events in his life, but it felt even more glaring when he blew out the twenty one candles on the cake Grammy had made. Maybe it was due to the impending ten year anniversary of their deaths. Probably it was exacerbated by the weight of Grammy’s disappointment, not only in him getting kicked out of school, but for not getting back on his feet in any viable or respectable way.

In short, his twenty first birthday is not the joyous occasion it should’ve been.

He tries to sort out his life, and manages to find a job as a bike messenger. It’s not pre-law, but it’s something, and Grammy’s extreme enthusiasm for the prospect when he tells her about it makes it all worth it. He tries to bury himself in the work, taking as many shifts as he can, pushing his body to the limit of exhaustion, all to try and distract himself from the ache he gets in his chest when he thinks about his parents. Which he does, with more regularity than usual.

When the anniversary of their deaths arrives Mike calls in sick to work and spends the day holed up in his bedroom, poring over old photo albums, the last tangible piece of his parents’ lives. When he moved in with Grammy into her tiny Brooklyn apartment, Grammy packed up his parents’ house and either sold or donated all of their belongings. He didn’t think much of it at the time, but now with hindsight he can understand the inclination. There wasn’t anywhere for her to keep a life’s worth of belongings, and even if there were it would’ve been too painful to keep everything around. But still, he wishes he had more, something he could hold in his hands and know it was something his parents had held in theirs.

He finally emerges some time after dinnertime has come and gone. Grammy doesn’t say anything. She herself looks drawn and pale, but she tries to give him a weak smile. His attempt at returning it isn’t successful, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Instead she heads over to the kitchen, and, of all things, cuts him a piece of mud cake. It’s ridiculous, because cakes should be for celebrating and not mourning, but it’s Grammy’s go-to for baking and she probably needed something to do today.

Grammy places two plates of cake on the small table, and when Mike crosses the room to sit down Grammy putters over to the old CD player tucked away in the bookshelf and puts on a CD. They sit together and silently eat cake as his parents’ favourite album plays around them.

Though the music isn’t something he would’ve discovered on his own - it was a cult classic album put out a good six or seven years before he was born - he knows it better than he knows his own Metallica and Arcade Fire albums. James and Nina Ross loved music, it was always playing in their house, and this was an album that had high rotation. Mike listens, memories of hot summer days dancing around the house with his mom and curled up on the couch reading with his dad washing over him.

And suddenly, he knows what he wants to do.

Mike’s personal favourite song from the album is called Summer Sun. It somehow has always made him warm and comforted, and given him a sense of belonging, of being in the exact right place at the exact right time. So he finds the sheet music online and takes it to a local tattoo parlor.

They discuss size and placement and cost and book an appointment for the following month. Mike doesn’t feel nervous or uncertain. In fact, he feels settled for the first time in months. It’s like having some kind of permanent marker for his parents is allowing him the freedom to let go.

His tattoo artist prints up the stencil and carefully places it on Mike’s skin. He’s getting it low on his left ribcage, close to his heart. He chose the music from his favourite lyric, and after a quick debate with his tattoo artist decided to keep the staff lines in. It isn’t long, just over half a dozen notes, and the length wraps around his rib nicely. Getting the tattoo hurts, a lot, and yet somehow it’s not as painful as he’d feared; his mind had conjured the idea of pain so unbearable that the reality isn’t anywhere near as bad.

It doesn’t take long, and his artist wraps it up and goes through the aftercare procedure and when Mike leaves he feels more connected to his parents than he has in years.

“Did I ever tell you about my dad?”

“I think you know the answer to that question.”

So Harvey does. He tells Mike that his dad was a musician, a saxophone player, and that he played with all the greats because they all loved him.

Mike may be too stoned to react, but he isn’t too stoned to realize.

It was five years ago now but he remembers. He remembers looking up the sheet music when he was planning his tattoo. He remembers seeing lyrics by Riley Ellis, music by Gordon Specter in the top right hand corner. He even remembers meeting Harvey and being amused by the coincidence of the surname.

But it’s not a coincidence. It can’t be. Harvey’s dad wrote the notes that Mike has permanently marked on his skin.

Still, just to be sure, Mike asks the question. They’ve gone to Pearson Hardman to pee in Louis’ office, but then are distracted by can openers and memos and uncovering a conspiracy that somehow neither of them saw when they were sober. Dawn is starting to break, and the high is starting to wear off, and Mike thinks that if he doesn’t ask this now he’ll never find the courage again. So he says Harvey’s name and asks, “So, your dad, would I know any of his music?”

“Depends on how into 70s and 80s jazz you are,” Harvey grins. He stands from the sofa and heads to the wall of records that suddenly make so much more sense in Mike’s mind. Mike stands, follows, as he’s been doing from the moment they met.

Harvey starts pulling out records, a frankly astonishing number. Harvey will tell him which songs Gordon performed on, which records have songs that he wrote, which artists were his dad’s favorite to work with. Mike listens with rapt attention, and doesn’t even flinch when Harvey pulls out a record that Mike has seen a hundred times before. Granted, his parents had their copy on tape, and his Grammy had bought the CD version when it became available, and now Mike plays it on his iPhone, but the artwork is the same, has followed the music through all its iterations.

