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inlocusmads · 10 months

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Partner (Disambiguation)

5 times Nora and Trystan fake a relationship and one time they didn't want to anymore.

(Or a 5+1 fic on what it means to be a "partner" to someone.)

Characters: Nora Rose, Trystan Thorne from Crimes of Passion, Book 1 and 2.

WC: 3.8k | Teen + for swearing (don't blame me, blame Nora (no, honestly, don't. She deserves to swear as much as she should.))

A/N: This is probably my first 5+1 fic ever, so I hope I did it right because it would be very bad if I got it wrong. It might be a bit long too, so I did a thing where I cut back on the descriptions and added in more dialogue because we are truly at the epitome of a writing style crisis here inside Mads' Universe of Horrors here.

Tagging @choicesbookclub

(Painting of Tristan and Iseult)

Of course, Nora would agree, it is the stupidest request in the whole wide world. Possibly ever in the universe, mostly because it really was an absurd enough request to propose to someone who had only known her for maybe two or three weeks. Nora would call it an act of boosting morale, something the private detective agency really did require, when really it was just a whole plot to get a discounted meal as a part of their Valentines In Late September program.

"Do you want to pretend to be my partner so we can go to an all-you-can-eat feast?"

"Really?" Trystan folded up the newspaper and stood up, like a car after a jumpstart. "Husband? Boyfriend? Partner? What would you like?"

"Okay, you are way too into this. I'm reconsidering it."

"No, no, it is a splendid idea because I have been very interested in immersing myself in the lesser known bits of American culture, especially the all-you-can-eat buffets at restaurants. Drakovia would have that, if we didn't have capital punishment after a massive court case between the government and a bunch of caterers. Business laws. Anyway, I would love to be your partner for the evening. Do we need to forge anything?"

"The fact that you asked is concerning but yes. It's half-off for couples, one breath away from marriage. We need proof, so they're looking for cohabitation stuff - joint bank accounts, maybe, receipts, anything to prove we are seeing each other and it is a real thing."

"I do know a very good forger here in New York."

"I know some too. Who have you been hanging out with?"

"Nobody. Who are you hanging out with?"

"All right. We'll figure that out on the way, now come on! Grab your coats, let's go! We're going to be late. Buffet starts at around seven. You know the rules. Grab and go. Stuff it into Tupperware if you can't finish it. Make sure to eat enough, sample a bit of everything including the special menu they have exclusively for lovey-dovey people with rings - oh crap, how good are you at arts and crafts, because we need a convincing looking paper ring -- maybe I can nick some washers--"

"I certainly didn't expect the fake marriage plot so early on in our partnership but I am intrigued. A little immorality and a lust against the law never hurt anyone." Trystan grinned from ear to ear.

***

There were certain things you didn't do, such as engage in debauchery, toss stones at people who've wronged you and threaten your finishing school conduct and theatrics teacher with nuclear warheads. Trystan had done all of it. He'd also supplied rather falsified opinions to the Press, which was wonderful but was caught by a very near and dear Olivia Nevrakis, which was not very good on his part and now, everyone was deeply convinced Nora was Trystan's fiancee, except she was Nora to New York and Duchess Ximena of Lythikos to the royal society.

So when Nora received a rather confusing email from a gossip magazine, something she never really does often because it is only ever rare underdogs like her ever get interviewed or even recognised by the press or even given a commendation for maybe, y'know, solving all of the NYPD's cases, she was rather positively baffled. Not because she'd expected the Duchess Ximena thing to still continue with its rather violent momentum, rather she certainly didn't expect to learn a whole new love story that she certainly had no part in orchestrating.

"Did you tell The Spotlight that you met me at a charity function, I was wearing a bright green dress with topaz gems and a tiara and you sweeped me off my feet -- what in the absolute fuck? And how did they get my email?"

"Might've given it to them--"

"What?"

"I said, I might've given it to them!"

"Seriously - I can't it with--!"

"Okay, you are mad."

"Yes, very much."

"I want to tell you that my intention is to never harm you, Detective. Ever. It is merely a massive distraction. I created the perfect love story enough for all of these gossip rags to bleed it dry and run it to its death and we wouldn't have to worry about it interfering with the case anymore. I did us all a nice favour."

"A favour? Feeding wrong information to the press - you could get sued!"

"I do have many close friends who can take care of that. Small-time thieves who can make things very difficult." Trystan smiled, smugly. "Anyway, it helps, doesn't it? The press will be so distracted and then they'll get bored and soon enough, they'll stop beating this dead horse. And we can focus on the investigation without the Press careening up to wherever we stop and demanding answers. The less scandalous, the more fluffier the better."

"So I have to play in, now?"

"Come on, a few words about my pleasant facial features won't hurt. Along with some of my best talents, including the theatre. I was in many productions of Shakespearean plays."

"You're literally the worst person ever." Nora declared.

"And yet, you still want me as your partner. This is a love story for the ages! Can we do a little enemies to lovers arc too? The mysterious Ximena held hatred in her heart at first. This elegant young man, Trystan Thorne couldn't believe it--"

"Goodbye."

"No, wait! I'm almost done! Come back! Argh, you are absolutely difficult to deal with, Detective! I hope you know I'm taking full credit for the whole story! If this ever becomes profitable -- annd she's gone."

***

There were certain things you should probably avoid if you ever work at a hospital. If you ever happen to see a very frantic detective urging nurses and doctors if she could see her injured idiot of a partner, you probably should let her. First, it was because she was scarily covered in his blood. Second because she might just illegally control a forklift and push her way through the hospital doors, so if you do value peace and quiet in your local hospital, do let your detectives get their way.

"He's my partner, you absolute clowns!" Nora yelled after them as they carried a wounded Trystan on a stretcher. A nurse quickly came by to do damage control.

"I'm sorry, but it's for immediate family only."

"I'm a detective and he's my partner!"

"I understand -- detective but--"

"No, you don't get it! Seriously, God!"

"Partner as in, a partner in your case or --"

"Partners! P-A-R-T-N-E-R-S! Look, I don't want to shout at nurses. You're brilliant people and I just want to be there, okay?"

"I understand that, Miss-- but perhaps if you put down your name and the -- nature of your relationship with the patient whether it is a -- colleague, work thing or if you two are married, as in partners who are romantically involved -- I really ought to write this down! Miss! Detective! You can't go in there! Oh no -- oh dear, someone stop her, please! Who are you and what is your relationship with the patient? We need it for the records!"

"PARTNERS!" Nora shouted at the nurse and followed the doctors to the hospital room.

"A very helpful nurse - though somewhat terribly frightened - I don't know what happened to her, told me that Trystan and his partner were here, though she didn't specify the nature of the partnership so I must have to congratulate him either way; for scoring a job at a detective agency and a surprise engagement! Ha!" Mags smiled weakly, after the rollercoaster of events that went down the night before. It was clear ever since Nora had informed her of Trystan's stab wound, she didn't sleep at all.

"I'm sorry, the ambiguity in partners seemed unclear enough to throw them off for a while. Means a variety of things, doesn't it? Anyway, I had to -- erm, figure a way out because they wouldn't let me in here for the night."

"Oh no, I understand." Mags sat down next to her. "How is he doing?"

"Better. Or at least the guys who keep coming in here tell me so. He's still sedated. Knocked out like a tropical fish on crack. The doctors said the blade missed his vital organs, didn't penetrate too much. He should be fine in a couple of weeks. Four or five, maybe."

There was silence for a while before Nora announced-

"I'm sorry."

"No - seriously, don't be."

"No, we went in. We were utterly stupid. We had no back-ups. I'm so sorry, Marguerite. It just went down so poorly. Trystan deserves so much more than this funny business he'd unfortunately caught himself into and I'm clearly the one to blame, I just--"

Nora felt an arm on her shoulder. Mags gave her an assuring nod.

"No, Nora, you've done so much already. It's how Trystan does things. He charges into danger and gets hurt. I pick up the pieces. It is terrible but - we do the best we can. You've protected him from a great many things, but ultimately, if he took that stab wound, I don't think it is your fault. He took it because he had his reasons to. But that doesn't mean I can't complain."

"No, by all means, please do. I completely understand you and to shoulder that responsibility throughout childhood, you deserve to complain at least a little."

Mags threw her head back and laughed. "I guess we understand each other better now. So much for Trystan's guardian angels. He still ends up with a knife to his stomach with ten thousand reasons as to why he did so."

***

Nora wasn't a huge fan of literature, but she did read Anne Frank's Tales as part of an English course in high school and one of the quotes that really stuck with her went - "Dead people receive more flowers than the living ones because regret is stronger than gratitude". As she sat there in the hospital, with broken ribs and a phone with a dozen missed calls from a distant aunt who wouldn't call but only called after the Press had a nice field day over the burnt remains of the St. Claire Greenhouse and Nora's involvement ("Jimmy Rose's daughter" - they'd all said.) she couldn't help but think Aunt Lei was just feeling regretful that she wasn't in contact all these years.

With trembling hands, she picked up the call when her phone buzzed again, hoping that her relatives wouldn't abandon her again and use "distance" as a boring pathetic excuse.

"Auntie, it's been ten years!" Nora exclaimed in Chinese. "Where have you -- oh, I see -- erm - journalism, that's great. Oh you were in Indonesia all along, that's nice -- wouldn't have hurt to call -- no, Dad died years ago, yeah, yeah -- what's the call for, anyway?"

