#we had some inside joke a million years ago

[ihateornithologists]

when you, user ihateornithologists, open your dash and completely unexpectedly see a post from the user ornithologist 😦

[hyuuukais]

ੈ♡˳˚ ｡˚you are in love (1.7k)

→♡idol!bang chan x reader

→♡pov: u fall in love with bang chan

→♡warnings: a couple swears, food mention, a bit of description of panic

one look, dark room, meant just for you. time moved too fast, you play it back.

it felt like a million years ago, the first time you met. at an afterparty of sorts, still unsure why you were invited. ah, right, you weren't- a friend convinced you to be their plus one. you were so grateful for that now.

he approached you confidently, handing you a cold drink when you said you were getting too warm, leading you to a quiet area when it all got to be too much. his hands rubbing cooling circles into your back, soft words reassuring. inside you were freaking out because no way was this happening.

bang chan of stay kids was in here calming you down instead of talking to people equally as famous- you, who other than a fan account and private instragram, had barely any social media presence. in this moment he chose being with you over being with his members.

and that led to so much more than you could have ever expected.

small talk, he drives. coffee at midnight. the light reflects the chain on your neck. he says, "look up", and your shoulders brush.

you grew close quickly, finding you were a lot more similar than you thought. of course, you'd joked about being the chan between your friends, but that was based on what you as a fan got to see. now, the real chan; he was everything and more.

sneaking out of the dorms one chilly night, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, he takes you out to an open field outside of the city. when he parks, you get out and run around to the trunk to open it up and sit inside.

"wait for me!" he shouts, closing his door and chuckling. "you're so impatient."

"i wanna see the stars! they're so hard to see in the city 'cause of the light pollution." you gaze up, sky reflecting in your pupils. chan takes the edge of the blanket, wrapping the other half around him. your shoulders bump. "it's so beautiful."

he's thinking, not as beautiful as you.

he says, "look up, there's venus."

you can hear it in the silence, silence, you. you can feel it on the way home, way home, you. you can see it with the lights out, lights out-

everyone around you can see it; in the small touches and soft glances, in the homecooked meals and teasing, in your eyes and in his.

only you two stay oblivious to it, even when his laugh makes your heart beat faster, your cheeks redder. hearing it is music to your ears. seeing him smile is a prize, and you're the winner.

you are in love, true love.

the first time he almost kisses you, it leaves you thinking about it for days.

it was after a particularly amazing concert and you were backstage cheering the boys on. one perk of being best friends with the bang chan of stray kids? having tickets to every concert you wished to go to. he runs down the steps wiping his face with a towel someone hands him, spotting you a minute later, a huge smile breaking out on his face.

"god, did you see that? what am i saying- of course you did." he throws his arms around you. "uuuughh, that was the best show ever!"

"i love how passionate you are," you say, voice hoarse from singing along. "it's like your true self comes out up there. really amazing to watch."

"it's cause i knew you were back here the whole time."

"no it's not-"

"yes!" he pulls back from you. "well, maybe not the whole reason. you know, the kids too, and stay, but you're one of the reasons. do you know how much motivation you give me? so much."

you can't help the blush that spreads over your face, hiding it in his chest. his words mean a lot to you, more than you want to admit even to yourself. behind you, you can hear some of the boys teasing chan.

"let's go to the back," he pulls away completely, save for his hand in yours leading you to the tables of food. "but first, grab some food. we both need to eat."

each of you pile food onto a plate, slipping away to an empty dressing room. there are things everywhere, makeup, clothes; you sit on the empty couch by the door. chan joins you, leaning his head on your shoulder with a sigh. you turn your head, pressing your lips and nose into his hair. moments like these are precious to you, nothing crazy, just the two of you together.

chan sets his half empty plate down, and you follow his action. he then leans back mostly onto the couch with his neck resting on the arm. something impulsive jumps in you, crawling over his body.

surprised, he looks up at you, but you just lay down. a hand comes up to play with your hair, head resting right under his chin. his fingers come down slightly to outline your jaw, pausing at your ear to tuck your hair behind it. that hand lays entangled, the other lightly pushing your chin up to look at him. chan looks at you strangely, lips parted, face ever so slightly closer to yours.

what he wants to do is kiss you, but what he does instead is nearly knock you to the floor as the boys come into the room loudly laughing with each other.

one step, not much, but it said enough.

while the weather is cooling, but not too cold, you take a stroll together. it's just down the road and back, not risking straying too far from the building while chan is supposed to be working. you both took precautions to cover up, not wanting to run into anyone, wanting to enjoy another moment of peace together. however, that was not what happened.

"oh my god! oh my god! are you bang chan? i love stray kids!"

the grip chan has on your hand tightens, turning to face the girls coming up to him and blocking you with his body. they gush over chan, asking for autographs and photos. it takes them a while to notice you- to notice your hands.

"holy shit, look," the first girl notices. "is that your partner?" she jumps back and forth to address you guys. "ugh, i'm so jealous. i thought stay was your one true love... do you even know how lucky you are?"

a second girl starts, "i bet she's just using him-"

"hey!" chan speaks up without thinking, regaining his composure before continuing. "if they are my partner, that's not your concern. respectfully, leave us alone to finish our walk, thank you."

the girls protest, chan putting his arm around your shoulder and turning away from them. you didn't realize how fast your heart is beating or the way your palms started to sweat, eyes starting to sting. he brings you back inside, back up to the studio, and sits you down. you're frozen- you've never experienced anything like that during your whole friendship, up until now. carefully, chan helps you out of your layers of clothes, wrapping a blanket around you and bringing you into his arms.

"i'm so sorry."

finally, your voice finds you. "what? chan, no. don't be."

"you shouldn't have had to hear that-"

"i've heard worse probably," you look at him sadly, hands cupping his cheeks. "besides, i run a fan account, i'm no stranger to hate."

he's about to argue more, but you place a finger over his lips. they're soft, pink, plush. all he does is look at you and everything unwraps-

one night he wakes, strange look on his face.

on one of the many usually sleepless sleepovers you have, chan turns over in his bed to face you. by some miracle, you are asleep. he managed to rest a bit, but his mind is too focused on the body next to him. it wasn't unusual to share a bed; cuddling was no stranger. something about tonight is different though. maybe it was the way the moonlight peeks through, highlighting your features, or the way your chest rises and falls slowly, deeply, or maybe it's the way he realizes something.

something everyone already knew.

he is in love.

the thought alone makes his breath catch. of course he's in love! how could someone not fall in love with you? you, who is always so caring. you, who always knows what to say. you, who makes him feel so loved, so whole.

even though you look so peaceful, he can't wait any longer to confess-

you can hear it in the silence, silence, you-

"hey," he nudges you, you groan. "baby, i need to tell you something."

your eyes peel open, hand rubbing the sleep away. "what time is it?"

"four."

"fuck, chan."

"i know, but it can't wait."

you can feel it on the way home, way home, you-

this worries you into sitting up. "what's wrong?"

"nothing, nothing's wrong." he pushes himself up, leaning against the headboard. your arms touch in the dark. "in fact, everything is amazing."

"so i can go back to sleep-"

"no," he laughs and you smile at the sound. "listen."

you can see it with the lights out, lights out.

"baby... you are the light of my life. everything in my life has only gotten better since meeting you and, well-" he looks away for a moment. when he looks back, he puts a hand over yours gently. "i think- no, i know i've fallen in love with you." shock, that's what you feel. "don't feel pressured to say anything yet! i know it's a lot-"

you don't even register your body moving until you're on top of him, hands on his neck, face close. his breathing picks up and he thinks of that moment many moons ago, when he was going to kiss you.

there's nothing to interrupt him now.

you are in love, true love-

lips against yours, you understand fireworks. bodies mold into one, hands all over. yours are in his hair, one of his on your hip and the other on your neck, pulling you closer to him if that's possible. you only stop when you can no longer breathe.

"chan," he's all flushed, a wide smile slowly making it's way out. "i love you too, so much. so, so much."

and he leans in again.

you are in love.

nothing else compares to the feeling of being with him.

nothing can even compete.

-

notes ♡ happiest birthday to my baaaaaby @ashitshowforalot bc like tachi i cannot see u physically either but still wanted to gift u something. i really hope u enjoyed :3 i love you so so soooo much like so much you have no idea. have the best day mon amour <3 je t'aime beaucoup 💙🤎💗💙🤎💗💙🤎💗💙🤎💗💙🤎💗💙🤎💗

-> taglist ♡ @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143

[sunlightmurdock]

Ceasefire | 0.7 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: Bradley Bradshaw is in San Diego, summoned to Top Gun for the first time. Commander “Hyde” Simpson is his flight instructor, and she doesn’t have time for schoolboy crushes.

Warnings: ex-husband!beausimpson, divorce, age gap (rooster is somewhere between 26-28, reader is 38), power imbalance between instructor and student aviator, swearing, angst

…

Rooster stares at the shelves ahead of him, brows furrowed, confused about his options. He folds his arms over his chest. The thought crosses his mind to text Javy and Jake and ask them which one to get.

He has only been in this situation once before, with his ex-girlfriend. She had forgotten a birth control pill, he had forgotten to pull out. He took her to the pharmacy, but he hadn’t really been paying attention to what she got. That was like four years ago.

Whatever brand she got had worked. He considers maybe texting her. That’s a bad idea, he’s half sure that she has his number blocked anyway.

“That’s Mommy’s friend.” Taylor tells her father as she peers around the shelf from an aisle away. Beau looks up from the dozens of different allergy medications, unimpressed and annoyed that he’s there at almost midnight because his son’s eyes are swollen from pollen.

He glances down at his daughter and then back up at the young pilot in the family planning aisle.

“We met him at the grocery store today.” Taylor explains. She’s standing there in her cartoon-dog printed pyjamas and a coat with her stuffed rabbit tucked under one arm. Really it’s too warm for the coat, but her dad isn’t sure.

“That’s nice, honey.” Beau mumbles, trying to remember which brand of allergy medication you normally give Dylan. There’s usually some at his house. One kind of medicine makes him sick, another makes him sleepy and the other works well. He can’t remember which is which.

He refuses to text you to ask. Google helps him decide. He walks to the counter, buys the little box, and turns around to leave.

“Hi!”

Bradley flinches, almost dropping the paper bag in his hands as he’s met by your daughter smiling at him. He half-wants to tuck the bag behind his back, but there’s no reason to do that.

“Oh. Hi.” He swallows, forcing himself to smile. His entire body starts to go red, he can feel it happen. He takes a deep breath.

“You’re Hangman.”

“Rooster.” He corrects softly, cheeks burning red. She nods, then squints at him dubiously.

“Do you wake people up early?” She plants her hands on her hips and looks up at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. There must be some reason that people call him that.

Rooster lifts his head and looks around, realising that if she isn’t here with you, then your technically still-husband is somewhere near by.

“Taylor, honey - come - oh,” Beau sighs, pushing his fingers through his hair. Bradley hasn’t ever seen him out of uniform before, it’s strange. He freezes on the spot as Beau heads towards them. “Bradshaw.”

“Sir.” Bradley can feel sweat beading on the back of his neck as he stands before your husband and daughter. The bag feels like it’s burning a hole in his hand, like Beau can see right through the paper.

Even if he could see what was inside, he doesn’t know about Bradley’s relationship with you. There’s nothing to worry about, and yet, Bradley’s heart is going a million miles per hour.

The overhead fluorescents make Beau squint slightly, his eyesight isn’t what it used to be— those migraines are becoming more frequent, but he’ll see an optometrist when he’s damn well ready. It’s easy to mistake his unimpressed squint for a glare.

Bradley doesn’t want your husband to hate him. He wants you, to be a part of your life. Being a part of your life means being a part of your childrens’ lives. He doesn’t want that adjustment to be any harder than it needs to be.

“Should I be expecting you to call in sick on Monday?” Beau jokes, nodding towards the paper bag in Bradley’s hand. There’s a nervousness to the way that the young pilot smiles back at him. This time, Beau squints and it’s got nothing to do with the fact he should probably be wearing glasses.

“No, sir. Just — vitamins.” Bradley deadpans. He swallows and nods, sticking with his answer. Too late to change it now. Beau’s brows furrow slightly.

Rooster doesn’t want to be talking to him. Strange. He’s normally pretty friendly. Beau remembers where he is. Ah, that’s what it is — he’s buying condoms.

“Is my Mommy a good teacher?” Taylor interrupts, looking up at him with her hands on her hips. Great, now the conversation is on you. Rooster swallows and nods sheepishly.

“Alright, honey — Lieutenant Bradshaw’s got places he needs to be. Say goodbye.” Beau taps his daughter’s shoulder. Bradley almost sighs in relief. Taylor shrugs and gives him a small smile.

“See ya.” She declares loudly. He chuckles as they both step out of his way.

“Goodnight, sir.” Bradley breathes out, stepping past them and heading towards his car. He drives back to your place, cringing practically the entire way.

Then, he tells you, and you practically double over laughing.