It’s not a coincidence. Harvey and Mike were connected in an ethereal way long before they ever met. The knowledge warms inside him, the first moment of comfort he’s had since that terrible moment when Rachel told him about Grammy and his world came crashing down around him. He would never admit it out loud, but he’d always felt there was something between him and Harvey - call it what you will; a spark, a connection - that went beyond the ordinary. He would never call it fate, because that was an ideal too grandiose for him to consider. It’s just, he’s always felt like he and Harvey were meant to find each other.

Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling him that he’s right. That he and Harvey are meant to be in each other's lives.

He thinks about telling Harvey, but the day before had been too heavy and the night before had been too light and he doesn’t know where this piece of information fits in. It just doesn’t feel like the right moment, not now, when he’s still so thick with grief. When he tells Harvey he wants it to be about them, and them alone. So he bites his tongue and hopes that soon the day will come when the moment feels right.

Mike has felt this thing between them building for so long he couldn’t even say when it started.

Maybe it was when he broke up with Rachel and spent a week living on Harvey’s couch. Perhaps it was when he went to prison and Harvey spent every waking moment trying to get him out again. It could have been the first time he was arrested and refused to give Harvey up. Maybe it was when his Grammy died and Harvey was the one person who knew how to give him exactly what he needed. Maybe it was him helping Harvey in the Clifford Danner case or Harvey paying for his rookie dinner or one of a thousand other moments.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was from the moment Mike stumbled into Harvey’s hotel room and bluffed his way into a job he had no right to have.

But whenever it started, it was all leading to this.

Mike tentatively reaches over, his fingertips light on Harvey’s skin as he gently cups his face. Harvey’s lips quirk into a smile which looks equal parts nervous and encouraging, so Mike inches forward, ever so slowly. Harvey meets him halfway and their mouths press together in a gentle kiss.

Mike had never allowed himself to think of this possibility too often, but when he had, when he indulged in the fantasy of Harvey actually returning his feelings, of one of them making a move, it was nothing like this. He’d imagined heat and urgency, an almost aggressive coupling filled with desperation and burning need. He never considered this, this simmering want, the gentle tentativeness that comes with knowing that even so small an act could change everything.

They pull back just far enough to be able to look in each other’s eyes.

“I can’t believe that took us five years,” Mike whispers.

“I can’t believe it didn’t take us ten,” Harvey replies, voice soft but wondrous. And all Mike can do in reply is kiss him again.

Harvey’s hands wrap around his hips and pull him closer. The kiss deepens but doesn’t quicken, and Mike has the fleeting thought that this must be what heaven is like.

Mike doesn’t know how long they stand there, but eventually Harvey murmurs against Mike’s lips, “We should take this elsewhere.”

He’s right, they should, because darkened room or no they are still standing in the middle of Mike’s office where anyone could walk in on them. It’s not likely of course, since it’s nearing one in the morning, but still. This is something that Mike wants to keep to themselves, at least for the moment, and the last thing they need is someone discovering them and telling the world.

“Come home with me.” Harvey’s words may have been a statement but they were really a question. They also might have been more impressive back when they first met, when he and Harvey lived in different boroughs and Harvey would barely let him past the front door. Now they live but a block and a half from each other, and barely a week goes by without one of them knocking on the other’s door for the sole purpose of hanging out. Still, Mike feels a flutter in his stomach, nerves and anticipation and incredulity that this is actually really happening.

“Okay.”

The cab ride over is a blur. They make out like teenagers in the backseat, simply because they can, because they’ve waited years for this and they’re giddy and impatient with it. Despite the invitation to Harvey’s apartment Mike’s is actually closer, so that’s where they go. Their fingers tangle together as they cross the lobby, and when they are in the elevator Harvey crowds into Mike’s space in the corner of the car. He doesn’t kiss Mike though, just seems to revel in the proximity, the tip of his nose brushing along Mike’s cheekbone. It feels heady.

Harvey keeps his distance while Mike unlocks the door, but as soon as they’ve closed the door behind them they’re kissing as though their lives depend on it. Mike isn’t even embarrassed by the desperation. He wants Harvey more than he can say, more than he’s ever wanted anyone else, and there’s no way he could hide that fact even if he wanted to. But Harvey seems to be right there with him, trying to both push Mike’s jacket from his shoulders and pull his body closer by the hips, all at once.

“Bedroom,” Mike says against Harvey’s lips, and they move as one across the apartment, laughing as they trip over their own feet.

Mike pushes Harvey down onto the bed and then climbs into his lap. They fall back onto the soft mattress, Mike’s nimble fingers swiftly undoing Harvey’s tie and removing the material by throwing it across the room. Harvey’s shirt is next, and as he undoes each button he carefully kisses each newly exposed patch of skin. It’s a barely there touch that still has Harvey moaning, and Mike can’t wait to hear all the noises Harvey will make.

Mike fists his hands in Harvey’s shirt, sitting up and bringing Harvey with him, pushing the material off his shoulders and down his arms as they kiss. Once the shirt is gone Harvey gets his hands on Mike, cupping his face and kissing under his chin, down the column of his neck. Mike arches back to give him better access, and he’s so distracted by the delicious feeling of Harvey’s lips and tongue against his skin that for the first few seconds he doesn’t even notice. But then he realizes that Harvey has started to unbutton his shirt, and his hands fly to Harvey’s almost without his permission, fingers wrapping around Harvey’s hands, stilling him.