"I never knew you were married la, Yingxiu!"

"No, I'm not--"

"It was all over the news! Your name on the front page! It was all in English, I don't know how to read it, la. It was you in this nice dress with this other man! You never invited us, hai - this is what this American Life does to you. I told Jian Ying la- that Jimmy -- to take you home after Xiaoyun passed. You never learn the gratitude! No wedding, no party - I have to find out engagement from newspaper photograph!"

"I --" Nora coughed a lot, her tongue faintly tasting of smoke. "No, wait you've got the wrong--"

"Give me the phone to that man, la! Now! Need to talk to him and see if he is any good. He's in our family now, ai! Good lord, all those years and this Jimmy never taught you anything proper at all. No weddings, nothing!"

Trystan must've had some impeccable comedic timing engraved into his soul, because he'd just walked in with a pudding cup refill. Well, technically he did end up stealing the whole packet when the nurses weren't looking.

Nora gave him a look. Then she pressed the speaker phone.

"He's here." She spoke in Chinese. "Talk in English. You're on speaker phone."

"Oh I can talk in English! I know English very much!" said Aunt Lei, proving to her rebellious distant niece that she was capable of doing so.

Trystan gave her a look.

Nora responded with a different one. Play along.

"Erm, hello?"

"Ah, so you are the boy my niece married, ah?"

"It is so nice to meet you, Mrs--"

Lei. Nora mouthed.

"Lee--" Trystan mispronounced. "I am just so elated to meet another member of Nora's family."

"Why didn't she invite anyone to the wedding? I had to find it through newspaper!"

"It was a very short wedding, unfortunately, I really do apologise, Mrs Lee. However I love your niece so very much. It was this heat of the moment thing. We decided we just simply had to get married and we did."

"This young love never goes anywhere -- no tradition, no principles -- but you take care of her, la? This one, this Ying Xiu, she doesn't do anything at all. Good for nothing! Didn't even tell her family she's married! What is your name?"

"Tr--" he began and immediately swallowed it after Nora gestured at him against doing it. "James. James Smith."

"James Smith -- okay. I will inform others and come back. You better pick the phone up next time, na, Ying Xiu -- otherwise I will--"

Nora promptly ended the call and the two heaved a collective sigh of relief.

"This fake marriage thing has gone for far too long." Trystan said, peeling open the pudding cup for her. "At this point, it would be the least surprising thing if we did actually fill up the papers and get married in a courthouse ceremony."

"I feel like Ruby and Luke would place bets about this. I don't want either of them to win." Nora smiled devilishly, as she devoured her pudding by stabbing it with a fork. "Major props to you, of course. You're the best fake partner I've ever had, I might actually cry happy tears--"

"Now, now, we'll save that for the wedding, yeah?"

"-- and punch five people."

"Also for the wedding, yes. I have a list."

***

"So what is our cover, Detective? Ooh, are we playing Good Cop, Bad Cop again? Please tell me we are doing that. I've been watching violent American movies and I do think I have a strong grasp of a "Bad Cop" character. Does Die Hard count as one?" Trystan asked, literally dancing around on the pavement at the prospect of going to interrogate a fence manning a stolen jewel storage facility.

"I think we're going to have to play the fake engagement card again." Nora sighed. "Please don't let me do this. I will probably get very violent-"

"- at the prospect of not marrying me?" Trystan smirked.

"No, at the prospect of doing this over and over again as our only veto power move. There has to be something better and I can't think of any, so shall we, Mr Rose-Thorne?" Nora held her hand out.

Trystan took it, but did not respond in kind. "We need to decide on the names. Thorne-Rose, please. It's so much more lyrical and--"

Their earpieces buzzed to life and without warning, Luke's voice shuttled through into their ear canals. "I hate to interrupt your marital bickering, but you've got to make it look convincing. Lay the love on thick. Be sappy, be --"

"Stupidly in love, yep. Yep. Got it. Let's go."

Now Nora did get better at confrontations as a whole. She realised that the use of force and her rather "try me, bitch" personality wouldn't gel in with stolen goods transporters like this one with the beard, after her run-ins with another bearded person who turned out to be a vindictive serial killer being manipulated by a wise old, yet somehow equally vindictive grandmother. Armed with this information, Trystan was interested to see how this would play out.

"Can I help you?"

To Trystan's absolute horror, Nora put on possibly the most high-pitched accent ever that would've gotten her cast in a campy teen movie as the overly giggly best friend archetype. She clutched onto Trystan's arm like she was about to judo-flip him, crossing the treacherous boundaries between a tender arm holding and full-blown martial arts mania. Nora at one point, even forgot how she should've held a lover's hand, so much that she genuinely looked like she was in so much pain from just the arm holding.

"Hi! Hi! Hi!" she said, "We heard from my absolute best friend Cadence that y'all sell like jewellery and shit and my partner and I here will totally buy one for like a million amounts of money!"

"The higher the quality of the jewel, the better."

"And like my partner here is super good with them, he's in the diamond business and everything! And I just never really knew so much, except they are so sparkly! I just want a nice little one, but not too small as to like, invalidate our amazing true love! It has to be big, but also like, small because Cadence is a total bitch and she'll like, totally spread all those lies about me in our neighbourhood!"

"An engagement ring, eh?" The salesman was mildly mortified by Nora's personality but he didn't question it, of course. Customers like her went by everyday and paid him well. "Gotta ask, who proposed?"

"I did, of course!" Nora piped up. "I mean, I literally snuck the little ring into his champagne and he choked on it and I almost thought he was going to die!"

It was then Trystan realised his detective wasn't doing this for the sole purpose to not blow their covers off. She was having fun. He gave her a gentle nudge with his elbow.

"Yes -- it was a very kind gesture, of course--" Trystan smiled, but winced in pain at the Lovecraftian horror before him. It was like watching a documentary on how sausages were made.

"Honestly if we totally had the time, I would've driven us up to the courthouse -- hahahaha! It's funny, right? So funny! But we do want a proper ring, a nice white wedding, a house with a picket fence and -- so many kids! So many!" Nora swallowed hard. "Anyway, we can't do any of that without my mother of course. Ugh, hate that woman. She doesn't want us eloping. She hates everyone except my little darling little partner -- dude here and -- erm -- the only way we can make her happy is the biggest, fanciest ring ever!"

"Of course. You know what they say about mother-in-laws--" the salesman shot Trystan a look, who responded in kind with a similar look. "Give me a moment, I'll have to get the rings from the shelf."

"I hate it here." Nora punctuated every word; returning back to her deep, baritone voice. "Kill me."

"You started it." Trystan whispered back. "I'm just enjoying the show. For a second I thought you were pulling my leg with the ring in the champagne thing."

"Of course I was. Then I'll choke everyone to death for making me do this over and over again."

"Choking. Someone's a little -- bold." he shot her a knowing smile.

"I cannot believe you right now." Nora shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Neither can I, but you know what they say about marriages. You discover something new about your little darling little partner dude everyday." Trystan chuckled.

***

+1:

It was a nice weekend at the Ginovesi Agency which was a bit of a misnomer because it was never really just a nice weekend. Luke had some trouble he had to sort out. Ruby was knee deep in an autopsy report about this man who took five stab wounds but died from poison instead, which was absolutely marvellous and of course, as a chemistry geek she simply had to eat up all the information about poisons possible. Trystan was not, unfortunately, looking up nukes on eBay and was instead putting some thought into the next phase in their case, while he bored Nora with a story about Kaspar and how he, alongside being a jewel thief, also loved to steal paintings.

Nora was at her desk; all suited up for an important occasion - Filing Day, when everything took a pause because she had to sort a portion of her pie chart time for meaningless, pointless report work. Mafalda was adamant against her adherence to a format. After many successive attempts, she'd managed to produce one good decent write-up without snarky side comments about the frivolous nature of the report, several more petty jibes and changing the font to Comic Sans for the fun of it.

"I'm done. Fuck yes!" Nora declared, giving everyone a high-five. "Okay, coffee and everything else on me. I apologise for the excessive swearing, not! I am done with this fucking thing! Ha-HA! Seriously, this has school written all over it and I absolutely hated school - no dark sarcasm in the classroom, teachers leave them kids alone, all right anyway, what would you like Luke? Ruby? It's on me. Free food! Bagels?"

Nobody answered back. Luke was enamoured by the computer screen and Ruby was now grinning at the autopsy study, much to Nora's concern.

Trystan stood up and approached her. "I would absolutely love a caramel latte and a croissant from this place." - he reached into his pocket and grabbed a business card from a local café. "It is a very small shop; between a public library and a bus stop, so I do think you'd require the address for it. Small shops have the best food. They also have belladi."

"Thanks for being the only one acknowledging!" Nora shouted, with a bit of obnoxiousness just so Ruby and Luke could hear. "Seriously, what are these guys on and where can I get some of it?"

"I don't know, but I do think this will make you feel somewhat closer to that euphoric feeling." Trystan smiled. He leaned a little, taking in Nora's scent of peppermints and pressed a ravenous kiss to her lips. Nora smiled into it, allowing herself to pull him closer by the lapels of his blazer; sinking into this feeling - this wonderful, marvellous feeling of Nora who had just stopped giving three Hoover damns about the situation, not long before--

"HOLY SHIT!" Luke yelped.