“Well, I’m glad you think it’s funny.” He whines, dropping down onto the couch beside you, laying his head in your lap. Instead of tensing up or brushing him off, your fingers go right to work, massaging through his curls.

“You’re the one who forgot to pull out, it’s a fair punishment, I’d say.” You reply calmly, taking a sip from your beer and absentmindedly holding it out for him to have some as you turn your attention back to your movie.

Bradley smiles as he lifts his head to sip from the bottle. He has seen dirty dancing a million times, it was his mother’s favourite movie. She loved Patrick Swayze. He watches with you in silence for a while, letting you toy with his hair.

“Y’know, I can do the lift.” Bradley announces towards the end of the movie, right as Johnny is getting fired and driving away. You look down at him. He looks up at you from your lap and lifts his brows, waiting patiently for your reaction.

You scoff, taking the bottle back from him and drinking.

“No way. Not with me. You can practice on Taylor or something, she loves this movie.” You don’t even realise what you’ve said. He just laughs and turns his head, kissing your thigh tenderly and returning to the movie. You want him to meet the kids.

Bradley stays over that night. Again on Monday, again on Thursday and Friday, whilst the kids are with Beau. It’s nice. You’re growing used to having him around. He’s growing used to you letting him stay.

Saturday is Bernie’s wedding. You’re invited to the ceremony, Bradley and his friends are just invited to the reception. After keeping him up exceptionally late the night before, you do your best to be quiet as you get up and start getting ready.

He almost makes you jump as you open your eyes from doing eyeliner and find him standing in the doorway to the bathroom, watching you. He steps forwards with a smile, pressing his chest softly into your back, kissing your neck.

“Morning.” He mumbles softly into your skin. He rests his palms on the counter at either side of you, capturing you between his arms. He tenderly kisses along your throat, up onto your jaw.

Pulling back, he watches you smile at him through the mirror and then kisses your temple.

“You look beautiful.” He tells you, resting his chin against your shoulder. You smile and playfully push him back, shaking your head.

“I’m not even ready yet.”

“Can I stay until you are?” He asks, looking at you through the mirror. Those stupid puppy-dog eyes have their answer settled before he’s even done asking the question. You roll your eyes playfully.

“You can wait in my room, and I’ll show you the finished product.” You decide. He nods, lips quirking up into a real smile. He kisses your cheek, squeezes your ass and then leaves you to it, returning to your room to wait for you.

You fix your hair up off of your shoulders and finish your make up. It’s a simple updo that allows the dress to speak for itself. It’s a deep green colour, off the shoulder with a small slit on the thigh. Just in case your ex-husband decided to bring a date.

You step out into your room and Rooster drops his phone down onto the bed, giving you his full attention instantly. He’s quiet for a moment, just looking you over. Finally, he smirks and wolf whistles.

You laugh as you step forwards, he stands up and meets you halfway, wrapping his arms around you. He kisses your hair delicately, careful not to mess it up.

“You look incredible.” He says softly, running his hands down the sides of the dress. “When do you have to leave? — Do we have time to-“

“No,” You giggle, standing upright and kissing his lips tenderly. “But I might have some free time after the reception later if you wanted to head back here.”

Rooster nods his head eagerly. “Of course I do.”

The wedding is the same as most. Beau’s standing at the front, beside Hondo. Even with as long as you’ve both been friends with him, you can’t believe he picked Beau to be his best man.

Truthfully, you just spend the day shaking hands, catching up with old friends and waiting to fall back into bed with your boyfriend at the end of the night. Not boyfriend — just… Rooster. Whatever he is.

The day becomes night fairly quickly, and you’re impressed with how close you’re getting to being able to leave.

At the reception, you lose sight of Beau and lock eyes with Bradley. You shoot him a small wink as he passes by you. He smirks and continues to his table with Jake. You continue your conversation with a friend from flight school.

“Sorry to bother you, Commander Simpson, it’s just that, um… Admiral Simpson’s kind of…” Mickey Garcia is clearly trying to say this delicately, not too sure of how to explain that he and his front seater just had to peel your husband off of the bathroom floor.

“Drunk.” Payback explains, lowering his voice.

You swallow softly and give Barbara a polite smile. You gently excuse yourself and move to stand. You motion for them to go ahead, then follow.

Beau’s propped up against the wall outside of the men’s bathroom with Lieutenant Machado trying to apparently water board him. Beau shoves at the glass and it hits the tile they’re sitting on and shatters.

You pause. He hasn’t noticed you yet. He looks half asleep already. In almost two decades of knowing him, you’ve never seen him this low. It’s your fault. The thought is squashed as quickly as it crosses your mind, but it’s still there.

“I’ve got it from here, boys. Thank you.”

Beau looks up at you from the ground. A strand of dark hair has slipped from his always neat style and is draped in front of his eyes. You’ve always told him that he looks so handsome with his hair like this.

He’s always his prettiest when he has just woken up. Stubble on his jaw, dark hair all messy and falling into his face. Beautiful. He just never lets you admire it for long.

The young pilots all nod and wander off, chatting quietly, leaving you with your husband. You sigh softly as you lower yourself down onto the floor beside him.

Outside, Jake’s plan is to get hammered. He’s sharing these plans with his friends. Phoenix groans as the second round of tequila shots shows up. Rooster is the only one of them that really pays attention to Bernie’s first dance with his wife.

A conversation with a bridesmaid who had, admittedly, tried to get into his pants earlier had revealed that the band playing was actually fronted by Bernie’s niece. Their first song was a slowed down version of I say a little prayer — an inside joke between Hondo and his new bride — backed up with slow, deep electric guitar in the background.

Maybe Bradley’s just drunk and feeling sappy, but it is beautiful. Bernie’s wife looks so elegant out there, holding onto him, beaming. Javy’s talking about the bridesmaid that keeps winking at him — Bradley doesn’t have the energy to double check if she’s the same one that hit on him. He doesn’t care. He wants this.

He wants you, beaming at him like that, dancing to a song that’s an inside joke. Maybe something from dirty dancing, not something as mainstream as the final song.

He turns his head and watches as you walk back out of the building. Walking confidently, so beautiful in your dress. Beau draped against your side, stumbling. Rooster’s smile falters. You walk Beau to the bar and order him a big glass of water.

The two of you stand there for a couple of songs, you watching as the dance floor slowly becomes busier and busier. Him sipping on his water and hiccuping occasionally.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” Beau says quietly, his voice deep and gruff. He wants to touch you, smooth his fingers through your hair like he had in the beginning. The two of you had been so affectionate back then. He stares down at his glass. “I should’ve…”

He pauses and shakes his head. There are a thousand things he could finish that sentence with, because there are thousands of things that he just didn’t do.

Beau is devastated, it’s clear, but he’s not the only one mourning your marriage. You’ll always mourn the man he was, and what could have been. But you’re not going to stand there and be stuck in that grief. There’s so much more out there waiting for you.

Knowing that there’s no way he can possibly quantify all of the should’ve’s that there are, he just sighs softly and bows his head. He leans his shoulder against yours.

“Hey, it wasn’t all bad.” You soothe, resting your hand on his shoulder. He turns his head and his heart soars, the soft smile on your lips has always had that effect on him. He smiles and nods with you. It wasn’t. You nudge his elbow with yours. “Remember New Years’ Eve when Dylan was little?”

He chuckles. That had been a real team effort. Dylan had been born with a fear of missing out, he had wanted to be included in everything.

Every new year, the two of you had to change all of the clocks in the house and count down from ten with him before his bed time so that the two of you could hand him over to a sitter and still make it to your own events.

“I’m thinking about our wedding,” Beau admits. Your smile falters, eyes closing for a moment. He’s always going to bring it back to this. You open your mouth to shut him down. “Do you remember your grandmother falling asleep under those coats?”

You laugh, pressing a hand over your mouth. You had completely forgotten that.

“And then she hit on my brother when he was putting her in a taxi.” Beau remembers, laughing again.

Rooster lifts his glass to his lips and drinks. It’s not good for his mood, watching you over there, draped against his side and laughing. He trusts you — it’s not that he thinks you’d cheat on him. It’s just that the two of you have never called it exclusive and you’re still married to that guy. You’ve got children with him.

“Do you remember when we found out you were pregnant?” Beau breathes out, shaking his head. You hum softly and lean into him. The first time had been so scary. You were on a carrier, in the middle of the ocean, eight weeks along. He was your superior officer, you were both scared shitless.

How could you ever forget the feeling of being shut in a tiny storage closet with him, using a flashlight to examine whether or not that really was a second line?

Scared shitless, but with his arm draped around your shoulders and your home to go back to together — so excited. So happy. You’ve got plenty of happy memories with Beau.

Dating him had been a blast, those first few years of marriage had been a dream. Somewhere along the way, it had stopped being that. It’s too late to go back, but you won’t stop smiling at the thought of those memories.

“I miss you, baby.” Beau whispers just so that his voice won’t crack. He swallows softly as he turns his head to look at you. You sigh softly and lean your head against his shoulder.

“I’m not coming back, Beau.” You answer him gently, sliding your hand over the top of his and squeezing gently. Your gaze lingers on his hand. He finally stopped wearing his ring. He sniffs and then nods.

“I know.”

You turn and glance back over your shoulder, Rooster’s back is to you. Everyone at his table is chatting excitedly, laughing amongst each other. If you could see his face, you would know that he’s not.

He sits there, a couple of rum and coke’s deep, watching his girlfriend giggle away with her husband. Rooster’s usually an upbeat person, he’s fun to have around at parties. He has worked exceptionally hard to not let his past turn him into a bitter person. But he’s watching you now, and he’s bitter — it isn’t fair.

Watching you with him.

Beau had his chance with you, and he blew it. Rooster would never do the same. He knows that Beau could never make you as happy as he will.

“Alright, someone needs to go dance with Rooster because he’s bumming me out.” Jake slams the rest of his tequila soda and leans back in his chair, taking up almost twice as much space as he needs with his excessively stretched out limbs. His arm extends across the back of Bob’s chair.

Rooster looks up and rolls his eyes. He folds his arms over his chest, sitting back in the chair and huffing, “I said I’m fine.”

Hangman shoots Phoenix a serious look. Either she takes Rooster to go dance right now or Jake walks up to the open bar and starts slamming shots enough to make him puke. Last time that happened, it was on the rug in her apartment.

She has recently replaced that rug. It’s not happening again. She sighs softly and stands up from her seat.

“Come on, big guy,” She grabs Rooster’s hand and tugs. He sinks his weight further against the chair, making himself harder to move purposely. She grunts as she pulls at his arm, “Let’s go.”

Jake kicks Rooster’s chair to encourage movement, waving him off. Rooster huffs again, standing up and shooting a glare back towards his roommate. He lets Natasha lead him onto the dance floor, giving her a dull look as she wraps her arms around his middle and sways with him to the music.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or what?” Phoenix asks, frowning up at her best friend. Rooster shakes his head. He plans to ignore her question, and then he sees it. Your hand on top of Beau’s, the way he’s looking at you. Rooster looks down at Phoenix.

“I’ve been fucking Hyde since the start of summer.”

“I’ll always love you for what we had, and because of the kids,” You tell Beau gently. He turns his head, eyes searching over your features. The sincerity in your voice and your eyes carves pieces out of his already aching heart, and he lets it happen. “But I’m moving on. This is it. You get that, right?”

He stares back at you. You aren’t sure if he takes in what you said or not, but you choose to believe that he did.

The band switches onto something different and your eyes widen instantly. It takes him a few beats, almost until the lyrics begin, for him to realise. You turn your head towards the band. You don’t catch sight of Rooster on the dance floor.

He pulls Phoenix in against his chest in an attempt to quieten the ‘What?’ she had just screeched out.

“Did you do this?” You ask, brows scrunching.

Beau turns around to watch the band. They’re really playing it.

“Did you?”

He looks at you and shakes his head. He didn’t, this is just the happiest coincidence of his life. He takes a deep breath and extends his hand towards you. “One last dance, baby?”

“Beau…” You sigh, taking a step back from him. He’s never going to learn. You frown at him, shaking your head. He doesn’t withdraw his hand. Instead, he offers you a smile. It’s not happiness in his eyes, though.

“I’ll sign the papers on Monday,” He decides finally, voice quiet and serious. Your lips part, lost. He’s been holding up the divorce proceedings for months and now his mind has changed over a song? — “Just dance with me. Please.”

You glance down at his palm extended towards yours, and then take your time to look around the rest of the reception. Bernie’s wedding is nicer than yours was, it’s outside and lit up with a thousand different warm lights, creams and neutrals. You were young and stupid when you got married, but this is your song.

Beau had hated it when you had first played it for him. It was in the car when you were driving back from a date, you had told him that you wanted it to be your wedding song and he had scoffed. He’d cried when you had danced with him to this song, your first time in his arms as his wife.

As you’re looking around, you catch sight of Rooster dancing with Phoenix. He’s staring into her eyes and they’re talking softly. You slip your hand into Beau’s. One last time, you suppose it would be wrong not to give him at least that — and you do love this song.