“You okay?” Harvey asks, looking up at him, breathless and beautiful. “Did I-?”

“No,” Mike hastens to assure him. “No, it wasn’t you. I just … I … it’s complicated.”

Mike’s instinct might’ve stopped Harvey, but now that his brain is focused on something other than the feeling of Harvey against him it’s become painfully clear why he stopped Harvey from removing his shirt.

Because once he did, he’d see the tattoo.

Mike hadn’t meant to keep it a secret all this time. It just never felt like the right moment to tell him. And then it got to the point where it felt like too much time had passed, where it felt less like he'd been keeping a secret and more like telling a lie. And he didn’t know how to tell Harvey after so long a silence.

He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t felt the weight of it over the years. It was so different to when they were pretending he was a real lawyer - at least then, the burden was shared. But Mike has been alone in this. Until now.

Harvey has dropped his hands onto the bed, leaning back on his palms in fake ease. He’s trying to look like he’s just giving Mike space, but Mike knows Harvey too well now, can read his expressions like a book, can see the hurt and confusion and worry buried beneath the surface. He thinks Mike’s confused about them, when nothing could be further from the truth.

“Harvey,” Mike says softly. “You have to know how much I want this. How much I want you. I’ve been in love with you for … well, a long time.”

Harvey’s face becomes soft with affection. “Yeah? Me too.”

“It’s just … there’s something I’ve never told you.”

Harvey looks intrigued but non-judgemental. Mike takes a deep breath.

“How do you feel about tattoos?”

“Depends,” Harvey says, eyebrows quirking. “You don’t have a tattoo of Trevor’s face or anything, do you?”

The image startles a laugh out of Mike. “No, definitely not.”

Harvey nods. “Okay, so, are you embarrassed by it or something?”

“No. Quite the opposite in fact,” Mike says earnestly.

Harvey’s confusion is obvious, and Mike thinks they’re just gonna end up talking in circles about it, so he has to decide here and now if he’s ready. If he can finally tell Harvey about his tattoo. But looking into Harvey’s warm eyes, seeing the trust and love shining there, Mike can’t believe that this will go badly.

He presses a tender kiss to Harvey’s lips, lingering for just a moment, before he slips off Harvey’s lap, standing beside the bed. It feels ridiculous to start undressing while he still has his shoes on, so he toes them off first. His tie, already loose around his neck, is easily discarded. He can’t help but keep his eyes fixed on Harvey’s as he unbuttons his shirt. He isn’t trying to make it sexy, but he can’t deny the heat that floods between them. The buttons pop undone but he doesn’t open his shirt, just lets it sit loosely on his form, a sliver of skin down his torso showing between the crisp white material.

Mike takes an aborted step forward, noticing that Harvey still has his shoes on, and decides that turnabout is fair play. Harvey has given him plenty of shit over the years about his outfits and his inability to act like an adult, so Mike very deliberately lets his gaze travel down to Harvey’s feet, raising his eyebrows at him.

Harvey chuckles. “Really? After all this time you finally start to care about decorum?” But he takes his shoes off. In fact, he also takes his socks off with exaggerated flair. Mike grins at him, but then Harvey is sliding back on the bed in obvious invitation. Mike doesn’t hesitate, crawling over him and meeting his mouth in a searing kiss.

For all their talk about the hidden tattoo, Harvey doesn’t seem particularly eager to see it. His palm glides over Mike’s skin, the touch somehow both delicate and assured, but he doesn’t remove Mike’s shirt or break the kiss to look at it. Mike’s feels put at ease, some of the tension pouring out of his body, to the point where he collapses on top of Harvey, the length of their bodies touching. Mike starts to roll his hips, pulling a moan from the base of Harvey’s throat that sounds like heaven. Harvey gets a leg over Mike’s hip, pressing them even closer.

“God, you feel good,” Mike murmurs against his mouth.

Harvey rolls them over easily, sliding his mouth down Mike’s neck. He continues onwards, kissing down the center of his chest, the flat of his stomach. Mike arches up beneath him, getting a hand in Harvey’s hair. Harvey swirls a tongue around Mike’s nipple, a surprised gasp easily turning into a low moan as Harvey takes him apart.

And then, nothing. Stillness. Mike opens his eyes and sees Harvey, looking down at his chest where his shirt has fallen open, his eyes on the tattoo. It’s slightly faded and blurry compared to when he first got it, but on the whole it’s aged well. Mike watches as Harvey gingerly reaches over and runs his fingertips lightly over the marked skin.

“Do you … do you like it?” Mike asks tentatively. He feels like he can’t breathe.

“Yeah,” Harvey says slowly. “What’s it from?”

This is it. The moment Mike has been anticipating and dreading in equal measure. He takes a deep breath, tenderly cups Harvey’s face in his hand, guides Harvey’s attention to him. “Before I tell you, I need you to know that I’ve had it for ten years, long before we met.”

“Okay?” Harvey says, confused.

“It’s from one of your dad’s songs.”