"What-- OH MY GOD!" Ruby cried.

"Luke, isn't it a little rude to interrupt us when we were clearly in the middle of saying goodbye?" Trystan said, his head sinking into Nora's shoulder almost without any hesitation at all. "You too, Ruby."

Nora folded her arms, quite proud of herself. "Now can I get your coffee orders, yeah?"

"B-black two sugars--" Luke swallowed, with great difficulty; almost as if he'd seen a Cyclops barge into the wall, shrieking like crazy.

"None for me. I think I might just need a cold compress -- or something - Jesus Christ Nora!" Ruby exclaimed. "So like, are you two a thing? When did this happen? Are you now dating? Do you guys have a plan? Are you partners? Boyfriends and girlfriends? Have you defined the relationship--"

"Well, Detective? Do you want to be?" Trystan asked, his voice almost nauseatingly sweet.

"I don't know. Maybe we should do another round of all of this fake, phoney engagement, partnership business. What do you say? It'll be troublesome, of course. Big trouble."

"You know me, I love trouble so much."

***

A/N:

Boy that was long, wasn't it? I'd think this is one of my longest fics ever. It is against the vast majority of Tumblr readers, I'd think because a few weeks ago, I put out a poll about the ideal chapter length readers would enjoy and this just became a whole thing. I don't know. I guess I have just been a bit worried about this whole threshold that sometimes I feel like I'm not enjoying the writing bit and focusing on cutting it down - damn this is a whole therapy session.

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate it a lot! This was just silly but I just wanted to put this out there, into the void lmfao. I did not edit this so if there are some grammar errors - uh.. we'll just pretend they don't exist. Originally I wanted to write actual Chinese in place of the conversation in English Nora has with her distant Aunt, but I never seem to find a proper translating app because Google Translate, DeepL they all do this thing where they make the language so formal. Plus I have no idea if it is phonetically, grammatically true or not.

Guess I'll just learn Chinese next time - ugh the sheer lengths I must go for these two idiots -

And also I would totally appreciate a Drakovian dictionary. Or maybe I can make up my own Drakovian since it is clearly a language that must have originated from Eastern European, Slavic languages. PB make Trystan speak Drakovian challenge. Seriously make it happen. This is definitely not a threat.

Tagging:

Perma: @quixoticdreamer16 @tessa-liam

Crimes: @cassie-thorne @peonierose @ao719 @trappedinfanfiction @jerzwriter @fuckitweball0000

#nora x trystan #w:inlocusmads #crimes of passion choices fics #crimes of passion

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doodlebeeberry · 7 months

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Hourly

(for objectober day 6: city)

It wasn't even a bad thing, inherently. They—he—had been waiting months to get back home. Or back to Earth, at least. Their own respective Earths. It had just been sudden. Too sudden. Bryce hadn't known what to make of it.

In which Bryce is left waiting in San Fransisco, and the consequences of having to be patient.

inspired by this drawing by @/sodabottlehfjone that i had life three separate ideas for a while back. admittedly this left the scope of my original idea a bit but still.

Also theyre humanizied here for consistency sake btw

2:58 a.m. An alley off 13th and Cabrillo, tucked between a shooting range decorated with little more than sun bleached targets and a diner sporting a crooked, half lit sign. Clear sky overhead. A dumpster half full of garbage and a skinny grey alley cat sniffing around near its base, where a few scraps had slipped through a torn bag and sprinkled the ground like an inverse confetti. No stars, not with the city light. In red and green blinks, though, an airplane crawled across the sky. The faint roar of its distant engines played Foley over the night.

It took one minute for the monotony to break. Kind of. Sixty seconds, the cat investigated a napkin and an empty grape jelly packet. The plane flew further eastward. Then, 2:59 on the dot, to the second, the millisecond even, and Bryce was there. Not there, then there, in an act so devoid of fanfare that, for several seconds afterwards—fifteen, to be exact—neither he nor the world itself seemed to have processed his appearance. Six months of grass stains were hidden only just by the green of his jacket. One hundred and eighty three days worth of wear showed on his pants, his shoes, his face tilted up and frozen mid one—sided—conversation. Longer hair with faded dye dripped down his head and shoulders and around his cheeks. The very first thing he saw, upon returning to Earth, was the plane retreating over the rooftops. Its green lights winked at him. Sixteen seconds after his appearance the wind blew stiff into his hair. Several strands tickled his nose. His mouth shut—clicked, with the tap of his teeth against each other so suddenly—and he took a deep breath in. It came back out heavy, something between a sigh and a growl and a groan.

"That idiot," he said. The cat looked up at him, his words alerting it to his presence for the very first time.

At 2:59 and twenty one seconds, the cat scampered around and away from him down the street. In the following thirty nine seconds the engine whirr faded from the air, and by 3:00 a.m on the dot Bryce was well and truly alone.

There were two ways he took that. On the one hand, he'd been alone a lot over the past six months or so. The plane wasn't massive really, but it was plenty big enough that he could wander far enough in the plug's direction for the silence to swallow him up. On the other, it never struck him as actual 'alone time'. Not like it was in his apartment, or his car, or the whole of Bridgeport, or now, with the smell of garbage starting to reach his nose. On the plane it was just separate. Quiet space. Maybe it was Liam that made it feel that way. Invisible and, if he wanted to be, inaudible above them in Airy's world.

Or was he besides them? Was that how Liam had described it?

At 3:01 a.m, Bryce decided not to sweat the details. He fished around in his pockets instead, pulling out first a blue sticky note and looking it over the same way he checked his phone for the time. It did not tell him the time. It read him a couple phone numbers, a couple names, a couple different handwritings, a couple too many crinkles along the corners from living in his jacket for so long. He stuck it back in his pocket. Next a few dollar bills. Some coins. 16.65 total, lucky him. They all went back in his pocket. Then came a receipt, a torn scrap of cardboard packaging. 'Charger' was the only thing of note written on both of them. With purpose Bryce tucked them away. By 3:03 a.m he had taken a full, meticulous stock of his pockets. He wasn't expecting to find his phone, having lost it multiverse jumping months back, but the lack of it still disappointed him. Even if he wasn't sure what messages he would've been coming back to.

A car drove past the alley. Headlights cast out around him, the LED kind that were brighter than the sun, and peeled away just as quickly without ever quite reaching him. Just an inch or two too far. The car in question had been red, he thought, and small.

3:04 a.m, he realized he could see the reflection of the sign next door on the windows across the street. He couldn't tell what the buildings were—shops, restaurants, apartments. Whatever it was, the lights inside were dark. From the distance, Bryce couldn't see his reflection.

3:05 a.m, he resisted the urge to pace. It was tempting, but he bit it back. He turned a pocket nickel in his fingers instead.

3:06 a.m, someone walked by. Tall, but not thin, with hair up in a bun. He guessed it was blonde, or white.

3:07 a.m, nothing happened. He cursed. "That idiot," Bryce hissed again.

3:08 a.m, He began to pace.

3:09 a.m, Bryce replayed their last interaction. 'Stop' wasn't what he'd meant to say, but everyone had vanished, one by one, and shouting Liam's name had hardly seemed to work. He'd given them no warning. Bryce had been telling Amelia a story. Then, Amelia was gone. Subway followed. Then Charlotte. Atom.

Quiet. A slight shuffle in the air. "Did you—"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did"

"are you gonna... can you send yourself back?"

Pause. "Maybe. Probably."

2:59 a.m. Keyboard clacking.

"You've gotta go back"

Less a pause, more a breath. "I—"

"Go home , Liam."

3:10 a.m, Liam was never good at listening to him, not in Bridgeport and not now. Bryce didn't know what he was waiting for.

3:11 a.m, he considered leaving the alley.

3:11 a.m and one second.

3:11 a.m and two seconds.

3:11 a.m and four seconds.

3:11 a.m and eight seconds.

3:11 a.m and sixteen seconds.

3:11 a.m and twenty-one seconds.

3:11 a.m and twenty-two seconds, on the dot. To the millisecond, even. And Liam was there. Bryce was no longer alone.

They stared at each other. Liam clutched the strap of his backpack.

"Sorry," Liam said, simply. Another car passed, this one blue. Bryce could make out a baseline thumping through it's doors. diner—scent wafted above the garbage, slightly. The tense energy wound up in his gut lessened, tired.

3:11 a.m and fifty-nine seconds. "Come on," Bryce walked around a proper reply, "let's eat."

* * *

The diner itself was fine. Small. A little dimly lit. Empty save for one guy in a worn-out suit jacket slowly chewing on a hot dog while watching a lets play on his phone. A counter with some assorted old barstools and booths that ran along the walls. Glancing at the bored server behind the counter—short and older with an abstract tattoo running along their neck—they sat at a booth beside a window. From this angle, Bryce could spot the moon hanging over them. Yellowed and crescent thin.

He wasn't all that hungry, honestly. He wasn't sure why he'd brought them here, beyond the promise of coffee that would chase away the sleepiness hanging over him. Regardless, he traded away the majority of his 16.65 in pocket money and contemplated swiping a bite or two of Liam's waffle—lightly syruped, and unbuttered—while waiting for his coffee—sweetened, but without milk—to cool, if only to keep hunger from catching up to him. He knew it would, sooner or later.