“Are you insane? — Cyclone’s wife? — Our instructor? — What is the matter with you?” Phoenix whispers angrily. Bradley’s brows scrunch as he looks right past the top of her head and watches Beau take you into his arms.

Beau leads you onto the dance floor and pulls you into him, wrapping you in his arms like he had fifteen years ago. You settle into his arms just like you did back then. He exhales an entire summer’s worth of baited breath.

“They’re getting divorced.” Bradley rationalizes, glancing back down at Natasha. As much as Natasha loves all of her boys, she has always had a soft spot for Rooster. They’ve been there for each other through a lot.

Her best friend is a hopeless romantic. She has helped him through a good few broken hearts now. Some were his own fault, some weren’t. This will be. He’s being stupid and he knows it. She steps purposely forwards, digging her heel into his foot. “Ow!”

She glares at him, “Rooster, you can’t seriously think that this is going to end well for you.”

“I’m not asking for your advice, Nix — you don’t know what it’s like when I’m with her.” Rooster mumbles dejectedly, looking past his best friend to the girl of his dreams, dancing with another man.

It’s kind of a melancholy song. I look to you and I see nothing. If you had ever tried to tell that headstrong young girl, wild and in love, that she would be standing here now and begging him to let go — she’d never have believed you.

Beau’s fingers trail upwards along your spine, coming to graze over the nape of your neck. He always holds you like this, cradling you against him like you’re oh, so fragile. You lift your head and frown at him. He stops, looking down at you. Fifteen years of feelings don’t go away that easily.

Still, he swallows and moves his hand back to where it was. As he sways you to the music, you catch sight of Rooster staring. Your heart leaps up into your throat, lips quirking up into a soft smile. You’re pleased to see him, to catch his attention.

He looks especially handsome tonight, and he’s staring right at you. He doesn’t return your smile, instead looking down at Phoenix and muttering something angrily. Are they arguing?

He turns away from you, still swaying to the music. You watch as the two of them continue to bicker. Now that you can see her face, you can tell that she’s upset about something.

From what you’ve seen of them at work, they’re really close friends. Watching now, you wonder exactly how close they are.

Some kind of light to your darkness. Colours in your eyes with what’s not there. Strange you never knew.

He spins you away from him and brings you back in. You look up at him, drawn away from Rooster for a moment. As he tucks you back in against his body, there’s a faint smile on your lips. Really, it’s just hope. That the two of you can put this behind you and come together for the kids’ sake.

Beau’s standing here, under these lights, looking into the eyes of the woman who promised to love him forever.

The grinning girl who has called him a boring stick in the mud on their first date. The same girl who managed to keep calm through an eighteen hour labour, when Beau was out of his mind with worry. The person he sees in his children’s faces every day. The only person he’ll ever love.

Rooster still won’t look at you. He’s still bickering with you. You realise what this must look like, momentarily dropping Beau’s hands, standing still in the middle of your wedding song.

“Baby,” Beau’s hands find your hips, your brows draw together sharply as you pull back to look up at him. “Don’t hit me, but…”

You open your mouth to argue, freezing as he grabs your face in his hands and pulls you in, kissing you hard. Phoenix stops moving, her eyes on you. Proving her closest friend wrong doesn’t feel good. Not like this.

“They don’t look too divorced to me, Roos.” Phoenix says quietly. Bradley’s arms drop down to his sides as he turns to check what she’s looking at. Beau’s tongue down your throat.

The only thing going through your head is that all of your colleagues and friends are here, mutual friends — you can’t throw him off of you and embarrass him like that. You bite his lip, hard, he draws back.

Over his shoulder, you catch Rooster staring again. Fuck. Your lips part slightly. If pushing Beau off of you would have embarrassed him too much, running after your younger boyfriend would probably be too much too.

“Fuck this.” Bradley mutters, just loud enough for Phoenix to hear. She frowns slightly and reaches for his hand. She’s dealt with his broken heart before, she just hoped she wasn’t going to have to do it again.

“Bradley, wait…” She sighs. He shrugs her off and walks away without a word. You close your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath through your nose. Then, you turn your attention back to your soon to be ex-husband.

You lean in close, curling your fingers in his jacket, making out that you’re going to smooth it out.

Beau tenses as you bring yourself in closer to him. “Don’t you ever touch me again, you asshole.”

He swallows as you pull back and walk away. He’s still drunk enough to not notice that your favourite student had walked off ahead of you.

Bradley’s already getting into a car by the time you get outside, making you groan. He’s fucking gone, and you know that with what he just saw, there’s no way that he’s going back to your place.

It occurs to you as you’re standing on the steps that you aren’t sure where he lives. It’s somewhere near the beach and it’s a shared place with Jake and Javy. There’s no way you could ask one of those idiots, they’d tell everyone.

The idea strikes you. You turn around and walk back inside, looking around the tables hurriedly. You catch sight of Beau, tearfully talking to Hondo’s mother-in-law. Telling her his life story, no doubt.

Finally, your gaze lands on who you’re looking for. You exhale and hurry over.

“Floyd, you’re good at keeping secrets, right?”

Bob looks up at you with those sparkling baby blues, perpetually a deer in headlights when you’re speaking to him. He’s frozen, trying to compute for a moment why you’re speaking with him, and about secrets too. Finally, he gives you a slow nod.

“Great. So, I am about to ask you for some information, and you are going to forget that we ever spoke about this? - Clear?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Bob nods hesitantly.

“Okay, what’s Rooster’s address?”

His brows furrow slightly. He blinks a few times and purses his lips and then adjusts his glasses. You’ve never looked at him for this long before. You wonder if he’s always this fidgety or if it’s just because you’re speaking with him.

“Like… where he lives?” Bob asks slowly, raising his eyebrows at you. You can see him slowly piecing it together. Jake and Javy have been talking all summer about this mystery girl that Rooster’s been seeing. You watch him have his ‘surely not’ moment and sigh.

“Yes. Address.” You urge, passing Bob your phone with the notes app open. He takes it from you and clears his throat, beginning to type. Rooster and you. He should have guessed, he’s usually good at this kind of thing.

Music in your ears, whiskey in your bloodstream, your head is spinning and all that you can think about is those sad, brown eyes. How many years you spent with Beau, hurting and angry.

“Here you go.” Bob offers you a shy smile as he hands your phone back to you. His features scrunch slightly, letting you know that he’s just as aware of the tears in your eyes as you are. “Are you okay, Commander Simpson?”

You swallow and nod your head, exhaling through your nose.

“No. Thank you, Lieutenant.” You breathe out, pushing yourself up from the chair. You hesitate and quickly turn to face him again, “Um… about this...”

He smiles at you, lifting his fingers to his lips, zipping and making a twisting key motion. You soften, patting his shoulder gratefully.

…

@cherrycola27

@mak-32

@khaylin27

@stoncms

@shanimallina87

@cool-ultra-nerd

@angelmavmurdock

@gingerbreadandpaper

@mizzzpink

@whisperofsong

@throwinsauce

@perpetuelledaydreaming

@n3ssm0nique

@jostyriggslover96

@thedroneranger

@abaker74

@marantha

@puckleee

@ghxst-heart

@diamond-3

@shawnsblue

[as-frightened-as-you]

I started to write this post almost a month ago, but some bad stuff happened and I was… really not okay. But I'm getting better, kind of, so here are some (a bit angsty) night thoughts for you.

I share the fandom headcanon that Jason's father was not, you know, exactly the "father of the year" type. So, when Jason and Salim start to live together (because, as we all know, that's how the game ended, that's canon, right?), Jason sometimes becomes… overprotective of Zain.

He doesn't even realize that. It's just small things. Taking the blame for the glass that Zain accidentally broke. Trying to convince Salim that in Zain's age it's totally normal to come home late and a bit drunk, even if Salim is understanding and not actually angry. Stressing out when Salim and Zain argue, even if they both mean it as a joke. Stuff like that.

Jason doesn't realize that's the thing. Salim and Zain do.

"You know I love my son, right?" Salim asks one night.

"Yeah, I noticed,” Jason chuckles. “You've said that, like, a million times in the first hour after I met you."

"And you know I will never hurt him."

"Yeah, you'll probably hurt yourself first. Why?"

“You seem to… protect him from me.”

“What?"

Salim can see that Jason genuinely doesn't understand what it's all about. Salim tells him about all those small moments, about his obvious nervousness — and Jason is visibly embarrassed.

"Do you want to… talk about it?" Salim says.

"I'd rather not."

"Okay. And it is fine, you know. It is kind of cute."

"Fuck off," Jason grumbles, rolling his eyes.

Salim just smiles and changes the subject.

It's Jason who brings it up again in a couple of days.

"About… me being overprotective."

"Yes?"

"I wanted to make it clear… it's not about you being a bad dad or anything. It's just…"

There's a long pause as he is trying to find the words. Salim is waiting patiently.

"I had a fucked-up childhood, alright?" Jason says finally. "And my father… I mean, he meant well, I guess, but I do still have a couple of scars. And… well," it gets really hard for him to say that, "I guess, l myself wanted to be… protected. And, I guess, it'll stick with me for the rest of my fucking life."

He stares at his hands as if it's the most interesting thing in the world. Salim doesn't interrupt.

"And about Zain, it's… what's the clever word, projecting or something? I'm projecting this stuff on him, probably. I mean, I don't know shit about psychology, but that's a thing, right? It's just… not easy to stay chill when you two start arguing. Even if I know that it's really alright."

He sighs as if it was physically hard for him to say. He seems relieved that it is finally put into words.

"So, yeah. You're a great dad, and Zain is far better than I was at his age. And I'll try not to do that shit you told me about. Sorry."

It's Salim now who is trying to find the words. Jason never really mentioned his childhood; Salim did not expect this.

Salim could never understand how it is possible for a father not to love his own kid. Salim is not an ideal dad, of course; but it feels impossible for him to hurt Zain. Even to think about hurting him.

"I did not know about your father," he says as calmly as he can, even if something inside him is furious. "I will try not to raise my voice when you are around."

"No, that's… fine." Jason shrugs. "You don't have to. I mean, it's your family, your rules, you are both fine with that, and I'm just intruding."

"Jason."

"Yeah."

"You are a part of the family too. Have you not noticed?"

Jason mumbles something unintelligible and moves closer on the couch. Salim puts his hand around Jason's shoulders.

"I love you," he says. "And Zain thinks of you as the cool dad. Or, at least, the cool big brother."

"Yeah, that's all I lived for," Jason grumbles sarcastically.

He is smiling — he just can't help it.

It's all going to be okay.

[direwolfrules]

Another Mando Time Travel AU (I Don't Know What This Is This Started As A Totally Different AU We Don't Even Get To The Time Travel Till The End)

Tarre Vizsla's relatively peaceful afterlife is rudely disrupted by one Jaster Mereel. Now every time the Ka'ra meets, Jaster's always talking about his son.

It only gets worse after Galidraan, and honestly, Tarre can sympathize. He too would curse up a storm if his entire movement was slaughtered and his son sold into slavery. He actually did perform some of the more colorful acts of vengeance that Jaster describes, all those years ago when he was crude matter, and the Sith had kidnapped his padawan. It was part of what had made him leave the Order, once the Sith had been defeated. The shame of those moments of raw, unadulterated violence, the whispers in the halls that perhaps he was simply too Mandalorian...they had followed him since he was a babe in the creche, but towards the end they had grown in number and volume.

Then one day, Jaster starts cursing Jango's name. It honestly shocks Tarre enough that he breaks his most important rule: not engaging in conversation with Mand'alor the Ridiculously Loud. He's curious, sue him.

(Inside his head Tarre cannot help but chuckle, because his master had often said his curiosity would be the death of him. Now that Tarre was dead, would it be the life of him? He doesn't know. All he knows is his friend Fay would have groaned at that poor excuse for a joke.)

Turns out Jaster's son, his precious boy, his poor, brutalized child, has decided to help in a Sith plot that would see the Jedi destroyed, all for the low price of millions of enslaved sentients.

Tarre – who avoided looking at the affairs of the living after his descendants sacked Coruscant and stole the Darksaber from the Temple where he left it, turning his tool for peacekeeping into a weapon of war and giving the anti-Mando factions in the Senate all the ammunition they needed to unleash the Dral'Han – tunes back in. He's horrified by what he sees.

He can't help but watch as the Clone Wars wages through the galaxy, as Manda'yaim is subjugated by the Empire, as Mando'ade are so brainwashed by the Sith (and oh how it burns, that the ancient enemy managed to slip through their fingers all those years ago) and their propaganda that they build the very weapons the Empire turns on their fellow verde. His brief moment of jubilation at seeing the Mandalorian rebellion nearly succeed is crushed by the Night of a Thousand Tears.

It's horrible, and made even worse by the realization that out there in the darkest edges of the galaxy, hidden away like the spider-roaches they are, the Sith survive. They had devastated his people, both his peoples, and they had survived with plans to do it all over again.