The sudden stilling of Harvey’s fingers on his skin is the only reaction. Harvey is just looking at him, and every second that passes feels like an eternity. He looks down at the tattoo for a moment, and when he looks back he is wide eyed and wondrous. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He tries several times, to the point where in the end all they can do is laugh. It’s ridiculous, but it also breaks the tension slightly.

“I don’t - I have so many thoughts and questions I don’t know where to start,” Harvey admits.

“I got it when I was twenty one. It was my favourite song from my parents favourite album. It was to remember them. When you told me about your dad, that he was a musician, I knew it had to be the same person. And when I realized…” Mike trails off, wondering if he’s going too far by telling Harvey this. But then Harvey starts gently running his fingertips over the tattoo, a silent signal of support, and Mike remembers. He can tell Harvey anything. “When I realized it didn’t feel like oh that’s funny or that’s a cool coincidence. It was more like … of course. Of course Harvey’s dad wrote the music I carry around with me every moment of every day. Because from the moment we met I felt connected to you, like we were always meant to meet and be in each others’ lives. And this just confirmed it. I was meant to meet you, Harvey Specter.”

Harvey smiles softly, the kind that starts slow but soon takes over his whole face. “What song is it from?”

“Summer Sun.”

Harvey’s eyes widen, and then he laughs. He laughs so hard he rolls off Mike onto the soft bed beside him, and the reaction makes no sense to Mike but then he figures Harvey’s allowed to react however he needs. He shifts onto his side and waits Harvey out, and when Harvey is done, when his laughter peters out and he catches his breath, he simply cups a hand around Mike’s neck, leaning in and kissing him.

“I’ve always thought fate was just a form of coincidence. There’s no way it could be real. Even with everything that had to happen, to both of us, to get us into that room that day, I still couldn’t believe it. But this … now I’m a believer.”

Mike’s confused. It must be showing on his face, because Harvey smiles at him and says, “That song, those notes that you have tattooed on your skin, they were written for me.”

Now it’s Mike’s turn to be incredulous. “What?”

“Well, the story goes that when I was born, the first time my dad held me in his arms, he was so blinded by the love he felt that he turned to my mother and said, ‘It’s like looking into the sun.’”

“Awwww.”

Harvey levels a look at Mike but continues. “I was born in summer, on the summer solstice actually, so he started calling me his summer sun. He thought it was hilarious because people couldn’t tell if he was calling me sun with a ‘u’ or son with an ‘o’.”

Mike grins. “That’s such a dad joke. I love it.”

“Yeah, he did too. So apparently when I was a baby there was nothing I loved more than listening to my dad play music. His instrument of choice was saxophone, but he also dabbled in piano and guitar. And he liked to write melodies, even though he was more revered for his playing skills. I was always asking him to play for me, which he did, and one day he took it a step further and wrote me a song. I was about three years old and he called it Summer Sun. It wasn’t meant to be heard by anyone else, but then, a few years later, Riley Ellis was over and she heard it. I wasn’t well and my dad was playing it for me to cheer me up. A month later she came back to the house with a handwritten page of lyrics, and the rest is history.”

Mike can’t think. His brain, incredible and unstoppable machine that it is, simply can’t process this. He doesn’t know why, but learning that the song was written about Harvey feels even more amazing than the initial revelation of realizing Harvey’s dad had written the musical notes he has indelibly tattooed on his skin.

“I don’t know what to say,” Mike admits softly.

Harvey nods knowingly. Mike looks at Harvey through new eyes. It really had just felt like a nice idea, like it was a funny coincidence they could assign deeper meaning whenever they were feeling sentimental. But now, now it feels real. Now it feels like fate.

Mike reaches over and lightly cups Harvey’s face. “I really was meant to find you,” he whispers.

“And I’m so thankful that you did,” Harvey replies, tilting his head and pressing a kiss to Mike’s palm.

It’s so easy to lean forward and kiss Harvey then. So he does, falling back onto the mattress when Harvey presses forward. And then Harvey breaks their kiss, ducking his head and pressing his lips to Mike’s ribs, right where the tattoo is.

Mike believes in fate now - how could he not? - but that didn’t make life easier. He knows that, as much as he loves Harvey, life isn’t perfect and there will be bad times ahead. But he also knows that the good times will far outweigh the bad. And whenever he has any doubts, all he needs to do is look down and see Harvey written across his heart. Because even though Mike’s tattoo didn’t bring them together and it certainly wouldn’t keep them together, it was going to be an amazing reminder that no matter what, good times and bad, sickness and health, they were destined to meet. And they belong together.

#suits100fanwork #harvey x mike #mike x harvey #suits #suitsusa #otp #i ship therefore i am #my fics

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megaphonemonday · 7 years

Text

only operating with half my burners

@monkshoodr: Ginny moves out of the hotel and can’t get room service, so Mike volunteers to teach her to cook.

I’m not sure how we, as a fandom, decided that Ginny’s a terrible cook, but I love it.

read it on ao3

“You’re hiring caterers for your housewarming party?”

Ginny tossed him a look and shrugged, going back to emptying out another box. This was the third, as far as Mike could tell, that was full to the brim of lycra-based work out gear. Yet, Ginny’s dresser was still only half-full. He shook his head and went back to folding her fitted sheets.