Bryce set his chin on the table, slowly but surely giving in to sleep. They hadn't said much since they'd walked in, and it was the quiet between them that kept him from slipping under completely. He shut his eyes.

Liam, moments later, was the first to break that quiet.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Tired," Bryce replied, halfway to a mumble. Liam hummed. There was music playing in the diner, a dad-rock sounding band Bryce didn't know the name of, just loud enough to hear and acknowledge before it faded to the back of his awareness. If he bothered to listen closer, he could hear the sound of people shuffling around in the kitchen. Above all that, though, came the sound of ceramics across laminate. Bryce pried his eyes open. The waffle sat in front of his nose. Glancing up, he found Liam looking back. A scrap of waffle was pierced on his fork. He glanced between it, the plate, Bryce. Bryce, for his part, flicked his eyes towards his still steaming mug, then back to Liam. Liam bit off his waffle scrap and gestured with his fork. Bryce scoffed a bit. Once again, Liam was never particularly good at listening to him. Still though, he sat up and snatched his fork from its resting place on the table, his pinkie brushing the warm mug in the process.

"You never know when to quit," Bryce told him.

Liam held out his knife. "It's been six months"

"So?" Bryce took it, "plus, they burned it"

True to his word, the left side of the waffle was overdone. Less of a golden shade of brown and more of a dark, dark one.

"So?" Liam returned. Bryce didn't argue with him. Instead, He focused on cutting up one of the better looking sections he'd been offered. It gave fairly easily under the knife, soft and springy. He came away with a single square, a tiny puddle of syrup pooled within it. Sticky threads followed it some ways from the plate as he lifted it. The song faded out, shifting from electric guitars to acoustic, different in tone but not inherently more mellow. The waffle piece sat patiently on his fork. Bryce did not bite it.

"What took you so long?" he asked. Liam, once again, paused. "to get here,"

A singer began, voice low. Liam looked just left of Bryce, like he was looking at his ear instead, or the counter behind them.

"I had to get Texty," he began, patting his backpack, "for one"

"That took ten minutes?"

"It could've"

Quiet seeped back over them. Bryce leveled him, disbelieving, but Liam still didn't meet his eye. Bryce dipped his piece in a thin syrup streak on the plate. He took his time, dragging it through, gathering up a heap of what was most likely artificial maple onto his piece. With one final glance at Liam that, once again, missed him, he bit into it. Sweetness filled his mouth, sweetness and the taste of maple. He couldn't remember maple flavour enough to speak to the authenticity of it—even before everything, maple syrup had never exactly been a frequent part of his diet. The syrup hadn't soaked the waffle completely. It was springy, relatively soft, thankfully devoid of burnt flavour. All told, it broke over him like a wave. He still wasn't hungry, but his body knew he hadn't eaten in months. The dissonance shook up his senses as he swallowed, foreign, familiar, a good reminder that he was on Earth again, even if he wasn't home, all at once. It all must've shown on his face, because he found Liam looking at him again, slightly puzzled.

"God, that's weird," Bryce summed up, "how did you put up with eating again, the first time?"

Liam shrugged, "I don't know. I guess I was so focused on getting to Bridgeport I just didn't think about how long it'd been." He pierced another piece with his fork, glancing out the window. "Honestly, seeing the sunrise again threw me off more than anything"

Bryce followed his gaze. It wasn't even 4 a.m; the sun wasn't rising yet. The moon hadn't moved much. It still watched them from the sky. Another plane was slowly making its way across the sky, though. Blinking, red and green. The door swung open, shut. Less than three seconds later the suited man walked past their window, leaving them the only patrons inside.

"I guess I can see that," Bryce said. They watched the city sleep a little longer.

A minute passed in this quiet.

Then another.

And another.

Then, as Bryce's eyes began to droop again—

"You told me to go home," Liam said, suddenly. Bryce looked at him, but caught the fading green of his hair rather than his eyes once again.

"Yeah?"

"You said I had to go home"

"Yeah, what's your point?"

"Why?"

Bryce blinked.

"Why?" he parroted.

Liam turned to him. "Why?"

Bryce shifted, leaning away from the window to look at him fully.

"What kind of question is that?"

Liam, following his lead, turned away from the window as well. He shrugged.

"It was over," Bryce said, "you stopped Airy, you sent us home, you didn't need to be there anymore." He grabbed his coffee, which had finally cooled enough to drink. Sipping it, he found it much less sweet and much more burnt than the waffle had been. Like he was sipping from the same pot they'd prepped the morning before—a likely bet, if he was to guess. At the very least he could appreciate its warmth.

He watched Liam's expression shift, and somewhere along the line he began fidgeting with a stained blue sleeve. Setting his mug down, Bryce nudged the half eaten, half forgotten plate into Liam's hands.

"You needed to go home," He said, "That's it. End of story." Bryce tried to keep his voice firm, certain, as though his thoughts on the matter began and ended here. Consciously, he didn't think of 2:59 a.m, how he'd felt when he'd opened his mouth. The coulds and woulds and formless opinions he had on Liam's fate. Either way, he'd known and still knew now, Bryce wouldn't have been able to do anything about it, not really. So instead, he picked up his fork. It left a sticky spot on the table where he'd left it.

Liam looked at him. His lips were pressed thin and his look measured. Almost like he didn't believe him, or had more to share. But whatever it was stayed in his head.

Without another word, he grabbed his fork and began, again, to eat.

#shout out to the dinkus. ive always used dashes for things like that but now i think i may swap sides #objectober #objectober 2023 #hfjone #hjfone liam #hfjone bryce #writin and ravin #im not that happy with the ending of this. or the inconsistent voice. or the fact that i didnt proofread it (cause its 3am again)#BUT. i had fun. and i like the concept. and also i like it. so. you know.

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alexturnerpet · 2 years

Text

୨⎯ 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐏𝐭. 𝐈𝐈𝐈 ⎯୧

𝘗𝘵. 𝘐 | 𝘗𝘵. 𝘐𝘐 | 𝘗𝘵. 𝘐𝘝

｡･ﾟﾟ･𝘈𝘭𝘦𝘹 𝘛𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵･ﾟﾟ･｡

This one goes out to my baby girl @tragiclilb. I see your comments and they make me smile. I'm lurking and I'm stalking when you least expect it....

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Every night after that day, the same memory of Alex would stay in the back of your mind. It was nearly impossible to sleep without thinking about seeing the bus get farther away, leaving you behind.

Your friends mocked you relentlessly, which made you regret even telling them in the first place. They found it hard to believe that there was something between you two. And you not being able to explain how your simple exchange had actually meant a lot more wasn't helping.

"You're being delusional. Im sure he does that to all his fans."

And maybe they were right, but something deep in you knew they were wrong. That things could've gone differently if your friends didn't arrive the time they did.

You tried not thinking about it too often. It was all too depressing and it never failed on taking your mood down.

A week after the events of the festival, you decided to treat yourself by going to the bakery just a few blocks from where you lived. Normally you'd drive, but you took the opportunity to clear your mind and walked there.

The busy street certainly did its job of being your distraction. The constant sound of cars beeping and the endless conversations happening around you helped keep Alex off your mind.

But, you couldn't go 2 seconds without having someone come up to you and asking you if you were interested in the mormon church.

Only then did you slightly regret your decision.

Finally, you made it there after many religious ambushes. The second you opened the door the smell of coffee and pastries filled your senses, instantly making your mouth water. You looked towards the glass displays of breads that were baked that very morning.

You made your pick and went over to the counter, ordering eagerly and making sure to leave a tip before you left to take a seat. You never even noticed the stare you'd been receiving from across the bakery.

You fiddled with the receipt in your hand, not really paying attention to your surroundings.

You felt a soft tap on your shoulder, taking you out of your trance. You looked up only for the person in front of you to leave you speechless.

"Hi."

In hindsight that was the most basic greeting ever, but it was the interaction that you had been thinking about for days, the words you wish you would've heard that night at the festival.

And there Alex stood, sporting an almost nervous smile as he held onto his cup.

"Hi, what are you doing here?" You were so queasy that you didn't notice until you already said it how rude your words came off.

Nevertheless Alex just laughed it off and you were thankful he didn't take it any other way.

"Im sorry that's not what I meant." you awkwardly smiled.

"No don't worry about it, but to answer your question, I was just sitting here when I noticed you walk in. I instantly recognized you so I just had to come and say hi." he explained.

Your heart raced at the fact that he still recognized you, and the idea of him still thinking about you too made you even more jittery.

"Well I'm glad you did, I'm sorry I didn't get to introduce myself that night. It's been eating me up ever since." you replied, your cheeks still burning from the earlier embarrassment.

His face visibly lightened up. Truthfully, Alex would've thought that you had already let go and forgotten about that night. He also wondered what could've been that night if Matt hadn't told him they were in a rush.

When Alex was told this, he turned back to look at you, hoping you'd call out for him or something, he wanted a reason to go back. But you seemed to be preoccupied, and again the same thoughts returned.

He knew there'd be a slight chance that he'd actually be able to make it work with you. He knew instantly when he saw how you were looking at him from that crowd that he didn't want to be just friends.

But after that night, he was trying to come to terms with the fact that he'd never see you again but it was easier said than done. You'd left a stain in his mind and he wasn't too sure himself if he wanted it to go away.