The Ka'ra meets more frequently now than anytime in Tarre's memory since the Dral'Han. Or the first Dral'Han, he supposes.

Things had gone so wrong, the Manda was full of souls who had lived too-short lives and the Force was constantly screaming in pain. Mandalore, Geonosis, Alderaan, Serenno, all were devastated by an ill-tempered madman high on the pain he caused and his army of sycophants. That much needless, senseless death leaves lasting scars on the fabric of the galaxy.

"If we could go back and fix it all..." It's Mandalore the Binder who says it. Harswee's greatest native son had been silent since the burning of his homeworld's fields. Where once there had been herds of wooly-nerfs and banthas grazing without care, now there was only blackened ash. To hear him speak now in that rumbling, gravely drawl of his...they cannot help but all pay attention.

It's a simple statement, one that most of their number had been thinking, but never said aloud. What was the use in longing for the impossible?

But then, Tarre thinks, is it really so impossible?

Tarre's curiosity would be the death of him, his old master used to declare, before indulging his inquisitive padawan's bad habits. Sometimes, such indulgences led to Tarre and his dearest friend exploring long abandoned Temples with little to no supervision. And in one of those Temples, there had been holocron upon holocron dedicated to the study of Time and it's relation to the Force.

It was Fay who put together the fragmented ramblings of half-mad acolytes, the accounts of failed rituals. It was Fay – who the Force loved so deeply even then – who figured out how such a ritual would work. And it was Tarre who she chose to share this information with.

It was heretical, a piece of the Force that tread dangerously close to the Dark. Tarre had shoved that knowledge, that terrible burden his dearest friend had inflicted upon him, deep into the recesses of his mind, never to be accessed again. Until now.

To fix it all, to send back the consciousnesses and/or bodies of a few chosen champions...it's tempting. It tempts Tarre almost as much as the Dark did during that one horrid year, when his master had been killed, his riduur assassinated, his people ripping themselves apart—

He brings it before the Council of Kings. It's the only way to be sure he's not being guided by his own selfish desires. The Mandalores of the past are a vast group, filled with individuals as varied as the stars for which they are named.

The vote is a close run thing. For all the Mandalores who ascended to the position through their love for their people, there are just as many who rose to power through force of arms or hatred of the Jedi. Many of the latter view Tarre's very presence as an insult, as do some of the former.

Surprisingly, it's Mandalore the Indomitable who breaks the tie. The former Mand'alor had served his Sith master faithfully in life, had died to fulfill his oath, and millennia later the Sith repaid his sacrifice with the blood of millions of his own people. He detests the Jedi, he makes this point very clear, but he loves his people more. Let the jetii in their ranks perform his Force osik. Even if the very thought of such an act makes him feel sick to his stomach, the survival of their people and their Creed is more important.

With the vote decided, Tarre merely has to pick his Champions. The range of the ritual can only go so far back. The Force is infinite, but Tarre's presence within it is not. He had gone through great lengths during his early life to not seem too strong, too much of a threat, and his efforts had resulted in a rather limited way of thinking.

He brings in Jaster to help make the decision. As annoying as the man could be, as much as Tarre disagreed with him on matters of morality and honor, he was quite knowledgeable about the destination time period. Both of them made their careers not just on the strength of their arms, but in the force of their personalities. They know what they need to look for in potential champions: those who would follow the orders of the dead, those whose skill set would prove apt for their designated theaters of war, and those who could be manipulated through their honor and beliefs.

That last one, the manipulation, it leaves a sour taste in Tarre's mouth, but the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.

In their dreams that night, two young Mandalorians and a Jedi are offered a choice by Tarre. They all accept.

Simultaneously, at the very edges of the Manda a father speaks to his son for the first time in many years, and in the face of his buir's stern disappointment the son reverts back to that orphaned fourteen-year-old. He agrees to his orders, and dreads facing his greatest mistake.

And in the Force, the essence of what was once a young knight who sacrificed himself for his family is plucked away from the collectiveness he had been lost in, and offered a similar choice. He eagerly accepts.

[wonderlandleighleigh]

Miriam Weissman Bruce is a confident woman.

At this point in her life, with a successful career under her belt, as well as experience as a mother and grandmother, it would be silly for her to be timid.

Ella, however, is less sure of herself. While she's had a very successful album come out in the last year, she's still only sixteen. She follows her grandmother quickly as she walks quickly through the hall of Chilton, the older woman's heels clicking against the floors beneath her.

"This place is fancy," Ella comments.

Her grandmother waves an unbothered hand. "All these ritzy schools are the same. They all have stuffy, goyische headmasters, and they all want the same thing: booster funds."

Ella giggles a little as she looks around. "Great place for a music video."

"Uh-uh, young lady," Midge scolds. "You are supposed to be focusing on your studies, and on being a kid. Once you graduate high school, you can dive back into the music. But for now, you've got an education to get, and friends to make, and trouble to get into. And not the kind of trouble you find in the industry. Kid trouble."

"Yes, Softa. Sorry, Softa," Ella mutters, looking chastened.

Midge sighs and stops walking, turning to her and cupping her face. "You are so fucking young. You have so much time. You don't have to do everything all at once."

The girl nods and looks sheepish, and gets kissed on the head for her trouble, her grandmother pushing blonde curls from her face.

Midge smiles at her and then looks around. "Where the fuck's the office?" she ponders as she takes Ella's hand and starts walking again.

"Mrs. Maisel!"

"Weissman-Bruce," Midge corrects, whirling around to face a woman she assumes is a secretary of some sort. "I'm not on stage. It's Mrs. Weissman-Bruce."

It's the secretary's turn to look chastened. "Of...of course, Mrs. Weissman-Bruce. If you'd follow me..."

Midge nods, and keeps hold of Ella's hand as they follow the other woman. She leads the into an outer office and smiles at them. "If you'll just wait here a moment."

"Sure," Midge grins, not bothering to sit on the leather couch. "Tell Headmaster Charleston he needs more signs."

The secretary laughs nervously before disappearing behind a heavy wooden door. She's back a moment later, holding said door open. "Right this way."

Midge gestures for Ella to go first, and she does, stepping inside, looking around at everything.

"Ah. Mrs. Weissman-Bruce. Miss Bruce," an older man says as he gets to his feet. "It's very nice to meet you both."

"Hi," Ella responds, shaking his hand.

"I was under the assumption that Ella's mother would be joining us as well," Charleston comments.

"She had a work emergency," Midge explains as they shake hands. "Consider me the official, sanctioned stand-in."

"Well, I suppose better you than your husband," he jokes.

Midge snorts. "Please. You'd be lucky to have Lenny here instead of me, he's a way bigger pushover."

"She isn't wrong," Ella comments. "Pop-Pop is very amiable."

"And I will eat you alive," Midge promises with a smirk.

"Well, before you do, may I introduce Ella's student guide for the day," the headmaster chuckles nervously. He gestures to a slight brunette girl sitting in a chair off to the side. "Rory Gilmore, this is -"

"Oh, we know Rory already," Midge assures him. She turns to Ella and straightens out her tie. "Go with Rory, Sweetie. Softa needs to tell Headmaster Charleston what's what."

Ella nods and Rory gets to her feet, the two girls stepping out of the office together.

"That is a side of Midge I don't think I've ever seen," Rory comments.

"Oh, yeah, she saves it for these kinds of situations," Ella assures her, before taking a breath. "So...hi."

"Hi. Long time no see," Rory jokes.

"Yes, dinner at the diner last night was a million years ago," Ella laughs softly. "I'm guessing this place is a little bit of a piranha tank."

"A little," Rory confirms. "You get used to it. Or you have a nervous breakdown and change schools."

"Oh, a challenge," Ella grins. "Lead on."

Rory smiles and leads her out of the office. "We'll pick up your schedule first, and then I'll show you around."

"Just point me towards the music department," Ella orders.

"It's one of our stops," Rory promises. "But you have to see the other parts of the school."

"Those are the boring parts," the blonde complains.

"I know, but you do have to go to your other classes," Rory laughs. "You can't just hide in a practice room all day."

"Oh, ye of little faith," Ella marvels.

"Schedule."

"Fine."

[machihunnicutt]

Ahh, I don't think I've ever prompted you for anything, which is a crime!! A long long time ago you wrote punnihawk, and idk if it's still your bag, so if it's not or if you're not taking prompts anymore, feel free to ignore this :) But if it is and you are, I'd love to see 'cuddles to trap the other' with them.

HELLO! yes! feels like a million years ago, my first mash fic :')

19. cuddles to trap the other

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a sensational dancer?” Hawkeye said. 

Peg was leaning on him a little, the side of her face pressed just below the collar of his crew neck. She was already dressed for going out, apart from her feet, which were without their customary heels. He’d adjusted his posture to account for the height disparity: shoulders hunched, knees slightly bent, palms at her shoulder and waist. 

Dancing with Beej required different adjustments. Hawk had to be more cautious with his feet. BJ was prone to getting distracted and treading on them. It was easier to maintain eye contact, though, since they were nearly the same height. And when Beej was feeling confident, sometimes he led. 

“I think you told me, the other day. Though maybe you said terrific, not sensational,” Peg said.

He’d begged her for a dance. Peg and Beej were going to one of the hospital’s frequent fundraising galas. It was an excuse to dress up, get a little tipsy, and talk to people—all things Hawkeye enjoyed, when he was in the right mood. 

Unfortunately he’d just gotten off a double shift, after an extraordinarily hectic week, and was more or less dead on his feet. He was exhausted in that slap happy, clingy, sore to be missing out way. Peg took pity on him.

Hawkeye could smell her perfume: light, floral, her special occasion scent, in the little blue bottle on her dresser. He and Beej had picked it out together. 

Visits to the perfume counter always gave Beej headaches. He’d persevere—eyes closed, bridge of his nose pinched, hint of a smile on his lips—while Hawk held up testers. 

“You know, we’re all going to smell like this,” Hawkeye had said, fingers grazing the inside of BJ’s wrist. 

Their shoulders brushed. It was raining outside. Inside, it smelled like damp hair, like Peg’s lavender shampoo, in the big bottle, to share. 

BJ opened his eyes. “Then we ought to pick something that complements your aftershave,” he said.

“You move like a dream,” Hawkeye said, shifting his weight, leaning into her as much as she was leaning into him.

Peg was stronger than she looked. She’d held him upright a time or two. 

She laughed. Hawkeye loved her laugh. When she really got going, she got the hiccups. The first time it had happened, Hawk had been bowled over with affection. They’d been out, all three of them, finishing their drinks outside a café. He and Beej had a spectacular comedy routine going. He couldn’t remember the jokes now. He’d been a little drunk, maybe, and in good company, which made everything funny.

When she laughed, some of her white wine came out her nose. Hawk passed her his handkerchief. Beej rubbed her back, at the space between her shoulder blades. He met Hawkeye’s eyes, across the cluttered table. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his long legs. 

“Don’t get big heads,” Peg said, after drinking deeply from her water glass, and then Hawk’s (leaving lipstick on the rim). 

The record they had on lapsed into staticky silence and Peg drew back.

“A good dream, I hope,” she said, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress.

BJ came into the room, holding up two ties. “I can’t decide,” he said. He frowned at Hawk. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“The purple one,” Hawkeye said, as Peg ushered him toward the mattress. 

“Erin’s sleeping over at Angie’s. I gave her the number at the club just in case, so no need to listen for the phone. Just get some sleep,” Peg said.

She pulled back the covers and kissed his forehead. 

“Don’t step on her feet, Beej,” Hawkeye said.

BJ was flipping up his collar and tying his purple tie. He looked nice in his well tailored suit, with the cufflinks Hawk had bought him for his birthday. 

He raised his eyebrows. “I’ll try my absolute hardest,” he said. 

Peg brushed some lint off his lapel.

“I know you will. We should call the cab. I hate showing up late to these things,” she said.

Hawkeye watched the two of them, lingering by the door. They’d wanted to skip the gala and stay in, with him, but he’d talked them into going. It seemed an awful shame to keep the Hunnicutts from a party.

“We’ll duck out early, Hawk,” BJ said.

Hawkeye opened his arms wide. 

“Kiss me goodbye, at least,” he said.

They didn’t need to be asked twice. They lay down on either side of him and Hawk was briefly distracted by the mingling of their warmth and scents and limbs. BJ kissed him and then Peg kissed him (gentler, to avoid smudging her lipstick).

“On second thought, I can get dressed and come with you,” Hawkeye said, eyes half-lidded. “I’m not as tired as I seem. I promise.”

BJ pressed a kiss to his hair. “Nice try,” he said.

Hawkeye rolled onto his side and tucked his face to Beej’s chest, breathing deeply. He was right. Beej smelled like Peg’s perfume.

 Her hands were at Hawk’s waist. She tucked her chin over his shoulder. 

“Well, I’ve trapped you here now,” Hawkeye said.

“Or we’ve trapped you, darling,” Peg said, in that dreamy, soothing tone she used when she read Erin bedtime stories. 