When he’d agreed to help Ginny move into her brand new condo, he’d thought it would involve driving some stuff around, carrying a few boxes to spare her still-healing arm. What he hadn't expected was to give into her kicked puppy expression and actually help unpack her stuff. He knew he should’ve stayed away when he found out the computer geek had broken things off. It would have been so much easier to resist if he’d known someone would be around to help her out. With Blip and Ev out of town, that apparently fell on him, now.

Well, at least they’d already set up the living/dining room. They just had to tackle her bedroom and Mike could escape.

(All he knew at this point was that he was eternally grateful that her bed had yet to be delivered. If he was going to play house with Ginny it was only self-preservation to stay far, far away from horizontal surfaces.)

“You know it’s only going to be like twenty people, right? And none of them are expecting a four-course meal.”

He wasn’t sure how, staring at the back of her head, he knew Ginny was rolling her eyes, but she definitely was. When she finally turned away from her dresser drawers, the annoyed look on her face confirmed it.

“Well, if they want to eat anything at all, then catering is probably a good idea,” she huffed, pushing her mess of curls away from her face.

They hadn’t unpacked her kitchen yet, but Mike figured she’d already done that or they’d get around to it. But maybe there wasn’t really anything to unpack.

Following a hunch, Mike dropped the pile of linens in his arms and clattered down the stairs from Ginny’s lofted bedroom.

“Where are you going?” she called after him.

Mike didn’t answer, just headed towards the state of the art kitchen tucked into a corner of the condo. There was a toaster and a VitaMix sitting on the counter, but the burners on the stove were spotless. He tugged open drawers and found silverware and a few wooden spoons, but not much else. Cabinets yielded dishes, and one sauce pan, but no baking sheets or roasting pans or anything that even poorly stocked kitchens had.

“What are you doing?” Ginny asked, a hint of humor coloring her words.

Mike looked up at her in abject horror.

“Where’s all your kitchen stuff?”

Her brow furrowed. “Did you not hear me before? Need to replace the batteries in your hearing aids?”

Ignoring the jibe, Mike just gestured vaguely around him, encompassing the whole kitchen. “You’re seriously telling me you don’t know how to cook? At all?”

“Yes.” When Mike continued to stare, Ginny’s arms crossed defensively. “I’ve been a little busy, you know. Not all women are Julia Child reincarnated.”

It was Mike’s turn to roll his eyes. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Still, she frowned at him. “Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I automatically know how to cook,” Ginny repeated, chin tilted up at him in challenge.

“Not because you’re a girl, Baker, but because you’re an adult. You’ve been living on your own since you were eighteen, how do you feed yourself?”

“There’s this thing called take out,” she sassed, hopping up on the counter and swinging her legs casually, heels drumming against the mostly empty lowers. “Also, frozen food has really come a long way since your time, old man. There are whole meals in the freezer aisle and everything.”

At that, Mike whirled and flung open her refrigerator. Inside, she had a decently stocked crisper and more grape soda than God, but little else. The freezer, on the other hand, was full of sad frozen dinners.

“When was the last time you cooked something that didn’t come in a box with microwave instructions on it?”

Ginny frowned in thought. Mike thought she was just pulling his leg until she replied, “When I was twelve I made chocolate chip cookies for my teacher.”

“It’s been more than a decade?”

“Well, it went really badly!” she exclaimed, shoulders hunching defensively. “They tasted horrible! Will still thinks I just mixed up the sugar and the salt, but it seemed better for everyone if I avoided the kitchen. Less chance for food poisoning.”

Mike just shook his head. “So, you’re just gonna let this beautiful kitchen go to waste? Never let it make all the home-cooked meals it was destined to?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “If I want home-cooked food, that’s what Evelyn’s for. Evelyn, who actually likes cooking and feeding people. Who likes it so much she was willing to take on my brother as a business partner to open a restaurant.”

She said it lightly, but Mike knew the sting of her brother’s departure and dishonesty was still fresh.

So, because he couldn’t have his rookie feeling sorry for herself and he needed a project for the off-season since things hadn’t worked out with Rachel—and, okay, maybe a little bit because he hated seeing Ginny sad—Mike said, “Well, that’s just sad, Baker. Even I have figured out how to feed myself.”

“Your housekeeper leaves you food and you know it,” she accused, a teasing smile lighting up her face. She even leaned forward, far enough that Mike tensed, ready to catch her if she lost her balance.

“Yeah,” he conceded, “but I still know how to feed myself, and I’m gonna teach you.”

That had Ginny rocking back, eyebrows creeping up her forehead. “Are you, now?”

Mike shrugged, aiming for casual, not that he was all that good at casual where Ginny was concerned.

“You are my rookie. At least ‘til spring training. Gotta make sure you don’t starve before next season.”

Her head tilted as she considered his offer. Mike told himself not to fidget even as the silence spun itself out around them. Finally, though, a full, dimpled smile began to spread across her face.

“All right, old man. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Honestly, Mike never thought he’d regret spending more time with Ginny. Curse himself for walking into a situation where he constantly had to remember that they’re teammates and friends and nothing else, sure, but not regret.

And then he started giving Ginny cooking lessons.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Ginny, who could barely manage to sit still in the dugouts between innings, would be even worse in the kitchen, but Mike certainly hadn’t expected her to be this bad.