So when he saw you in the bakery, he knew it'd had to have been fate and he wasn't about to pass up the opportunity.

#alex turner x reader #alex turner #arctic monkeys #Alex turner x reader oneshot #monke boy #Alex turner one shot #alex turner humbug

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orchidsncrake · 1 month

Text

and watch them fall

chapters 1, 2, 3

pairing: joe goldberg/rhys montrose

rating: explicit (preemptive)

tags: au - canon divergence, s4 rewrite, obsession, strangers to lovers, POV Joe Goldberg, murder, bookstore owner Joe Goldberg, Rhys Montrose is a real person, developing relationship, slow build, eventual relationship, eventual smut, tags to be updated

word count: 4,990

chapter 4/?

ao3 link and fic under the cut :)

I dress like Kermit the Frog. Joe huffs as he passes by yet another earth-toned sweater, the metal hanger squealing unpleasantly against the closet rod. He’d already chosen a pair of slacks – unremarkably brown and cuffed at the ankle, which he hates because it makes him look like a hipster but helps him blend in. That leaves him with the momentous task of choosing the other half of the outfit, which the weather has nastily decided with a cold snap must be a sweater. He holds two sweaters in front of him, one green and the other blue, and frowns. Not Kermit the Frog, actually. More Frog and Toad. Joe’s phone dings from where it lays screen-up on his bed, and he squints over at it as if that will fix near-sightedness. He sighs and lays both sweaters on the bed, scooping up his phone. The notification stares up at him.

Be sure to wear something warm. London breezes aren’t known for being forgiving, the text reads, thin under Rhys’ bolded name. What are you, checking up on me, now? Joe drops his phone back on his bed, ignoring the swell of an emotion that will not be named in his chest. He touches each sweater, feeling the thickness of each, and settles on the thicker, green one, guided by Rhys’ text – one that he hasn’t responded to. He’s pretty sure he’d left read receipts enabled. Shit.

What’s he supposed to say to that? “Thanks. I have no idea how the weather works”? No, that sounds unappreciative, and he’s not certain Rhys would catch the humor in it. “I’ve selected a sweater based on your input because I apparently need advice from you instead of using AccuWeather like a normal person”? Desperate and sad, so no. He slides the sweater over his head, hangs up the first, then returns to his phone. His fingers hover over the keyboard.

Thanks for the heads up. I don’t know how you stand this weather. Simple enough, right? Maybe too simple? Talking about the weather is the single most boring activity, and exactly what people do when they have nothing better to talk about. But Rhys had started it, hadn’t he? Joe groans, massaging his temples in defeat when a tiny ‘read’ pops up under his text. He’s done for. Foot-in-mouth finished.

Difficult not to stand what I was born into, isn’t it? Oh, you prick. Rhetorical questions, really? What is it with the English and rhetorical questions? Joe sighs, relieved by at least a reply, and walks to the bathroom, phone in hand. He sets it on the counter and starts opening drawers, retrieving hair products he’s half-about sure the function of, including a wide-toothed comb that should have been retired long ago. His hands are sticky with mousse when the next text rolls in, and he leans over to read it as he runs them through his hair.

Now we’re leaving me on read? Joe looks down at the comb. He could lobotomize himself with that, right?

The nerve on this guy. Joe huffs, wiping his hands on the towel. He uses it to clean off the fog still clinging to the mirror from his shower. Still, he can see why the public finds Rhys so charming. He’s not afraid to tease, which is refreshing and reminds him a bit of Love, though he doesn’t have her unregulated hyperactivity (see also: neuroticism). Where Love was a whirlwind, Rhys is a controlled game. Much more preferable, in Joe’s opinion. He’ll choose being teased over having his neighbor murdered with an axe any day.

My hands were covered in mousse, thank you very much, he types back. His phone has barely hit the counter when it dings with a response, which he lets wait as he combs his hair back from his face and then twirls each lock around the handle. It’s an unpracticed movement, one he’d learned by a very concerned barber shortly after he’d moved here, but it avoids the whole rats-nest action, so he tries regardless. Once he’s satisfied, he puts the comb away, rinses his hands, and picks up his phone.

Very fancy for coffee, isn’t it? Joe rolls his eyes but juts out his bottom lip in consideration. You’re bolder over text.

He texts back hurriedly, biting back a smile. I don’t get the luxury of not using product. Joe checks his hair in the mirror, content to find it’s almost dry, and he won’t have to deal with the fire-hazard hair dryer stuffed in the cabinet. He lint rolls his clothes carefully despite the lack of a pet because lint has a remarkable ability to become out of nothing other than smaller amounts of itself. Rhys had texted him the cafe's name last night – “Morning Brew,” welcoming but uncreative – and set the time for 9:30. It’s a ten-minute walk away, and since it’s 9:10 now, Joe figures he should get going. He takes one last look in the mirror, still framed by a vignette of fog, and brings a hand to his jaw. Love once remarked that his facial hair made him look a bit like a teddy bear when Henry was born. He’d been forced to go weeks without shaving, too busy being ordered about by the cries of a nonconscious infant. At the time, he’d been indignant about it, likely over-sensitive because of the aforementioned tyrannical infant. Still, in retrospect, he sees her point. Regardless of whatever resemblance to a teddy bear there may or may not be, it’s not like he can get rid of it. It’s odd to think a beard stands between him and Interpol up his ass, and yet here he is.

With the bathroom back in order, Joe walks into his living room. He slips his shoes on easily, the backs already worn down from the constant motion, and scoops his keys up from the end table by the door. He’s already halfway out the door before he remembers Rhys’ warning. He huffs and slides back into the apartment to grab his overcoat. It’s a bit dramatic, long, wool, and stark black, but it was the warmest thing he could find, and he’s staunchly against puffer vests. He shrugs it on and steps out, locking the door behind him. He starts down the stairs, already preparing himself for this to be a total disaster. What’s the worst that could really happen, though? They don’t get along; they go their separate ways, and the world keeps spinning. So why does that possibility put a lump in Joe’s throat?

***

Joe shoulders the door to the cafe open, digging his heels in to stop it from slamming back on him. The wind is hellish, and he had to pop his collar to protect his neck at the cost of douchiness. The door almost slams shut behind him, but he shoves his heel into the jamb, silencing the imminent noise. It hurts a bit, and he realizes how irrational a move it was, but the door bounces closed behind him almost silently, avoiding the attention of the entire cafe, and he decides it was worth it. He flattens his collar and fixes his hair quickly, the wind having touseled it, and looks around the building. It’s small, like every business is here, though he assumes that’s the American in him talking. He almost misses the head of blond hair in the corner, bent down over a book, and it’s only the way the person’s blunt-nailed hand turns the page that he recognizes the figure as Rhys. Joe cocks his head at him, hesitating to walk over, but Rhys looks up at the door, presumably searching for him, and his eyebrows lift when their eyes meet. Rhys grins and beckons Joe forward, and, automatically, he follows, one foot in front of the other until he’s standing before Rhys’ small table.

“Hello, Joe,” Rhys says warmly, cheeks pressing his eyes shut at the corner. “Have a seat, hm?” He gestures at the chair opposite him, and Joe looks at it stupidly before he takes off his coat, drapes it over the back, and sits. Joe smooths his sweater down, noting that Rhys made the same choice for slacks and a wool sweater, though he has a button-up collar poking out. Joe clears his throat, suddenly mute despite the conversation over text just twenty minutes before. Rhys only smiles at him and takes the responsibility of conversation from him.

“How’d your night go?”

Joe blinks at him, then shifts in his seat. “It was okay. Quiet,” he offers feebly, smiling sheepishly, hoping that can substitute for his newfound inability to socialize.

“Is that a good thing?” Rhys asks uncritically, marking the spot in his book and setting it down, the cover on the table. Joe’s eyes flick to it, and he squints.

“Reading something embarrassing?” He blurts out, then purses his lips tightly. Rhys only smiles, laughter bubbling out of him, then flips the book over.

“I didn’t think so. Is it?” He asks, presenting Beowulf to Joe’s scrutiny. Joe grins, looking down at his lap momentarily before returning Rhys’ gaze. He relaxes, the cold panic in his chest easing into something warmer. He can talk about books, even with someone like Rhys.

“No, Beowulf isn’t embarrassing,” he chuckles, crossing his ankles. “It’s a good book, but a little abnormal – are you trying to read all the classics or something?” He asks, speaking a bit too fast. Rhys scrunches his nose for a moment, caught. “Oh! You are, aren’t you?”

Rhys laughs breathily and sets the books down again, leaning back in his seat. Joe does not see the way the sweater stretches over his shoulders. “Can you blame me? They seem important to have read!” Rhys says nasally, his voice pitching up defensively.

“Just seems like quite the coincidence, that’s all.” Joe shrugs, smiling playfully.

“Oh, alright, I see how it is. I can’t read a famous book just because you happen to be a professional bookworm.”

“That’s not how it is at all!” Rhys nods disbelievingly. “Read all you want. I’m just pointing out the coincidence.” Joe acquiesces, sitting back further in his chair.

“I’ll just leave all the books for you, and I’ll run about and edge the English public with a mayoral campaign. Seem about fair?” Joe’s eyebrows shoot up at the joke, not having expected it. His reaction only spurs Rhys on further, and Joe can’t help but be interested in this other side of Rhys that he’d only gotten a taste of until now. “What, too raunchy?”