“We’ll be home before you know it,” BJ said.

[calmwaterstarot]

Take him OFF THAT DAMN PEDESTAL. Do some of you even realize how much you idolize a fellow human being? That's so wild to me. Let that sink in for a few seconds. Just because someone has their face plastered everywhere and making millions when they can find work doesn't mean they deserve to be worshipped like a god or goddess. They're anything but, and he's no exception.///

I don’t have him on a pedestal, but I be damned if I blindly believe a tumblr blog based on hearsay.

Post the receipts. Text messages that could be bs. Stories of him and a harem of women that again could be bs…..this has been going around for year, nothing new.

Let me guess you believe the ballon outside the house story or the story of his alleged biracial daughter too, huh?

I’m so sick and tired of people always jumping to oh you must kiss his ass if you don’t believe the shit ton of negative rumors about him, his image is so clean so he must be a piece of shit.

He’s done coke, he’s gotten kicked out of Hollywood parties, that’s fact, receipts are out there.

But Unless you actually saw him with your own eyes being vile and evil, miss me with the text and friend of a friend and I heard this and that and bs pics crap.

Post it, show it because it’s just bs just like those who believe any and every story about him that’s good. You’re just on the opposite end of the spectrum.

I could say he met my bff and then ghosted her too 😂

I don't have to post jack shit because I don't owe you or anything else anything. Believe what you want to believe. I mean, that girl who posted a VIDEO recently of the conversation he had with her on IG from several years ago still had his cult following saying it was fake. I could post screenshots, but y'all still wouldn't believe me and continue to make excuses for him.

And no, I don't believe the balloon* outside of his house story or the biracial daughter story. But go off with your bullshit.

I'm so sick and tired of people like you putting him on a pedestal and then when people call him out on his bullshit, y'all try to flip the script with yOu'Re LyiNg. That's still putting him on a pedestal. You're protecting him. Think about that for a sec. Why would I come on here and make shit up? I have nothing to gain by doing that. How did I know he had two houses in California when the rest of y'all didn't? Why did the anon hate increase when @sidewayspeace444 and I started trolling inside jokes that only Chris, Scott, Alba, and Justin would get? Why do we continually get hits from Portugal, Massachusetts, and Los Angeles?

So, miss me with your putting-him-on-a-pedestal bullshit, anon. That's exactly what you're doing...

...unless you're him, of course, since you're showing up as someone from Massachusetts on the IP tracker I have for this blog.

[winderlylandchime]

I cannot believe that everyone can tell that my brother is dumb enough to actually think about making Randy his therapist. Even my neighbor when I told her went ‘oh he would totally be his client if he lived close by.’

Honestly I still can’t believe he is retiring. I’m very happy for him that he is doing something with his life that he believes will bring him joy and stability but fuck does it hurt a little. I think the trouble I’m having is because I’ve seen him on the show/interviews and now podcast so it’s very strange to imagine him being all serious and professional. Hopefully this doesn’t mean we will never see him again. But i hope he has a successful career and that he enjoys it while also helping people.

I feel like Gale probably has to do some normal-ish type of jobs but I feel like he would maybe go for theatre and either teach it or something to do with that. I mean i don’t even know what part of the country the guy lives in so I think that probably has a lot of say in what he’s doing with his career. I did tell my brother that IF anybody were to give us a proof of life for him it will probably be Robert for birthday posts.. Hopefully Robert gets my message from the universe and delivers us some proof of life.

And as for my brothers collection of purses: it’s not a very big collection, he only uses it for “special occasions” like two weeks ago when he went to a mechanic for his car or a doctor check up but i think he has like 5. Two of them i know are small sized black ones (enough only for a wallet/keys/phone) because he made me buy him one for his bday. And I know one of them is a screaming yellow color because ‘sometimes you need a pop of color’. But the reason he actually started using them was because 12-15ish years ago, his friends and him were going to Pride and none of them decided on an outfit that had pockets. So one day he was at a mall and he found a purse with a rainbow on it (i teased him that it was pride merch but he swears it was a sign from the universe) so he bought it for Pride so that him and his friends could put their wallets/keys inside. I wish i was joking when I say that the hetero himbos who went to pride just to accompany me, treated this accessory as if he was the biggest genius they ever met. My brother actually said to my mom ‘yooo why didn’t you tell me about this luxury? There’s so much space for stuff in here! I can even put snacks in here.’

As for the qaf dvds, one of our cousins actually does have them but he forgot about that and tbh I think she is waiting to tell him because she knows he would try to steal them. But I wouldn’t put it past him to actually succeed in finding them on ebay or something, he is stubborn enough.

The funny thing is, dear sweet anon, Randy would kind of be the perfect therapist for your brother since all his angst right now is about QAF and one of the few people with actual answers is Randy.

My biggest fear about Randy as a therapist is less than people have seen him naked and having very realistic simulated sex on Showtime and more that on the podcast he gave his opinions about pop culture and he's such a snob! I don't want my therapist to think less of me because I have brain rot for a TV show or I like a musical that's not (gasp!) Sondheim... and he totally gives that vibe on the pod.

I do think Gale lives in LA. Or at least that's what I last heard. Which means there's a million ways to make money that's entertainment industry adjacent.

I love that your brother and his hetero himbos accompanied you to Pride and brought a communal purse and then marveled at it. Without for a moment considering why their outfits didn't have pockets and why most women's clothing doesn't have pockets. And why purses are necessary at all. (TBH I carry a big mom bag because I have anxiety and what if I need... water, advil, a bandaid, a hairbrush, a protein bar, a change of clothes, etc while I'm out?)

I think the DVDs are definitely available on eBay! They might just cost an arm and a leg. Just typing that I feel like I'm dooming your brother to an accident involving his arm and/or leg. Tell him to be careful!

[alovelessautumn]

The moon and the fool

The moon shines brighter tonight. Some people say that she has a pink undertone, so pale that it seems like she’s blushing. I wonder what she thinks, who or what made her blush. Like the fool I am, I sit at the rock next to the lake. I can feel the moss gently covering my back as I lay on it. It’s just us again: the moon and I, the confident and the clown. Crickets and fireflies make the scenario feel like something Shakespeare would write about. I take a moment to appreciate the intimacy of the moment, the quietness filling my ears and the cold stone maintaining me glued to reality.

-Have you ever felt trapped in a birdcage due to love?- she asks me.

-Are you in love with someone that won’t let you shine? A cruel human being who enjoys hunting pheasants and caging birds? In that case I haven’t felt trapped.

-It’s not quite that, I closed the door this time. It feels like something uncontrollable, of inhumane behavior is inside of my veins. Not necessarily bad, just unpredictable.

-Oh honey, you’ve always liked having control about which sides the others see of you. Perhaps you should write about it, or tell your beloved- I suggest while I play with a flower on my hands.

-I can’t do so or she would hate me. It’s not like we could even be together either - she says as she sniffles on a white handkerchief and starts crying. Meteors cross the sky at the same time, illuminating the night.

-There there, don’t cry - I say as I throw my handkerchief to the sky making it spin, a trick that I learned many years ago - Who is the lucky one to have the moon itself falling for them?

-She’s the brightest star I’ve seen, but fate decided to part our ways. It seems like such a cruel joke falling for the sun. Her light is just so bright, so warm. Everytime I stare at her I can’t help but to fall a little deeper ,and I’m afraid I might just turn red for the rest of eternity for the mere sin of staring at her. Meanwhile, she doesn’t seem to notice me, I’m just there. If she knew how I feel. If she knew, she would hate me. Look at what happened to Florence, she doesn’t shine anymore! Oh my goodness- she murmurs, as the sky starts to turn violet- I need to go!

The sun rises on the horizon and the moon runs away, hiding away. She’s still too scared even after 4,53 million years. 

Another night unveiled, another night alone, another night falling into madness. I finish making the flower ring crafting. I wonder what would be of me if you were next to me. I wonder what would have happened if I had the courage to speak up and to say : I love you.

So I shout it. I love you. I love you my sunshine. I proceed to laugh, then I crumble, and then tears water my cheeks.

It's not like you can hear me, you're six feet underground.

[robotstrategy]

Recalled • Part 5 • 34 - Roland and Nero

Previous • Series Masterlist • Part 5 Masterlist • Next

The air is cool today as Roland sits at a bus stop waiting for the city bus to come pick him up. Never in a million years would he have expected that him running away at 17 would lead to him going to a flight academy at 19 years old. Hearing footsteps, he shifts his attention to his right, seeing Nero approaching. She’s got a box in her hand as well as a backpack and suitcase.

“Hi, worm.” She teases.

“Hola pendeja.” He snaps back.

“Choosing violence today?”

“Verbal violence really, and I think you started it.”

“I did, didn't I?” She ducks herself into the shelter of the bus stop. Sitting down with him, she gives him the box in her hand.

“What’s this?”

“A present from the StaHo.” She air quotes.

Roland opens the box, inside is a white mask with a blue square in the middle, above the square is the word ‘MODIFIED’.

He looks at Nero. “This is a joke right?”

“No, you’ll have to wear that if you ever go outside of the United States.”

“So I’ll be branded basically?”

“Hey!” Nero pulls out her own mask and puts it on, the word ‘HOSTILE’ is printed on it. “Mine looks worse.” 

Roland leans away from her, as soon as she puts the mask on it’s like her feelings become completely unreadable. Roland doesn’t like it when he doesn’t understand the feelings of those around him, it makes the situation harder to control.

“Why?” The asks. 

“Starkey, that’s why.” She removes the mask. “I’ve already been almost pepper sprayed for just existing, I can’t imagine what bad luck these masks will bring,” She looks back over at Roland’s mask. “At least in your case, no one will be threatened by you. Modified Recalls are considered the most docile.”

“What if I want to be a little threatening?”

“You don’t, outside of the U.S. some people will still consider you unwindable, if they can come up with your old paperwork they’ll make any excuse to get their hands on you.”

“And what about you?”

“I’m like recycled paper, you can’t exactly recycle it again.”

“Huh.”

The bus soon arrives and they both get on, after finding two seats midway through the bus they sit down, clutching onto their luggage.

“I noticed something earlier, you spoke to me in Spanish,” Nero remarks.

“Yeah, turns out my mom was speaking with her mother-in-law, I guess half of my family is Spanish,” Roland explains.

“You guess?”

“I know.”

“So, by proxy, you’re half…..?”

“Spaniard, I think I used to speak Spanish, but Mr. Taggart got rid of that in the same way he always does.”

Nero takes a moment to speak. “Belt?”

“Belt, I’m guessing, the fact that I couldn’t even remember half of my family was Spanish means that the correction was made a long time ago. He could’ve used something else at the time.”

Nero gives a sympathetic look. “Probably just an older belt.”

“Yeah, you’re right, who am I kidding.”

It takes about thirty minutes to get to the campus, turns out the academy was built into an on-site co-op building for a community college. ‘Makes sense.’ Roland thinks he had wondered why a three-month-long program was offering residency.

“I suppose we go into that building.” Nero points to a building, on the side of it in big text is ‘South Campus’. 

They both head up to the building and get checked in, it looks like Nero will be on the third floor while Roland will be on the second.

“I guess no late-night chatting,” Nero comments.

“I feel like you’d find an unconventional way to get into my dorm,” Roland replies. 

“I probably would.”

Arriving in his dorm a mousy boy is exiting the room to the left, he looks up at Roland and pauses.

“What?” Roland asks. 

The boy scowls. “I bet someone like you gets a lot of women.”

“No I… I don’t.” 

“Sure you don’t, someone as attractive as you is bound to get females.”

“Uhh…”

The boy goes back into his room, there’s a waft of pungent wind that exits as he slams the door. Trying not to vomit, Roland goes into the room to the right, he looks around, there’s a lifted mattress, a desk, and a clothing rack. Roland sets his stuff down and starts unpacking it, he stares at an outlet on the bare wall across from his bed, he wonders if the residential administration will let him plug in a wallflower.

A few girls are chatting in the hallway as she climbs to the third floor. They look at her funny as she passes through the girls-only section. Almost going all the way down the hall she stops at a room just before the second stairwell, at least she knows which one to use next time she comes to her dorm. Opening the door she’s met with a guy listening to music while downing a protein shake. He looks at her, and he’s amazed.

“Holy Hell! Nice muscles!” 

Nero is taken aback. “Oh, thank you.”

“How’d you get all like that? I don’t mean this to sound rude, but you are a girl, right?”

Nero squints her eyes a little, analyzing the guy. Not everyone takes lightly knowing that Nero doesn’t consider herself one person, she supposes not even the people who seemed like they were in support of her took lightly to that knowledge. She decides that, for now, she is just a woman made of many parts. 

“I was just made like this, it’s just about maintaining it.” She declares.

“Well, colour me impressed.”

Nero rolls her luggage to the empty room when the guy talks again. 

“I was just about to go down to the gym, would you like to join me?”

Nero pauses for a moment, she does have her workout clothes on her, and her water bottle; she looks back up at the guy. 