She wanted to run before she could walk, making substitutions when she didn’t have the correct ingredient and ignoring recipes in favor of doing what seemed right in the moment. Considering the fact that Ginny had no knowledge of what was right—aside from what food looked like before it disappeared into her black hole of a stomach—this led to some interesting results.

By interesting, Mike of course meant completely inedible.

It didn’t matter what they were making, anything Ginny touched managed to turn into some horrifying mishmash of conflicting flavors and char. Which was why Mike had practically become her personal chef. Which wasn't even what he regretted. What he regretted was not worrying about how she'd managed to survive before this. Far better to keep her fed than worry about whether she was really paying attention to the lessons.

What? She had to eat to keep up with all her PT.

“My arm hurts,” she whined, trying to get him to take the potato masher.

Mike just snorted and kept carving. “I’m gonna remember that next time you beg me to long toss with you—against the advice of your doctors.”

Diligently, Ginny went back to mashing. Mike shook his head, but he could feel an affectionate smile tugging at his mouth. God, she made it hard to keep his distance.

As long as she continued to be a disaster in the kitchen, Mike wouldn’t have to.

Although, he’d seemed to have found one thing that Ginny couldn’t mess up. Setting her to mashing potatoes as he took care of roasting the chicken and asparagus had been a stroke of genius if he did say so himself. It let her take out some of her frustrations with the slow progress of her physical therapy and even build up some strength in her arm again. It also kept Ginny from getting her fingers in everything and ruining what was shaping up to be a delicious dinner.

For which Mike was thankful when they finally sat down at the cluttered dining room table to eat. He could only take so many poorly seasoned, burnt dinners.

Even if the company was excellent.

So excellent, in fact, that dinner passed in a haze of laughter and a warm, contented feeling. Not that it really worried Mike. That was just par for the course for evenings with Ginny.

As he helped her clean up, though, things took a turn.

“Do you want to bring some home?” Ginny asked, drying off her hands and pushing herself up to sit on the counter.

“Nah,” he replied, stacking tupperware in her fridge. There was still too much grape soda in it, but at least she had real food, too. “You keep it. Who knows the next time you’ll manage to make something even close to edible.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, but her jaw still worked side to side. It was a tell. For when she was trying to decide how to say something. Mike waited her out.

“Won’t Rachel want some?”

Mike frowned and turned to give her his full attention. Her legs swung restlessly and her fingers tapped silently next to her thighs. Maybe it was just more of her boundless energy escaping, but something made Mike think otherwise. The way she wouldn’t quite look him in the eye and she chewed on her lip, maybe.

“No,” he replied slowly. “I assume she made dinner for herself.”

Ginny threw him a confused look. “You didn’t check with her?”

“No,” he repeated. ��Why would I?”

“She’s your wife, Mike,” she huffed and Mike started to feel like they were having two separate conversations.

How did she not know that things hadn’t worked out with Rachel? He’d told Blip, which meant that Evelyn knew, which meant that everyone probably knew.

But not Ginny, apparently.

“Ex-wife.” When Ginny flapped her hand impatiently, Mike continued, “We finalized last month.”

Ginny’s eyes went wide and her legs stilled. She stared at him for a long moment before saying, “Oh,” in a small voice. “I wondered why she didn’t mind you being over here so often.”

“Oh, she minded,” he replied, finally garnering a small grin from Ginny.

“Did she have a reason to mind?” she asked, looking up at him shyly.

Mike sighed, but closed the distance between the refrigerator and where Ginny sat. He stepped close to her, her knees nearly brushing up against his hips. He itched to touch her, but knew that if he did, there’d be no turning back. While he’d tried to respect her decision, be there for her as a captain and a friend, Mike couldn’t deny that he wanted more with her. And the minute he got to touch her, gentle and deliberate, he wouldn’t be able to pretend he didn’t.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about this, Ginny,” he breathed.

He had just enough height on her like this that she had to tilt her head back slightly to look him in the eye. She licked her lips, dragging in a ragged breath when Mike’s gaze flew to follow the movement.

“I didn’t,” she replied hoarsely, “but I think I changed my mind.”

She tilted her chin and their mouths came even closer. Close enough that her warm breath gusted against his lips and through the beard surrounding it. Mike’s hands came down on the counter, just next to where hers curled over the edge. He could feel her heat bleeding into him, but they still didn’t touch.

“You think, or you know?” He had to know. “Because, Ginny, if you’re not sure—”

“I know.”

Her slender pinkies stretched out just as she interrupted him, curling over his fingers and twining them together. The breath Mike hadn’t realized he’d been holding gusted out of him and he gave in to Ginny’s gravity.

When his lips finally connected with hers, she was smiling, wide and bright. Not that Mike minded. Not when he was finally kissing Ginny Baker. His hands came up to cup her face. Hers tangled in his belt loops, dragging him closer.

He pulled away and Ginny was still smiling, so he couldn’t resist dropping one more kiss to her lips. His thumbs stroked over her cheeks gently before dropping to rest more comfortably at her waist.

“You’re really sure?” he asked, still reeling a little.

Ginny’s head tilted in amused exasperation. When it became clear Mike actually needed an answer, her fingers untwined from his belt loops to wind into his beard. Patting at his cheek fondly, she nodded. “I’m sure.”