Joe groans and rolls his neck. “Why do you have to use that word?”

“What? Raunchy?” Rhys teases.

“Yes, raunchy. It’s an awful word. It just sounds bad.” Joe waves his hands for effect, pantomiming digging his fingers into something particularly unlikable.

“‘It just sounds bad.’ Spoken like a true English major.”

“Okay, rude,” Joe scolds, pointing a finger at Rhys. “I never actually went to college, so your insult is unfounded anyways.”

Rhys raises an eyebrow at him. “You didn’t? I figured you would have studied literature or something with how much you’ve read.”

“I’ve been able to read so much because I’ve always worked in a bookstore,” Joe corrects, shaking his head. “Besides, you’re only assuming how much I’ve read. No real way of knowing.”

Rhys sighs and smiles at him, and the conversation drifts off into a comfortable silence. Joe smiles back, his face a little warm, and squints accusingly at the other. Rhys lays his palm on the table, then pushes himself up, Joe’s eyes following up. He brushes his hair to the side when it blocks his view. “Come on, then, mate. We’ll order at the counter and return to you gatekeeping literature.” Joe opens his mouth to protest, but Rhys only grins at him and pats his shoulder, squeezing it for a moment and then releasing. Joe rises from his chair as Rhys disappears from his periphery, trailing after him to the line-less counter. The young, blonde waitress behind the counter perks up when Rhys approaches the counter, all too eager to take his order.

“Mornin’, love,” Rhys greets politely, bowing his head a bit. Joe grits his teeth. “Can I get two cups of Yorkshire for here, and,” he trails off, bending oddly at the waist to peer into the warmly lit display case, “two croissants, if you could.” The waitress nods enthusiastically, passes the tea order off to an associate, and bends down behind the case to retrieve the croissants. She makes eye contact with Joe through the glass, her gaze heavy with something venomous. Joe furrows his brows in a look of obvious confusion, but she’s ducked out of the display case as quickly as she’d bent into it, two parchment paper-wrapped croissants in her hand.

“Would you like them warmed, sir?” She asks in a way that would be polite if she weren’t leaning forward so obscenely. Joe has to avert his eyes. She can’t be more than twenty.

“Please,” Rhys responds politely, but the warmth in his voice from before is gone. It suddenly occurs to Joe that Rhys is wearing his wedding ring – of course, he is, he’s married – and yet this girl is still hitting on him. It’s no wonder he’s offended. Why is the waitress glaring at him then?

Rhys steps back from the counter and to the side, and Joe sidesteps to follow him. “Just getting out of the way while we wait,” Rhys explains, still seeming a bit tense. Tenser than Joe would think reasonable for being flirted with by an obviously desperate college student, but he isn’t exactly in the place to judge.

“Are you alright?” He asks. He may not be in the place to judge, but he is nosy by nature.

Rhys’ shoulders relax, though it looks forced. The smile he offers is tight. “I’m fine, John.” Joe frowns at him, not bothering to hide his disbelief. Rhys sighs, shakes his hands at his side, and leans towards him to speak lowly. “I’m alright, really. Just don’t really appreciate barely legal women hitting on me when I’m obviously married.” He holds up his left hand and the ring glints. Joe’s frown deepens before he fixes it, making his face melt into one of satisfaction.

“I don’t think she was the observant type,” Joe says, smirking a bit. Rhys returns the grin, the tension leaving him, to Joe’s relief. He doesn’t like his anger – or his version of it, anyway. If that’s even what it was.

“Too busy staring at you through the display case,” Rhys teases, looking up at him from under his brows playfully.

Joe flounders for a second. “You saw that?”

“How could I not? She looked like she was trying to immolate you with her mind.”

Joe rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I have no idea what that was about.”

“I have half of one.”

Joe frowns and looks at him sidelong. “Share with the class?”

Rhys hums thoughtfully. “Mm, no.” Joe goes to protest, but then the wicked waitress from West End waves over at Rhys as she sets two steaming cups on the counter, then the croissants. Rhys, the devil, has the gall to wink at him, then unbelievably click his tongue, and slide over to the counter. Joe stares, dumbfounded, and forces himself to follow, mechanically taking one cup and one croissant. Rhys pays the woman during his silence, humming, apparently pleased with himself. Joe follows after him to their table in the corner, pleasantly surprised to find all their belongings present. Rhys empties his hands onto the table, and Joe follows, sitting when he does.

“Struck you that dumb, hm?” The taunt snaps Joe out of it, and he shoots a pointed look at Rhys.

“I don’t usually get clicked at by people I’ve met twice. Sue me.”

Rhys chuckles and picks up a couple of the small creamer pods, peeling them back carefully. The metal labeling stays impossibly intact, the top coming off in one go. Definitely not human. “It has only been twice, hasn’t it?” The cream mushrooms to the top of the tea, swirling as Rhys’ spoon clicks against the edges of the cup. Joe takes up two sugar packets, tears them open, and dumps one and a half in, stirring quickly.

“It feels like it’s been more?” He asks foolishly. Way to set yourself up for disaster.

Rhys only shrugs and licks the spoon, his lips wrapping around it. He sets it on one of Joe’s empty sugar packets, and Joe stares at it like it means something. “In a way. I usually have to meet someone a dozen times before they stop calling me ‘Mr. Montrose.’”

Joe laughs and blows on his tea, contemplating flipping Rhys off when he looks at him teasingly for it and decides otherwise. “Do you click at them? Maybe that’s the deciding factor.”

Rhys stifles an amused noise into his tea, tongue darting out to clean his lips as he sets it down. “I don’t know if I can feasibly do that to investors and the general elite.”

Joe shrugs, sipping his own and ignoring the immediate hot fuzzy feeling of his tongue. “Suit yourself. Spend all your time with pretentious walking designer clothing brands.”

That does make Rhys laugh, his eyes crinkling as he bites his bottom lip to quiet himself. “Low blow, John. You know I don’t like those people.”

“What if you do? What if this ‘working man’ routine is all a ruse, and you secretly love caviar and pyramids of champagne?”

“Alright, well, the champagne isn’t all that bad.” Joe nods, opening his mouth in a silent ‘ah.’ “But, full disclosure, caviar is abhorrent, and quality does not fix the fundamental principle that it’s just fish eggs.”

Joe smiles toothily at him, nursing his tea more steadily now that it’s cooled. Rhys unwrapped his croissant, then pushes Joe’s towards him. He follows his lead, unwrapping it and whispering a thank you when Rhys passes him a few pads of butter. “You mean that money doesn’t make objectively weird things better?”

Rhys smirks up at him, face tilted down as he butters his croissant. “It’s a bit like putting lipstick on a very salty pig.”

Joe pulls a face at the beyond-weird saying when Rhys’ head jerks up, and the corners of his mouth twitch downwards before pulling straight again. Joe cocks his head and turns to follow Rhys’ gaze to find a tanned, sharp-faced man dressed in pressed slacks and a tennis sweater approaching them. Rhys side-eyes him quickly, then wipes his right hand on a cloth napkin and stands just as the stranger reaches their table.

“Rhys! How lovely it is to see you,” he greets, his accent even more posh than Rhys’. They shake hands firmly, smiling tightly at each other. “We hardly ever see you anymore. Very busy with the campaign, hm?”

Rhys bows his head a bit. “It's a time-consuming business, isn’t it? Don’t go around saying that word to too many people, though. Don’t need any more presumptions, do I?” The man bites out a strangled impression of laughter, then turns to Joe. He extends his hand and Joe shakes it, immediately caught off-guard by the other’s firm grip, like he has something to prove.

“I don’t think we’ve met before, mate. Name’s Roald Walker-Burton, it’s a pleasure.” He doesn’t miss the note of contempt in his voice.

And you have two last names? I bet you drink the blood of infants. “Jonathan Moore. Please, it’s all mine.”

Roald juts his lip out contemplatively. “An American, eh?” He turns back to Rhys, who returns to his seat. “Where’d you meet a Yank, old boy?”

“At my bookstore,” Joe supplies, irked at being spoken around. Rhys looks over at him, his eyes gleaming with amusement. Roald cocks his head, scrutinizing Joe as if he’s some new creature.

“Your bookstore? Well, that’s quite impressive, isn’t it?” Joe breaks away from the reptilian green eyes boring into his soul and considers his croissant. How quickly could he shove that down Roald’s throat before anyone stopped him? He smirks to himself and looks back up. Who’s he kidding; no one would bother. “What’s it called?”

Yeah, ‘what’s it called’ so I can tell you and you can belittle me when you haven’t heard of it. Joe gives Rhys a look, who is biting into his croissant, and the other ever so slightly shakes his head at him. “Subtexts.”

“Hm. No bells.” I’ll kick you in the – “Will we be seeing you at Phoebe’s party, Rhys? She’s missed you terribly. I’m beginning to think she’s taking offense at your absence.”

“I would hardly think so, we spoke on the phone yesterday.” Rhys dabs his mouth uselessly with the napkin, and Joe bites into his lip. “I may. It’s next Saturday, isn’t it?”