“You got fuel?”

The guy smiles and puts his finger up, he goes to search the mini pantry, pulling out a protein bar. “This good enough?”

“Yeah, I could get in a few reps with that.”

She and the guy, who she now knows as Carter, sit on a bench doing curls. Nero looks around the gym, there doesn’t seem to be many people.

“That’s Judy over there, she’s in her second year at college. I like being her hype man every so often.” Carter points to a bigger woman doing squats.

“Then there’s Trevor, he’s been here for a week in advance for the pilot Academy, I think you two would be in the same class.” He points to the shirtless guy using the butterfly machine. “I think he's a showoff, but I won’t tell him, if he leaves it’ll make it more awkward between Judy and I.”

“Not many people use this facility huh?”

“Oh, no people use it a lot on the weekdays, it’s just empty ‘cause it’s a Sunday.”

“Ah, good, this place isn’t going to waste.”

Crickets are chirping outside when Roland gets a notification from Nero.

How’s your day been? She had texted. 

Terrible I’ve been roomed with an Incel, he seems to think I’m a fuckboy.

Oh no :(

I’m going to ask if I can plug in a wallflower. His room reeks so badly!

Nasty!!!

I know! How are u

I’ve got a gym rat for a roommate, he’s cool tho

Nice!

Roland steps over and flops onto his bed, he feels blessed that the pungent air hasn’t made its way into his room yet. If he can’t get something to plug in, he’ll want to change rooms as soon as possible.

[exvangelicalrage]

christian Music Sucks

5/10/23

I have this very specific, strange set of songs in my head. It's kinda like mental shrapnel that never got excised, despite having long ago left christianity.

I was listening to music with my in-laws the other day, and the song "American Pie" came on the playlist. But the thing is, when I was a kid, I learned a christian parody version of it. So while a normal person's brain is going, "A long long time ago, I can still remember / How that music used to make me smile..." my brain instead offers, "A long, long time ago, a lowly couple made a journey / to a place called... bethlehem." 

Yes. They made it into a christmas song. 

The chorus goes, "And my, my can you feel it inside / there's no other like a brother who would lay down his life / he was sent by the father just to be crucified / so that you and I can never die / you and I can never dieeee..." 

"Mambo #5" became "The Farmer Song" (Jump up outta bed at 4:02 / because a hard workin' farmer's got a lot to do / no time for a meal cuz the clock is tickin' / when you gotta milk the cows and you gotta feed the chickens—and yes it had a christian theme about faith and how god provides); "Stayin' Alive" became "Stayin' Awake," which was about being tired and trusting god to take care of your needs; "We Are the Champions" became "We Serve The Champion"; "We Didn't Start the Fire" became "We Didn't Say Your Town Right" (which was a fundraising song)—and so far I've only mentioned songs done by John and Denny who were the hosts of The Morning Show for Family Life Network in upstate New York. 

Apologetix was the other big parody band from the 2000s that I remember. Among others, they ruined "Absolutely" by 9 Days by turning it into "Story of A Squirrel":

This is the story of a squirrel Who God preserved when He drowned the whole world And while things looked so dark and Noah's ark was absolutely flooded Yet she's fine

You can look them up if you need a good laugh (or a good cry). 

The thing is, I never know when one of these songs is going to blindside me. I'll just be walking through a store, and suddenly my brain will be singing "this is the story of a squirrel" and it'll get stuck in my head for hours. Mental shrapnel, like I said. 

I find find that these moments trigger a very special kind of rage. 

Because here's the thing: most christian music sucks. And the originals of many of these songs are absolute historical pieces of art. American Pie? Bohemian Rhapsody? Sounds of Silence? As a reasonably musically talented kid, these songs were incredible to 11-year-old me, who only really had hymns and Michael W Smith for comparison. They were some of the best songs I'd ever heard—catchy, interesting, complex. 

And christians ruined them. 

I get it too. I get why they did it. I like Word Crimes by Weird Al a million times better than whatever the original is. And it makes sense christians might want actually good music but with lyrics that didn't offend them. I get it. Like, I remember how shocked I was when I heard the original lyrics to Mambo #5 lol. So yeah. I see the logic.

It still sucks.

It's a bit of joke now between me and my spouse. A song will come on a playlist or in a TV show, and suddenly I'll be singing some weird-ass lyrics that don't make any sense, and J will be rolling his eyes and teasing me. I usually laugh too.

But sometimes, instead, I'm struck with this deep, abiding sadness. That something as simple as culturally relevant music was ripped away from me because it was "evil." J can sing along to music with his parents, grandparents, aunts & uncles, cousins & friends, and coworkers, no matter their age—simply because he was allowed to listen to the radio. It's a shared experience, a bridge, a way to establish connection between generations, between strangers, between friends. 

And yeah, of course I've now learned most of the originals. I can sing along too. But it's not the same. It's not a memory I have from childhood, of listening to the radio or having my parents introduce me to their favorite musicians or recalling the song played at my senior prom.

Everyone else isn't just sharing music. They're sharing memories. They're sharing nostalgia. They're sharing emotion. 

And I'm over here stuck with "this is the story of a squirrel..." 

[commander-krios]

"I'll find you. Okay? I promise you, whatever happens, I’ll find you, and we'll be together, and everything will be good again. "