Because he couldn’t help himself, Mike turned and pressed a kiss to her palm.

“So, was it my excellent cooking skills that made you change your mind?” he joked. Couldn’t let Ginny think that he’d completely give up being an asshole. “You realized that there was no other way you’d keep yourself fed and had to lock me down?”

Ginny rolled her eyes again, but a flash of something—guilt?—passed over her face and she looked away. Mike rocked back, not far enough to stop touching her, but at least he could duck and look in her face.

“Ginny?”

She peeked up at him, a flush riding high on her cheek bones. She chewed on her lip guiltily before straightening.

Still avoiding his gaze, she quietly admitted, “I maybe over-exaggerated how much help I need in the kitchen.”

“What.”

“Like.” Ginny ruffled her hair and Mike had to actively try to pay attention to the matter at hand and not the way her curls bounced against her slender neck. “I didn’t actually need you to show me how to make spaghetti three separate times.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m an adult, Lawson. I know that ketchup isn’t an acceptable substitute for marinara sauce.”

In retrospect, he probably should have been suspicious, but it wasn’t as if Mike was really going to examine the reason he got to spend so much time with Ginny.

He started laughing in disbelief, Ginny joining in after a moment.

As he caught his breath, his hands slid down to curl around her hips. “You couldn’t have just told me you wanted me around?” he smiled.

“I thought you and Rachel were still working it out!” she defended, though her arms twining around his neck undermined the peevishness in her voice. Ginny smirked, sly and sexy as hell. “I knew you wouldn’t risk me poisoning myself, though.”

“You’ve got me there,” he conceded, giving in and kissing her again.

“Hope I’ve got you more places, too,” she murmured cheekily against his lips.

Mike didn’t answer, not out loud, anyway. He was too busy learning her every breath and sigh as his tongue tangled against hers. Too busy reveling in the way her blunt nails scraped lightly on the back of his neck and her thighs tightened around his hips.

Inside though, he responded, Anywhere and everywhere you want me.

#bawson #bawson fic #Pitch #Pitch fic #pitchfam #i wrote something #I'm gonna need approximately #three more hours of footage #of ginny baker eating #i need more evidence that the girl #is a human garbage disposal #much as i love and respect fanon #imma need canon to step in #C'MON FOX #please bring her back to me #!!!!!

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minialbum · 7 years

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marvey 👁👅👁

ayyy my boys

big spoon/little spoon: harvey is the big spoon and mike is the little spoon but he spends most of his nights sprawled across harvey anyways so

favorite non-sexual activity: lying on the couch watching star trek after long days in the office

who uses all the hot water: as if harvey’s hot water ever runs out he lives in a condo in manhattan

most trivial thing they fight over: cheese in the pizza crust

who does most of the cleaning: they both do—despite the fact nearly all of it is mikes mess

what has a season pass on their dvr/who controls the netflix queue: mike controls it (the exception is star trek)

who calls up the super/landlord when the heat’s not working: harvey and he’d be super pissy about it but mike would just lure him to bed with the promise of cuddles and wrap him up in blankets

who steals the blankets: mike but they’re for harvey

who leaves their stuff around: mike the absolute mess (harvey loves his mess)

who remembers to buy the milk: donna

who remembers anniversaries: they both do

who cooks normally: harvey—the only thing mike can cook (decently) is spaghetti sauce

how often do they fight: whenever a case gets especially tough

what do they do when they’re away from each other: complain to donna and text relentlessly

nicknames for each other: mike’s no doubt are puppy and rookie; this make up for the fact harvey doesn’t have one

who is more likely to pay for dinner: harvey, and mike’s 100% willing to let him

who steals the covers at night: mike does

what would they get each other for gifts: harvey never fails in buying mike obscenely expensive gifts that cause him endless embarrassment, mike gives harvey endless memories that are gifts in themselves

who kissed who first: harvey kissed mike

who made the first move: harvey, the confident bastard

who remembers things: mike.

who started the relationship: a mutual decision decided upon the instant they fell into harvey’s bed

who cusses more: mike

what would they do if the other was hurt: panic, no matter how bad the injury, they’d each freak out about the other and refuse to leave the others’ side

send me otp’s!!

#listen im so proud i snaked a bruno mars lyric in there #suits #marvey #otp.anon #ask #Anonymous

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sibatrash · 7 years

Text

Steak and Blowjob day

So it is in fact Steak and Blowjob day for bottom Erwin week! I was a little too excited and stayed up way too late to do this. It’s based off of this by @survey-corps-rookie and their Eruri Actor AU! I hope I did your AU justice and I hope everyone enjoys!

PS. I love pining tropes, kill me now.