Roald’s lips had pursed at Rhys’ comment, and he forces them to relax. “Yes, it’s Saturday.” He whirls around to look at Joe. “Will you be joining us, Jim?” Oh, you caviar-sucking asshole. Who does that? Just invites some stranger to another stranger’s party to isolate them? Rhys, what do you see in this guy? Joe glances across the table, his mouth slightly ajar. Rhys’ jaw is clenched, the muscle flexing in the corner and his tendons taut.

“I’m sure you have a pheasant to kill, don’t you, Roald?” Rhys chirps, voice dripping with false pleasantness. It’s sickeningly sweet. He stands and pats Roald on the back firmly, all but steering him towards the door. “Jonathan here has a meeting in just a bit, so unfortunately our little meet-up is pinched of time. It’s been great seeing you, though, mate. I’ll give Phoebe a call this evening. Maybe we’ll even talk about you, hm?” Rhys blurts. He doesn’t trip over his words once, the thinly-veiled insults rolling off his tongue like molasses. Joe watches, amazed, as Roald steps back, surprised by Rhys’ sudden flurry. Joe meets his gaze for a moment and doesn’t bother to hide his smile, too pleased to care. The crowd parts – it’d gotten busy since Roald’s arrival with an influx of twenty-somethings – and swallows him up, tennis sweater and all. Joe watches his polished shoes scuff against the floor, then walk out the door, and turns back to Rhys as the other sits. Rhys sighs heavily, picks up his tea to sip it, but aborts and sets it down.

“I’m sorry about… that, John,” he apologizes, reaching out and laying his palm flat on the table. “That was rude of me.”

“Rude of you?” Joe parrots, confused. “He kept trying to eat my soul with his eyes and then invited me to a stranger’s party just to be a dick.”

Rhys laughs, relaxing in his seat. Were you really so worried that I found you rude? “Yeah, Roald’s… well, he’s Roald. He’s exactly like every other member of the British ten percent. Except Phoebe, of course. She’s a wonderful woman.” Rhys does sip his tea then, then points at Joe. “You haven’t been eating.”

“Got distracted by the Prince Prick,” Joe offers, biting into his croissant to humor Rhys. He had paid, after all.

“And don’t mind that whole ‘party’ thing. Like you said, he was just trying to get under your skin.”

“What threat could I have possibly posed to him?”

“Roald is the type to feel threatened by everyone because he’s not stupid enough to believe he’s superior,” Rhys explains, surprisingly open about his distaste for his supposed friends. Should you really be telling me all this? “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m so forthcoming about this, especially when Irene would have my head for it.” What are you, in my head? “I suppose I just don’t see any reason to not tell you. I don’t take you as a sympathizer for the filthy rich.” Rhys smirks at him, waiting patiently as Joe drinks.

“Yeah, no,” Joe says, shaking his head. “No sympathy there. They tend to be, how do I say this nicely, profound assholes.” His own brash honesty surprises him, but Rhys’ smile is welcoming, and he finds he can’t help himself. “Who’s Phoebe?”

Rhys nods slowly. “Phoebe Borehall-Blaxworth. I know, they all have two last names, it’s a thing, apparently. Anyway, she’s the youngest of her family and has come into quite a lot of money, but she really is a lovely woman. A huge socialite, too, which is the reason for the party.”

“And you haven’t been going recently?” Joe needles.

Rhys smirks at his nosiness. “No, I haven’t. Like you saw, they aren’t the best company. Which is a shame, really, because I’d love to see Phoebe. But, without an out or someone to mock the others around their back, I can’t stand the events.” Did you just hint something at me? You actually would like it if I went with you, wouldn’t you? But you’re not crazy enough to ask since we hardly know each other. It would be crazy, wouldn’t it? I’m not exactly part of that social circle, it’d be odd to bring along some bookish stray to an event like that. Even if you did ask, I’d have to say no. Wouldn’t have a choice in it. “Oh, John,” Rhys breathes, bowing his head humbly. “I didn’t mean to imply anything that would alarm you. Believe me, I wouldn’t want to subject you to that.”

Joe cocks his head, fighting back the irrational wave of rejection. He’s not rejecting you, dumbass. You don’t even want to go. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. I guess Roald just got to me.”

Rhys looks at him with surprising kindness. “Don’t worry about him, really. And you didn’t assume.. If I had to go, I would rather bring someone with a matching distaste for them all. I won’t be going though, honestly. Busy following the orders of Irene,” Rhys explains with a smile, setting Joe at ease. Joe finishes his tea – Rhys’ has been finished – and lays his hands on the table.

“I should get going and open the store,” he says apologetically, not really wanting to leave. He does have to, though. Being closed two days in a row wouldn’t be good for business, and there’s a rain cell drifting towards them this afternoon that’ll push plenty of customers through the door. Rhys nods understandingly and rises, immediately going to gather the trash. Joe goes to grab his, only to get his hand slapped. “Hey!”

“None of that, I have it.” Sure enough, Rhys gathers it all, walks off, and throws it away. He returns and pulls his coat on, standing in wait as Joe does the same.

“You’re slappy,” Joe accuses ridiculously, squinting at him.

“I’m slappy?”

“Uh-huh,” he responds intelligently. Rhys laughs softly and walks towards the door, breaking the crowd around them. Inhuman. Rhys pushes the door open, one hand spread out on the glass, and ushers Joe through. The wind hasn’t died down in the slightest, still whipping past them, threatening to sweep their legs.

“This is just ridiculous,” Joe grips, fighting in vain to keep his hair out of his face.

“I’d tell you you get used to it, but you don’t really. You just learn to stand it.”

“Is that not the same thing?” “No,” Rhys pops his collar, “because it doesn’t really get easier. You just know what to do.” Joe frowns at him, unsure what to do with the paradox. “Good luck with your store today, John. I heard it’s going to rain.”

Joe nods at him. They’re both set to go off in different directions. “Thanks, I’ll need it. Me and my mop.”

Rhys smiles and claps him on the shoulder, then shudders before taking off. Joe watches him leave, then raises his eyebrows when the other turns around to wave. He waves back reflexively and turns around, heading off towards his store, head ducked low and away from the wind.

***

Five people have burst into his store so far, and it’s only begun to sprinkle. The sky is a foreboding shade of gray, promising more to come. Joe’s head jerks up from his book cart when thunder rumbles quietly, far away. No lightning comes. Another woman, older, stumbles in, wipes her little heels on the mat and looks around jerkily. She catches Joe’s eye and smiles, her wrinkled, coral lips pulling tight. Joe scrunches his eyes welcomingly, and she takes off towards the historical fiction section. His phone dings in his pocket – he’d forgotten to silence it.

Decided I ought to see Phoebe after all, the path to stardom can wait for a night, Rhys’ text reads. Joe swallows and clicks on the notification, expanding the thread. Are you up for a night of heckling?

Oh, he’s insane. You can’t ask a stranger to a stranger’s pa – he’s had this monologue already. Still, he’s right. He doesn’t know Phoebe – though he had googled her and Rhys was right, she seems like a lovely woman – and he won’t know anyone else at the entire thing but Rhys. Never mind wherever it’ll be, or whatever dress code, or until when. And it’ll be Saturday, what if he has plans? He doesn’t, of course, but he’d have liked it to be assumed that he does. Still, despite the insanity of it all, he knows he should get out more. He’s not exactly a socialite. Alright, he’s a shut-in. It’d be good for him, wouldn’t it?

Do I need a suit? He responds, not bothering to put his phone back in his pocket. Rhys never keeps him waiting.

Atta boy. No suit, just something on the nicer side. A good sweater and slacks will work.

Joe smirks. You think I own a nice sweater?

The three dots pop up immediately. You have a week. I’m sure you can manage.

#you netflix #joe goldberg #joe x rhys #goldrose #fanfiction #my work

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soleminisanction · 2 years

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Justice for Jordanna Spence

I am well aware that I am one of maybe three people in the entire world who gives a damn about this character, but I've been mad about her for thirteen years and also I am currently sick and needed the outlet so just, let me have this.

This is Jordanna Spence.

Jordanna is a supporting character in the 2009 run of Batgirl written by Smallville writer Bryan Q. Miller and starring Stephanie Brown.

Specifically, Jordanna is part of the extremely half-assed attempt to give Stephanie a civilian life outside of being Batgirl, which is one of the most unbearable parts of the entire damn book because Stephanie spends literally all of these scenes whining and complaining about how much she hates pretending to be normal.

(This is an entirely other rant but for fuck's sake girl, if you don't want to go to college, just don't go. You came back from the dead something like last month, I don't think your mother is going to begrudge you a fucking gap year.)

Anyway. Jordanna is one of Stephanie's civilian classmates at the much-disparaged Gotham University, and she is also the primary reason why anyone claiming this book is feminist should be laughed out of the room.

TL;DR - Jordanna exists purely to be The Other Girl that Stephanie Isn't Like, so that Stephanie has someone to belittle, bully and slut-shame to show off how much better she is than Normal Women, who are dumb enough to enjoy things like sororities and wearing pink.

Don't believe me? I have receipts. I've placed them under the cut to save people's dashes, because this is going to be a long one.

We're first introduced to Jordanna in issue 2, during an incredibly forced expositional lecture that makes less sense the more you think about it, starting with the fact that it's explicitly listed as Philosophy 480 despite otherwise being written a required entry-level freshman seminar.