Here ya go! Something with my Mass Effect kiddos. @thefrostyshepard also requested this. I also used the prompt: “I promised to love you forever, and that is a promise I intend to keep.” that was sent by @hunnybadgerv, Enjoy!

~~~~

Joker didn’t have to hear the armored boots on the walkway behind him to know that Aurora Shepard was on deck. Efficiency was never much of an issue for the Normandy SR-2, but once the commanding officer was walking through the CIC, it increased to levels that were unheard of. If this was any other day, he might’ve made a joke about her ass, or a million other things that would bring a smile to her face, but today was the end of the line.

The mass relay was waiting to connect them to their final destination: Earth. 

The war would end there, one way or another.

He hadn’t needed coffee that morning knowing what was coming. Adrenaline was enough of a buzz. Tapping his fingers on the armrests of his chair, he stared at the interface that hovered in front of him, knowing that the countdown was on. Soon, the relay would catch them in its pull and they would end up in Sol, fighting to save more than humanity.

When she finally began the trek to where he was waiting in the pilot’s seat, he turned to face her, a smile curling his lips despite the solemn mood of the ship. She always had that power over his mood. Ever since they’d become friends nearly fifteen years ago.

“Hey, Commander. Ready to kick some Reaper ass?”

Aurora Shepard tried to fight off the grin that his quip caused and he let out a little internal whoop! at it. I still got it.

“Is our course set?” She asked instead. The lighting of the cockpit showed the dark circles under her eyes and Joker briefly wished they had more time, even if it was just to lay in her bed in each other’s arms, but time was up.

“Yes, ma’am. Give me the go ahead and we can start the approach.”

Aurora nodded, but didn’t give the order. Her eyes were on the interface, the glow of the relay reflected on her face. He didn’t know what she was thinking, but he could probably guess. 

When she did speak, it was to ask him a question that he wasn’t expecting. “How many times have we said goodbye, Jeff?”

“We’ve never said goodbye, Rori. We know we’re coming back from this.” His voice dropped to a whisper, but the only person who would be able to hear them was EDI and the AI was not about to broadcast this moment to the crew. “We always have.”

“Not always.” When she met his eyes, her smile had faltered.

“Yeah, well, you’re standing here so I call that a win.”

This time, she laughed. It wasn’t her usual full bellied laugh, but it was enough to ease some of the tightness in his chest. “When did you become an optimist?”

“I hang out with you too much. That’s the problem. Bad influence and all that.” 

Her expression softened and his heart stuttered in response. Aurora Shepard could undo him with those blue eyes alone. “I wouldn’t be able to do this without you, Jeff.”

“Because another pilot wouldn’t have killed you?”

“Joker.”

It was a warning, he knew, but he couldn’t still help feel a small amount of guilt for what happened over Alchera. It wasn’t his fault, he knew that, but the woman he loved had lost her life because he hadn’t been good enough. He flew the fastest ship in the galaxy and he still couldn’t save her. 

She’d kick my ass if she knew I was thinking about this again.

They didn’t have much time before the relay jump so he wasn’t going to waste it on self-deprecating jokes and things that hadn’t mattered in a long time. He stood, as much as he could after having sat in his pilot’s chair for hours. With a few steps, he crossed the space between them. Entwining her fingers between his own, he lifted her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist, the only place where she hadn’t armored up yet. “I told you I was going to love you forever.  I’m not backing out on that promise. You better not either.”

Shepard bit her lip, trying to keep from laughing. “Forget optimism. When the hell did you become such a romantic?”

“Again, your fault.” With a sigh, he finally let the weight of what was coming fall on him. “Whatever happens out there, Aurora, I will find you. I will bring you home, no matter what. I promise.”

Shepard shifted closer, her fingers brushing the beard that really needed shaving now that he thought about it. “I know you will, Jeff. I trust no one else with my life.”

“Uh, you sure that’s a good-”

She cut him off with her lips on his, refusing to hear anymore of the humor that he used to cover his insecurities. He didn’t mind, much, not when Shepard… his best friend… was kissing him out of everyone else. 

If their fate was to die on Earth, then at least he’d go to his death as a man who had tasted love.

[babyharleezy]

Hometown Love Chapter 4

previous

(jack harlow x reader)

bloo's notes: i really had to go back and re read chapter 1-3 cuz i forgot what happened lmao. i also forgot what chapter we were on. ENJOY babes!! tag list: @watercolorskyy, @severewobblerlightdragon

as you woke up you checked your phone and hopped on twitter. you were scrolling and saw a tweet of jack promoting a new song. you decided to like the tweet and give him a follow because why not. you then decided to to scroll through his account. suddenly your eyes fell onto a tweet he posted 7 hours ago. "Nothing like a woman in some scrubs 😍😍😍😍 thank you for your service" you read. you rolled your eyes at it, yet you couldn't help but smile. you quickly realized your smile and instantly dropped it. you decided to go to a small breakfast place that you seen on yelp. quickly getting ready and walking out of your apartment. as you were locking the door, the man, the myth, the legend, jack harlow was making his way out of his door. amazing you sarcastically thought to yourself

"mornin neighbor" he said with a smile. "morning" you grumbled out. "where you headed" he asked. "breakfast" you said; being short with him. "yo same, im actually heading to my favorite spot" he told you; turns out he was going to the same place as you. amazing you sarcastically thought to yourself once more. "you want me to give you a ride y/n" he asked sweetly. and of course your dumbass complied. you hopped into his jeep and drove fifteen minutes to the spot. within those fifteen minutes you two had got to talking, he changed a lot. he definitely matured and that made it hard for you because you felt yourself falling back in love with him. on the other hand, jack had never fell out of love with you; honestly, you may have never fell out of love with him either.

the entire fifteen minutes felt like the old days. you and jack hadn't talked to each other in years but no one would ever notice because of how fast you two clicked with each other. as you pulled into the breakfast spot you two were cracking jokes and laughing at each others stupidity. you almost forgot about the tweet.

you two made your way inside and sat at a booth. both of you skimming the menu and you spoke up which broke his attention off of the menu in front of him. "i saw your tweet jack" you said, loud enough for only him to hear. "oh yeah, you like the new song?" he responded enthusiastically, he was playing dumb. "no, stupid, not that tweet. the one about scrubs" you giggled. "oohhh that tweet, yeah well i just had to show my appreciation for the nurses out there" he said slyly. "oh so it didn't have anything to do with me at all?" you questioned. "oh no, it had everything to do with you baby" jack replied in a low, raspy voice. oh i am so fucked. you thought to yourself. thank god the waiter came just in time and asked for your orders. the food came quick and jack scarfed his food down. he was finished by the time you took your fourth bite. you looked at him with concern. "jack, you shouldn't eat that fast, it isn't good for you. you'll be more bloated and prone to having more gas. and it can fuck up your metabolism" you told him, your inner nurse shining through. it's something you always had told him in the past. "yeah yeah. i've heard you tell me that a million times" he said with a quiet laugh. "and clearly you don't listen" you said with an attitude. you two continued talking and you finished your food. the waiter came by with the check and you grabbed it while taking your card out. "no, this is on me. i know you can pay for your own meals with your nurse money but lemme treat you. for old times sake" jack said sternly. after a lot of back and forth, you finally let him pay. "thank you, but just know that next time i'm paying" you told him.

next time.

"oh so there's gonna be more of these?" jack asked you with a smirk and you just rolled your eyes at him for the umpteenth time.

you secretly hoped there would be more days like these. you missed him. but you knew you two should just be friends. nothing more and nothing less. just friends. no matter how much you two still wanted each other, you both knew that you didn't wanna hurt each other again.

you two made your way back home and made your way up to the elevator. "i missed you y/n" jack said quietly. he was getting shy for some reason. "i missed you too jack" you said with a soft tone. oh no this was not going as planned you thought to yourself. your heart was beating so fast. and what you didn't know was that his was beating just as fast as yours, if not faster. the eye contact the both of you held held so much tension. he wondered if you wanted him just as much as he did. the both of you were interrupted with the ding of the elevator. both of you stepping out of the elevator and making yall's way to your doors.

"thank you for breakfast jack, i had a great time" you said to him; you could feel your cheeks burning up. "yeah i had a great time too y/n, thank you for letting me take you" he said before he made his way into his apartment. both of you feeling giddy. it felt just like your first date, back in high school.

~

the day went on and you both did what you needed to do. by the time it was 11 pm, jack had made his way back home from the studio. you heard his door shut, indicating that he had just came home. you hoped he wasn't working himself too much. although you weren't his partner anymore, you still worried about his well being. suddenly you heard a notification pop up on your phone. a text message.

"you up"

after all these years you were shocked that he still had your number and that he didn't change his own number. you also had forgotten that you still had his number.

"yeah, you wanna come over"

you mentally cussed at yourself. no way you were giving into him.

not even a minute later, you heard knocking on your door.

next

[xanadontit]

Wedding Recap: Let’s DO This!

I think I’m going to have to break this up not only for my own sanity but out of respect for everyone’s time and eyeballs. After much consideration, the best way to approach this - I hope because, um, that’s how I’m going to do it - is an overview of the events/vibe and then an airing of grievances by person. Happy to provide context and background where necessary. And I fully realize that, like, 90% of the Horror Factor is rooted in “guess you had to be there” but please trust that I had a low-grade headache the entire weekend and we can’t attribute all of that to heat, right? 

Please feel free to ask clarifying questions or for more detail should a point be of interest to you. And as always, this is my very biased and kinda bitchy opinion.

The wedding was held at a venue in Sonora (where no one lives thus making it wildly inconvenient for all and hot AND a little smoky), and their whole thing is that you book it for Friday-Sunday and are served breakfast each day AND there are cabins/cottages onsite where family and the wedding party can stay. E and I resigned ourselves to bunking with MIL and SIL months ago for the convenience. In retrospect I would have emptied my savings account to stay at an Airbnb. 

If I had to describe the vibe of the weekend it was probably “What do you mean you don’t have this figured out - what have you been doing for over a year?” As an event professional I get that there’s always a bit of chaos and things take time to come together. Watching the sausage get made and all that. But I’ve been hearing about the painstaking attention to detail and to-do lists and foolishly assumed there was some method to the madness. Or that the paid wedding coordinator knew how to manage jack shit. I had offered my assistance multiple times over multiple months only to be told everything was coming together and under control. Was it? WAS IT? I mean I guess it all did in the end but if the shortest distance between two points is a straight line these jokers took every curve they could.

Rehearsal/Rehearsal Dinner: We were given the wrong time for the rehearsal and showed up with minutes to spare (partially the fault of hellacious traffic - it should not have been a 4-hour drive!) but I was still ready on time. Rehearsal went off without issue other than Extreme Sweat because the chapel doesn’t have air conditioning. The rehearsal dinner was a pizza food truck; the proprietor was either given bad intel or didn’t listen but he parked his truck at the top of a hill and had to do a 357-point turn to get to where dinner was to be served. Dinner was late, obviously, as we all sat in the outside heat and tried to hydrate. E and I exchanged roughly a million wide-eyed looks and couldn’t stop murmuring “remember how our rehearsal dinner was in an air conditioned restaurant and served on time?” to each other. 

Niece and MP had their wedding party introduce themselves to everyone, which was a lovely gesture in theory but because this dipshit can’t stfu he felt the need to interrupt every person and interject with either an inside joke or insult. He eventually gave a nice toast to his parents and family and then turned toward us and said “thanks for showing up.” I almost threw my chair at him. Niece shrugged. He admitted he had not even started writing his vows. Eventually we headed off to bed and didn’t offer to help with clean up. Why? We’re just the people who show up.

Day of Shenanigans: Woke up to SIL’s phone going off. Niece had not arranged for any of the communion accoutrements to be provided or set up and was freaking out. For some reason she assumed the wedding coordinator had it all covered. I am once again asking: what were you DOING all this time, if not triple-checking supposedly vital elements of your wedding ceremony? Items are procured as various people jump into action and my Catholic ass asks “wait where are they getting communion wafers on such short notice?” To paraphrase Nancy Donovan “you never can tell with these non-denominational goof around weddings.” 

Breakfast in a hot room (the secondary theme was “Physical discomfort”) and then I was told to report to the Bridal Cottage for hair and makeup. The place was a wreck since seven (!) women had slept in there the night before and apparently they are all slobs. Still, I opted to hide out there because 1) they had booze 2) there was air conditioning, just like our cabin and 3) MIL wasn’t there and I needed a break from her incessant talking about bullshit. I made myself useful by helping steam dresses and holding my baby nephew who is absolute perfection. 

Eventually I went back to our cabin to change into my dress for photos. As I was fighting the epic battle of Ass v Spanx my phone started blowing up. Niece 2 - the maid of honor - asked if I knew where the rings were. No? Why would I ever know that or have them? Absolute clown shoes. But apparently they were eventually found because rings were exchanged. We had some time to kill between photos and the ceremony and I opted to sit in the hot chapel rather than deal with MIL. Really put the hairspray and makeup setting to the test and give my nerves a break.

Ceremony: Started near on time I think? E looked very nice walking MIL down the aisle and MP almost looked normal. Her vows were lovely and she must see a different side of him because words like “kindness” and “sense of humor” were used and uh OK sure. His vows were also really nice so not sure who wrote them. The officiant is a friend/former employer of MP who is churchy so the ceremony referenced a lot about MP being the spiritual leader of the household. I tried not to gag. 

Quite a few people had to stand outside thanks to the groom inviting too many people. Although I noticed an empty pew and thought “Hmm, the coordinator should invite people to come inside if they want” but it was probably cooler outside, tbh. 

Photos took what felt like forever, but that’s where MP thanked me and E specifically for everything we’ve done and all our support. Weird! 

Cocktail Hour and Reception: We got no food (see: standing around for photos) but I hit the chardonnay and got a good look at Niece’s other side of the family. Her redneck uncle wore a dirty baseball cap and had his (empty) gun holster on his belt. Stay classy, bro. 

This is where the question of “What have you been DOING for a year?” is answered and that answer is signs. So many signs. And thank goodness because if there wasn’t a “Mr. and Mrs.” sign every two feet would I know this is a wedding? If there’s no “Welcome” sign on the cake table would I feel welcomed? Lucky for me I’ll never need to wonder for there were signs, signs, everywhere a sign blockin’ out the scenery, breakin’ my mind. No seriously my brain couldn’t process the sheer volume of decor. Someone take away that girl’s Cricut ASAP. The concept of “less is more” is generally lost on E’s family so I wasn’t surprised per se; if there’s an empty spot on a table you can rest assured that someone will fill it, most likely with a sign. Burlap might be involved too.

Speaking of: the wine bottle/beer growler/clear bottle with twinkle lights centerpieces were... there. Niece made them. I cannot imagine they were cheaper than small floral arrangements with some votives but that also doesn’t “capture their personalities” which is apparently “wine and beer.”

The food was buffet and from a barbecue place and fine, I guess? Beans, mac and cheese, chicken, very dry beef of some sort from what I could tell, a green salad with a choice of ranch or Italian, and a dinner roll. One of Niece’s friends said it was the best wedding food she’s ever had. God bless these small town kids!

We were seated with some of Niece’s other family, Redneck Uncle and....drumroll... Grifter Sister’s daughter and her boyfriend/father of her four children. Grifter was unable to make it since her other daughter had a baby that week and she was sticking around to help (the unvaccinated father has Covid). GS’s daughter is very soft-spoken and seems nice enough. I think she has a lot of thoughts about meeting the family and likes everyone well enough but is less pushy? Anyway, we were impressed they made the trek considering they have only met us and the bride once. 

After dinner was over, MIL went to the cabin to change into a t-shirt and shorts. I am not joking. She also missed all of the toasts because she was outside doing lord knows what. Last night she complained about how upset she was and I rolled my eyes at E. Maybe don’t LEAVE the reception? 

First dance, father-daughter dance, mother-son dance, AND a mother-daughter dance which was very sweet. SIL and Niece invited her stepmom to join partway through and hopefully the videographer didn’t catch MIL having a fit about that.