There were many things that award winning actor, Levi Ackerman didn’t do in his life for both his own personal and professional reasons: approach the paparazzi, make eye contact with those vultures, participate in any romantic comedy film, and pine over a man who was a waste of time. He had learned many years previous, that it was useless to try and wish for a romance to bloom out of shit, most certainly if that shit was a professional wall between him and the man he so longed to be with and hold. Certainly, he was lucid in terms of his desires, emotions were shit and unwarranted in the professional world of acting where any idiot could pretend to love another human being. Yet, there he was in his private bedroom, fantasizing over a man whom he knew he would ever be able to touch. There were moments on set, small instances whence he watched Erwin’s lips as if they were more interesting than the director yelling at some poor intern for fucking up the lighting. Those perfect, rosy lips that made so many beautiful shapes as the golden god laughed, smiled and even frowned. On days when he was certainly more mental than others, he would imagine what those lips would do in certain- shall he say, lewd situations. He found himself dazed, staring off at nothing while thinking what shapes those lips would make as he moaned, what they would do as Erwin Smith found climax. He didn’t peg blondie to be the type of man to bite his lip during climax, rather he thought of him to be the type to groan, loudly with lips spread wide as a moan ripped through his throat and filled the air between them-

Those were the days where he would drive himself mad, staring blankly at nothing and trying to keep such lewd thoughts from his mind. The fucker was right there, most certainly able to tell that something was wrong. Although, if he was lucky Erwin would assume he was in another bad mood because of their long hours spent at the studio, doing scene after scene in a monotony that absolutely killed the smaller man. On such days when Erwin assumed Levi to be angered, he would bring him his favorite tea or some other small treat he felt would cheer up the angry man. It was on those days, where Levi was overrun with many emotions he wished to push away, that he spent his nights in his dressing room. There, he slept on a shitty couch, took a shitty shower and watched the shitty news so to ignore his even shittier feelings that welled inside of every fibre of his being. Then one day after the set had closed for the night and Levi was tucked away in his dressing room, Erwin had the audacity to bring him a full blown cow- a perfectly cut and seasoned steak, complete with herbs, a fruit salad off to the side, a sweet cake and English black tea just how he liked it- dark with one sugar. Apparently the fucker had been paying attention all of those times when Levi had yelled at someone for making his tea incorrectly.

“I thought it would make you better. You seemed rather trouble today.” Levi looked even more troubled than normal from where he was laying on his couch, hair a pathetic mop on top of his head and adorning the worst sweatpants he had at his disposal to leave on set. They were grey, worn down from the days of old when he wore nothing but sweats out and about. Yet, there Erwin stood- appearing as if he had just walked out of a photoshoot.

“It was just those interns, fucking up my tea..” He lies, moving so to take up the carry out bag that had been laid on the coffee table in front of his resident couch. Smith was lucky that he liked him, unadmittedly more than necessary, but if Levi didn’t like the fucker he would have thrown his script at him.

“I’m sorry Levi, I do hope you feel better. I will see you tomorrow for sure.” Erwin offered Levi one of those fucking smiles, that damn smile which took Levi’s breath away. It was the one where his lips were lopsided, the right edge of his lips slightly turned up more than the other which allowed for the smallest glimpse of perfect white teeth to be seen. What a fuck.

To top off the fact that his heart was racing a mile a minute, Smith had to out-do himself. “Do tell me if the steak is any good, if it is we will have to go together some time. Mike says the custard is fantastic.” With that, Erwin did that stupid small head nod and kept that terrible smile on his lips before turning away and heading out of the trailer as if he hadn’t just insinuated that they would go to dinner by themselves, together.

How it got to the point where he was naked, leaning against the wall with his erection in hand, Levi didn’t know. It had to have been at least an hour since the fucker had left, the steak was half eaten and far too cold to eat at the moment. Yet it was probably best that the steak was long forgotten, instead on the forefront of Levi’s mind were those lips. It had been so long since he indulged himself so much, touching himself to the thought of Erwin’s soft lips around his shaft. It was nearly too much to imagine the noises Erwin would make as he bobbed his head back and forth, pleasing Levi in the most carnal of manners. It was so easy to envision, Erwin kneeling before him, those brilliant azure eyes staring up at Levi’s reddened cheeks as he tried in vain to bite back groans and huffed breaths. His fantasies were alive in his mind, fantasies where Smith wanted this too. His favorite, hidden in the back of his mind until he retired to a private quarter in the late hours of the night, was a fantasy in which he would go out to dinner with the fuck, dressed nicely and head back to one of their places. Levi would peel that precious suit off of that beautiful body and ravish Smith for all he was, for the beautiful man he had proven himself to be. But for the time being, he was content with his fantasies of Erwin’s tongue slipping over sensitive skin, hearing his own groans as the groans of the man he wanted so desperately. Levi hunched his shoulders forward, his hot forehead only cooling from the frigid embrace of the wall. Although that didn’t stop his panting, nor the soft whimpers of a name he had heard time and time again for months on end.

“Erwin-” He whispered it as if it was a secret most foul, his confessions of adoration hidden in that breathless name uttered just before shudders run through his body and sticky white coats his fingers. For a brief second, it was Erwin before him again, azure blue eyes wide, cheeks red and splattered with pale white. It was a sight he would gladly stare at for ages if the fates would allow him.

Yet, when the morning came and Erwin entered Levi’s dressing room to wake his colleague up, All remnants of Steak and last night's whispered affections were gone. The only evidence that remained of unrequited feelings, was the steady beat of two pining hearts which would continue to ache for another day longer.

#bottomerwinweek2017 #eruri #Actor au #steakandblowjobday #Siba's writing #ficlet

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tuck into a steak dinner with all the trimmings

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