I stood in for a breastfeeding Niece 2 for the bouquet toss and didn’t try hard lol. Before the garter toss, I saw a guy pick up a guitar and looked at E to say “Anyway here’s Wonderwall” and next thing I knew MP had a microphone and was singing to Niece who was sitting in a chair on the dance floor. I would have dropped dead if that were me but hey, whatever, man. 

Niece got an idea for the cake cutting (when we take away her Cricut can we cut off her access to Pinterest?) called “Who Takes the Cake?” There are two jars, one each for the bride and groom are guests are encouraged to put cash in one (or both?). Whoever has the least amount of money gets cake smashed in their face. Here is where I point out that cake-smashing at a wedding is 1) tacky 2) an early predictor of divorce 3) fucking tacky. Yes I’m a buzzkill. This was her alternative to a money dance, which I also find tacky but understand has cultural significance to some. But these are just white people. Their culture is ranch dressing. And cake smashing. E and I declined to participate at all, and I heard no cake was smashed but she smeared some frosting on him. Sure. 

I saw a few people drinking cocktails and inquired at the bar and was told that only the groom or groomsmen - not even the bride or bridesmaids! - would have to order for me, since they were the only ones authorized to do so. MP ordered me a shot and I’m not sure what stung more: the tequila or the raging inequity and entitlement. SIL said something about how they felt it was important to invest their money in the venue (which was pretty but my kingdom for consistent air conditioning) and alcohol. Oh you mean the alcohol he won’t share? Because the stuff available to us plebes wasn’t that impressive. 

Niece later told me that they had a lot of no-shows. Like, several of “his” tables were only at 50% capacity. But per MP, every person he invited was incredibly important and would be upset if they didn’t receive an invitation. 

After Party, If You Want to Call It That: SIL, her date (more on him later), E, and I joined the wedding party and some friends to have a drink. Things were fine at first but we excused ourselves after MP kept making incredibly crude comments (”jokes”) about his sex life with Niece and what he was going to do to her that night. And look: I’m the Sex Positive Aunt and I’m not of the “OMG no, my precious baby niece simply can’t be having sex” mindset. But I don’t want to hear about THAT guy being the other party. SIL and E both said thing to the effect of “hey, that might be a bit much” and he continued so again, we excused ourselves and didn’t help with any clean up. Felt good. Felt right. 

The Morning After: I woke up thinking I’d watch some F1 racing in bed until brunch was served and then we’d be on our way. SIL said something to the effect of “OK, see you up at the reception site when you’re done with your coffee!” I’m sorry, what? Free accommodations are never free, I guess, and it was expected we’d participate in clean up. And you know what? In theory I am cool with that but again: chaos reigns. “Where do these leftovers/these flowers/whatever go?” No one knows! How? Why? Is this hell? It might be! 

To my genuine surprise, MIL did not ask if we were coming back to the house to visit (which would be roughly 2 hours out of our way but when has our convenience or comfort stopped her?). 

The drive home was uneventful. We’d ride in silence for a bit and then one of us would pipe up with a “Hey, what was up with...?” type of comment and we’d discuss, sigh, and sit in silence again for a bit. Sweet, merciful silence aside from music. Bliss.

If you read all of this you are literally braver than any US Marine. Individual grievance-airing and shit-talking and gossip to come. I’m sure you’re excited.

[aceghosts]

Oh, The Reckoning Begins Chapter 4

Series Summary: Five years ago, Junior Deputy Blue Murphy disappeared with Joseph Seed at the final standoff, only to be found a year later in Dutch's bunker. Now, five years later from that final standoff, Blue Murphy and Hope County have moved on with their lives. However, new sinister forces threaten Blue's life, and they will have to rely on the man who started this all to survive: Joseph Seed.

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Like last chapter, this chapter contains mentions of canon deaths in FC5. This chapter also deals with a lot of trauma and survivor's guilt. Let me know if I need to tag for anything else.

Words: 2,549 words.

Ships: Just Kim/Nick this chapter, but this is a Junior Deputy/Joseph Seed Fic.

AO3

Blue pulls into the driveway out front of the Rye home, peace and happiness washing over them. Since the war in Hope County, Nick, Kim, and Carmina had become family to Blue. Besides the fact that Blue was Carmina’s godparent, the Ryes joined Blue in Colorado for Christmas one year when Kim and Nick couldn’t visit their respective families. Their mom, stepdad, Eric, Nadia, and Christina had treated the Ryes like one of their own, spoiling Carmina, and making Kim and Nick feel welcome. As Blue parks the truck, Boomer stands, front paws on the car door as his ears point forward. His tail wags a million miles an hour, eagerly barking and whining. Whenever visiting the Ryes, Boomer became a young dog again, mostly due to Carmina’s influence. The door to the Rye home opens, Carmina rushing out the door with Nick close behind. Blue leans over, opening the door for Boomer. He leaps from the truck, a blur of black, grey, and white as he sprints to meet Carmina. The pair meet halfway, Boomer licking Carmina happily as she laughs in joy, crying, “BOOMER!”

They follow, getting out and closing the doors of the truck. As Blue makes their way over, they hold out their arms, teasing Carmina, “What am I? Chopped Liver?”

“BLUE!” Carmina runs from Boomer towards Blue, her arms outstretched. Blue picks her up, spinning Carmina around as she laughs. They hug her before letting her down to go play with Boomer some more.

Nick joins them, laughing as Carmina and Boomer roughhouse each other. “Guess we know who’s her favorite,’ He jokes, before pulling Blue into a hug, ‘It’s good to see you, Blue.”

Blue eagerly returns the hug; Nick always gives the best goddamn hugs. Kim once compared him to a teddy bear, and Blue couldn’t help but agree that Nick was a big ol’ teddy bear. “Good to see you too, Nick,’ They let go of him, ‘I really need the weekly dinner with the Rye family. I even brought some beer for you and Kim.”

“That bad, huh?” Nick responds as he accompanies Blue to their truck.

They nod, getting the pack of beers and handing it to Nick. Lowering their voice, Blue says, “You, Kim, and I need to talk after dinner. You two need to hear this.” Nick grimaces, looking anxious at their words as he takes the beer. Changing the subject, Blue asks, How’s the plane?”

“Good! I’ve been teaching Carmina some stuff!” Nick brightens up, always smiling whenever talking about his plane. “She’s a real natural, Blue. When Carmina is old enough, I’m going to have her flying in no time.”

“Are you four planning to come in? Or are you going to stand out there all night?” Kim asks, poking her head out the door.

Nick and Blue both laugh. “Sorry, Kim,’ Blue calls, ‘we got distracted.”

Carmina runs over to them both, holding out her arms for Blue to pick her up. “Piggyback ride?” She asks, giving Blue those big brown, puppy dog eyes.

Kneeling to her level, Blue lets Carmina get on their back for a piggyback ride. “You spoil her.” Nick teases as Blue stands up with Carmina on their back.

“And you don’t?”

He laughs. “Let’s get inside before we make Kim come back out for a second time.”

--

Blue closes Goodnight Moon, their throat tight as they look over at Carmina. In her dimly lit room, Carmina lays in bed with Boomer, snugly wrapped in a purple comforter. Her right arm lays slung over Boomer’s back, holding onto him gently. Boomer is next to her on the left, eyes closed as he snores softly. “Keep an eye on her for me, Boomer,” They command softly, placing Goodnight Moon on top of the end table. Getting up from the rocking chair quietly, Blue walks to the doorway of Carmina’s room. As they reach the doorway, Blue looks back at Carmina, remembering the first time they held her.

--

“Do you want to hold your goddaughter?”

Blue’s eyes widen in surprise as they look at Kim, Carmina in her arms. It wouldn’t be the first time Blue held a baby. Back when Christina, their other goddaughter, was born, Blue held her plenty of times. Something about holding Carmina just seemed different. In the war with Eden’s Gate, Blue’s hands had become weapons of violence. Did their hands remember how to be gentle anymore? Did their hands remember how to be kind?  “Are you sure?” Their voice is hesitant, so unlike Blue most of the time.

Kim nods, smiling warmly at Blue. “Just make sure you support her head.”

She gently hands Carmina to Blue, helping them get into position. Blue’s heart squeezes tightly as they gaze down at their goddaughter. She coos at Blue, her warm brown eyes staring up at them inquisitively. “Hey Carmina,” Blue greets quietly, swallowing the lump in their throat. Carmina giggles, smiling brightly as she continues to stare. Tears burn in their throat, their love for Carmina overwhelming Blue. Joseph Seed and his goddamn army would never lay a single fucking finger on Carmina’s head; Blue would goddamn make sure of that. Joseph Seed would never have the chance to hurt Carmina, not in the way he’s hurt so many others. “I promise Carmina; I won’t let anyone hurt you, especially Eden’s Gate.”

--

They shake their head, guilt and duty overwhelming them. If no one stopped New Eden’s Gate, what would stop them from returning to Hope County? What would stop them from murdering Nick and Kim, and taking Carmina? What would stop them from brainwashing Carmina into being a loyal follower of Eden’s Gate, of Joseph Seed? Pushing those grim thoughts from their head, Blue turns the light off, plunging the room into darkness. Eden’s Gate, old or new, would never lay a hand on Carmina. Not as long as Blue was still alive.

--

Making their way back downstairs, Blue enters the living room, finding that Kim and Nick have already put dinner away. “You didn’t have to clean up without me; I could have helped.”

Nick shakes his head. “You’ve already done enough, especially getting Carmina to bed. You’re the only person she goes to sleep easy for.” He pats the seat on the couch next to him. “Come sit.”

“It’s cuz she looks up to Blue. You want anything to drink?” Kim asks, fetching a glass out of the cabinet.

“Just a glass of water if you don’t mind.” Carmina should look up to someone else, anyone else but Blue. She should strive to be the opposite of Blue, someone who wasn’t a disaster, a mess of guilt, wrath, and so many other dark emotions. Carmina’s life should be better than Blue’s life. At least, Kim and Nick were already making sure of that. Carmina’s childhood seemed like something out of a fairytale compared to Blue’s own turbulent upbringing.

“So,’ Kim asks, as she pours Blue a glass of water, ‘I heard you had a rough day.”

“Yeah,’ They rub the back of their neck uncomfortably, walking towards the couch, ‘It involved Eden’s Gate.”

Kim and Nick freeze, eyes wide as they stare at Blue in shock. Eden’s Gate caused the Rye family a lot of heartaches, especially John Seed. Between trying to steal their business and spreading rumors about Carmina’s paternity, John had effectively made Nick and Kim some of the cult’s worst enemies, and Blue’s best allies. “I think we’re going to need to be a little drunk for this conversation,’ Kim’s voice shakes faintly, concern heavy in her voice, ‘You sure you don’t want to break your no drinking rule for this?”

Blue shakes their head, taking a seat next to Nick on the couch. “No thanks, but I appreciate the offer.”

“Okay.” She enters the living room, handing Blue their glass of water before returning to the kitchen. A minute later, Kim returns with two beers, handing one to Nick before sitting down next to Blue on their right side. “Let’s hear it, Blue. What about Eden’s Gate?”

They start at the beginning, explaining how Special Agent Hawthorne showed up at the Ranger Station. They tell Kim and Nick about his case, the victims of New Eden’s Gate, and his need for Blue’s assistance. Blue follows it with Ethel and Peter showing up the next day, about their podcast and how Grace saved the day. When they finish, Nick is the first to speak. “Nuh-uh. That ain’t happening, Blue.” He shakes his head fiercely, intense anger radiating off of him.

“Which? The podcast or Joseph Seed?”

“Both,” Kim and Nick answer in unison.

Placing their glass of water on the table, Blue holds their hand up in surrender. “Oh, trust me. There isn’t a chance in hell that I’m doing that podcast. Ethel and Peter will get nothing out of me,’ Blue lowers their hands, looking between Nick and Kim, ‘You might want to be ready in case those two show up here. Ethel and Peter don’t really take no for an answer.”

“We’re ready if they come.” They follow Kim’s gaze to the front door, noting the wooden bat beside the door.

“They’re not gonna harass our family. Kim and I know where the guns are. If Ethel and Peter wanna cause trouble, they’ll get trouble,” Nick adds, before taking a sip of beer. An uneasy silence falls over the three as New Eden’s Gate's presence looms large over them.

“You’re thinking about going to see him,” Kim states softly, putting her beer down, ‘I noticed you only said that you wouldn’t do the podcast.”

“Yeah, I think I kind of have to see him.”

Nick looks at Blue like they’ve just sprouted another head. “You don’t have to do anything! Let the FBI deal with Joseph fucking Seed.”

“You don’t understand,’ Blue exclaims, fingers digging into the fabric of their tan cargo pants, ‘The FBI said that Joseph would help their investigation if he talks with me. Don’t I owe it to the families of the victims to get Joseph to help? If I don’t do that, doesn’t that make me just as responsible?”

Kim and Nick stare in horror at Blue, mouths open. Kim recovers first, taking Blue’s right hand in her own hands. Her voice is gentle and firm. “Blue, it isn’t your responsibility if people die. The only ones bearing any responsibility will be New Eden’s Gate and Joseph Seed.”

Nick nods in agreement, placing his beer down. He takes Blue’s other hand, his tone as gentle as possible. “Kim’s right, Blue. It ain’t your responsibility.”

“Thanks for the help, but isn’t it my fault? What if Joseph has valuable information that could save someone? And if I had spoken to him, that person would be alive?”

“You can’t spend your life thinking about the what ifs, Blue,’ Kim pauses, choosing her next words carefully, ‘Blue, I know you think you failed Hope County five years ago, but you didn’t fail any of us. If anything, you saved Hope County. Nick and I? We have our home; We have Carmina, because of you. We all owe you so much. Please listen to us when we say you don’t owe to anyone to see him.” She squeezes Blue’s hand gently, a motion of comfort.

“Listen to Kim, Blue. She always has the best advice,” Nick replies, having Kim’s back. In some ways, Blue feels like they did fail Hope County five years ago. They should have been able to arrest Joseph without all hell breaking loose. They should have been able to save Eli, Dutch, Virgil, Marshal Burke, and so many others. Hell, Blue should have been able to save John, Jacob, and Faith. Instead, they played the part that Joseph had set before them, and so many people paid the needless price with their lives.

“I don’t know…”

Nick releases their hand, standing up and placing his hands on his hips. “Can’t you see that you’ve done enough for everyone, Blue? All of Hope County thinks you’re a goddamn hero! You saved our lives! You gave us back our homes!”

Kim releases their hand, standing up as well. “I know you feel guilty about some of the people you couldn’t save, but no one would think less of you for not speaking to Joseph. You don’t have to face him for us. You don’t have to set yourself on fire for everyone.”

Blue sighs, knowing they were fighting a losing battle. “Can’t promise anything,’ They get up from the couch, throwing their arms around Kim’s and Nick’s shoulders, ‘But I’ll keep what you said in mind. I’m really lucky to have great friends like you two.”

Nick and Kim wrap their arms around Blue, affection overwhelming Blue. “We would do anything for one of our own,” Kim states.

“You’re a Rye, Blue. We’ll always look out for you.”

--

Blue helps Boomer up into the truck, scratching behind his ear as soon as he is settled in his seat. Boomer yawns, Blue smiling at him. Probably eager for bed just like Blue was. They close the truck door, looking over their shoulder towards the Rye home. Kim and Nick stand on the porch, watching Blue as they get into the truck. Kim has her arm around Nick’s waist, resting her head on his right shoulder as his right arm is slung around her shoulders. They both wave to Blue and Boomer from the porch, smiles on their faces. Blue’s heart squeezes painfully, guilt rising in their chest. What if the cult comes for the Ryes? What if they hurt Carmina? What if they leave her parentless? Would you really leave a little girl parentless? Haven’t you made enough children parentless?

Forcing a smile on their face, Blue waves to Kim and Nick before getting into the truck. Tears burn at the corner of their eyes as they back out of the Rye driveway. Once they pull onto the main road, Blue shakily dials Special Agent Hawthorne through the hands-free dialing. The phone rings for a few seconds before Special Agent Hawthorne answers. “Ranger Murphy?”

“Yeah, it’s me,’ They swallow, trying to keep the tremble out of their voice, ‘Did you think I wouldn’t call back?”

“No,’ He pauses briefly, ‘I thought it would take longer for you to give an answer, Ranger Murphy. You are calling to give me an answer, correct?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna do it. I’ll speak with Joseph Seed.” Their hands tighten on the steering wheel, starting to shake. From the passenger seat, Boomer whines, sensing their distress.

Special Agent Hawthorne sighs with relief through the speakers. “You don’t know how much I appreciate your assistance in this, Ranger Murphy. You’re going to be saving a lot of lives by speaking to Mr. Seed.”

Tears start to run down their cheeks, and Boomer whines again, louder this time. “No problem, but I do have some conditions. I want friends to come with me. I’m just….” Blue trails off, knowing they’re not ready to face Joseph without friends there. At least, not yet.      

“That can be arranged. How about we speak more tomorrow, Ranger Murphy? I could call you during your lunchbreak, and we can discuss specifics.”

“Yeah, that works.”

“I’ll give you a call, then. Have a good night, Ranger Murphy.”

“You too.” Blue hangs up, the first sob escaping from them. Their vision becomes blurry with tears as Blue pulls over to the side of the road. Placing the truck into park, Blue’s body shakes as intense sobs wrack their body. Boomer whines, licking at their face in an attempt to comfort Blue. They wrap their arms around Boomer, burying their face into his fur. Blue sobs loudly, holding onto Boomer like a lifeline. Fuck, they really were going to do this, weren’t they?