(400 level classes are pre-graduation courses for seniors, most often restricted to those on track to graduate with a major in the subject in question. 480 level classes are usually introductions to grad school. Even if the implication was supposed to be that Steph is genius who skipped a bunch of credits, a 400-level philosophy course wouldn't be covering basic morality like this in a huge lecture hall.

All of Stephanie's classes are numbered like this, it really goes to show how lazy Miller and his editors were being at the time. That and the blatant typo -- the place they're talking about is called Devil's Square.)

That's Jordanna in front, next to her asshole friend Xander Francisco and Stephanie herself. Now, I have had many people, including the (uck) Stephanie Brown wiki, insist to me that this moment is Stephanie "heroically standing up for Her Fellow Poors against Vapid Rich Bitch Jordanna."

And that’s clearly how the narrative wants us to take it too, as everyone stares like she’s said something Shocking and it’s framed with these captions that boil down to, “Ghasp! I am so very passionate and emotional about this! How embarrassing to show off how sincere and compassionate I am!”

But there's a few problems with that.

First of all, we never actually get any proof that Jordanna is rich. The most we ever get is one thing that she says in this issue, and the fact that she's in a sorority. A sorority at a shitty inner-city university that everyone from the students to the faculty badmouths for being a shithole every chance they get.

Second -- and this is something Miller himself desperately needed to hear -- Stephanie Brown is not fucking poor. She is, at worst, a middle-class white girl from the suburbs. The idea that she's poor comes from a mix of people desperately needing her to be an underdog, and cultural stereotypes deriving from the fact that her mother is a drug addict and her father is a criminal -- stereotypes which, of course, completely ignore the fact that plenty of criminals and drug addicts live in the suburbs too, especially when they're white.

Despite her name, Crystal Brown is not some meth-addicted crack head, she's a working nurse who got her doctor friends to write her scripts for opiates. And Arthur Brown isn't some run-of-the-mill crook, he's a supervillain who runs his own gang, never seems to need money for his elaborate schemes and, prior to turning to crime, was a minor celebrity who hosted a game show.

Stephanie is not fucking poor.

Third, and most pressing of all -- go back and actually read the dialogue in those panels. Ignore Steph's internal monologue and focus on what is actually being said.

See a problem?

Yeah. Stephanie's big "heart on her sleeve" moment is literally just saying exactly the same thing as Jordanna.

Keep in mind, the question being asked here is not, "Why don't people just move out of Flint, Michigan?" it's explicitly "Why do criminals keep returning to an area under martial law?"

Jordanna is completely right. Practically speaking, the criminals' choices in this situation are a) run to the war zone and be free or b) come back and go to jail, which isn't a choice at all. So Stephanie butting in here with her "bUt WHat iF tHeY dOn'T hAvE a CHoiCE?!" is just her taking the words out of Jordanna's mouth and then pretending she said something profound

And just to make everything worse, when Steph can't follow up on that argument, she makes this joke to "break the tension."

First time I read this, my jaw fucking dropped.

For anyone blissfully unaware, the American public school system ties its funding directly to local property taxes, resulting in schools from more prosperous neighborhoods being much better off than those in lower-class ones. And, due to centuries of systematic inequality through things like redlining and gentrification, those neighborhoods tend to be unofficially segregated between prosperous white neighborhoods and the less-prosperous... everyone else.

So, saying that you've moved to a certain location "for the schools" has pretty much always been a racist dog whistle, especially when you're talking to or about people of color.

This is as good a time as any to point out that Jordanna is Hispanic. We know this primarily because of her name, Francisco's name, and the fact that they're both consistently colored with the same hair color and skin tone, the latter a shade or two darker than our extremely white protagonist. Worse, later on we'll learn that Jordanna and Francisco have actual familial connections in the Devil's Square, while Stephanie explicitly does not.

Now to be clear, the writer absolutely did this on accident. I cannot imagine a world where they intended to make their bold, feminist hero low-key racist; hell, I'm pretty sure I'm more keyed into this than most white AFABs would be purely because of the specific racial tensions that populated the town where I grew up. But that's what they stumbled into by being careless.

So I, for one, tend to read this next panel as Jordanna being understandably insulted that this random white girl just tried to embarrass her for no reason, and then made a racist joke at her expense.

Even if you don't agree with that reading, at bare minimum Steph butted in to steal Jordanna's answer, basically just to get herself attention. I think Jordanna's upset is pretty reasonable either way.

We follow up with this on the next page, where we also get to see that Jordanna is dressed in ass-accentuating jeans and a tight pink crop-top. Nothing like Stephanie, who for some reason is dressed like she shops at an army surplus store.

We are then properly introduced to Francisco Garcia, Jordanna's friend and one of Steph's wannabe love interests. And let me say this unequivocally: Francisco is an asshole. Literally his first line of dialogue is to call his supposed friend a bitch, repeatedly, to impress a blonde he just met.

And later on he will just be, the biggest jerk to Jordanna while she's worrying about his safety and trying to look out for him when his dad gets him into a dangerous situation. Francisco is, of course, completely ungrateful for all of it because he's too busy trying to bang blondie.

We next see Jordanna two pages later at a Harvest Festival frat party, which Steph appears to be attending purely so she can stand around judging her classmates for taking an excuse to party.

Jordanna appears, highly intoxicated to a point to a point that would be deeply concerning even if she hadn’t been drugged, which it turns out she has.

Stephanie has zero sympathy, and neither does the writer, who portrays Jordanna as so vapid that she thinks/talks in textspeak. Which doesn’t even make sense. How did Steph hear how she was spelling things in her head?

This is our one and only indication that Jordanna is supposedly rich -- you know, like Cordelia from Buffy, which this series desperately wants to be -- and supposedly looks down on Steph for being poor. Again: Stephanie is not poor. She’s not even portrayed as poor in this comic. She just lives with her mom.

You’ll also notice that Steph changed clothes, while Jordanna is still in her unofficial uniform, which is drawn extra-low to show off her bikini line. This further accentuate how Stephanie is drawn to look normal while Jordanna is an over-sexualized slut. Note the unnaturally swayed hips, extra focus on her curves, and lack of underwear.

As previously mentioned, Jordanna has been roofied via spiked punch with a drug that we the readers know from previous exposition has killed some of its previous victims. And yet, despite this, I think she actually behaves more heroically than Steph here, because Jordanna seems to realize that this isn't the fun kind of spiked and immediately takes action to make sure no one else gets the same treatment she did.

She then collapses, and we don't see her again for the rest of this story arc.

Seriously. That's it.

Stephanie does absolutely nothing to help her. She gives this half-assed "somebody call 911!" shout and... that's it. That's the last we see of Jordanna for this plotline, because it's far more important for Stephanie to go chasing after the half-dozen guys who conveniently decide to run off at the perfect to make them look suspicious. For no reason.

You'll also notice that the very second she's no longer sharing a panel with One of those Other Girls, Stephanie's previously-normal sweater suddenly falls completely off her shoulders and gets vacuumed-sealed to her boobs to show off that she's not wearing a bra.

'Cause see, Stephanie has to still be sexy, because all of the named men in this comic (including Francisco, her ex, the fucking 10-year-old and, it's implied, her own goddamn father) want to fuck her. (All except for Commissioner Gordon, who is An Old and therefore sexless; and Dick Grayson, who wants to fuck Barbara). She just has to be sexy on accident because to do anything else would imply that she's like those Other Girls.

The whole free will philosophy bullshit culminates in the utterly nonsensical climax to this arc, in which Steph's bold statement for why she should get to be Batgirl boils down to, "I want it, I want it!" but I have gone off on enough tangents and we're here to talk about Jordanna.

---

Next time we see her is in Issue 5, where we learn that Steph has assumed -- based on absolutely nothing and in spite of Fransisco's blatant flirting with her -- that Jordanna and Francisco are dating. Steph shirks her part-time library job to eavesdrop on their conversation like a creep, learning that Francisco's father conveniently owned the flaming building she'd been fighting in during the first half of the issue.

Here, we get Jordanna's one canon redeeming character trait (not that it's ever acknowledged as such), in that she very much cares about this asshole friend of hers who, remember, called her a bitch "like all the time" in his first panel of dialogue.

It's also the first of many, many, many times when Steph will just luckily stumbling into the plot, which is literally the only reason they have her going to school in the first place: so she can Plot Convenience Playhouse her way into exactly the information she needs to find the story.

This happens every. single. arc.

This is also where it begins to be established that Jordanna and Francisco have familial ties in the Devil's Square. We'll later learn that Francisco's father has invested a lot of money into trying to fix the neighborhood up. From the way that Jordanna talks about the area, it's not too hard to figure that they might've grown up there until their parents got a lucky break and were able to move out, to "cut ties" as Jordanna says.

Jordanna is then understandably upset when she catches Steph eavesdropping.

Keep in mind, from Jordanna's perspective, her total interactions with this rando white girl have gone: - Stealing her argument - Racist joke - Giggling with Jordanna's so-called friend over what a bitch Jordanna is - Abandoning her at a party while Jordanna was drugged, unconscious and helpless - and now, eavesdropping on her private conversation.

So I, for one, would say that Jordanna has a damn good reason to not be fond of our "hero." Not that she's ever given that benefit of the doubt; so far as Steph and Francisco are concerned, she's "jealous."

Steph then proceeds to stick her nose where it’s not wanted and TL;DR Francisco gets kidnapped. Steph winds up with Damian tagging along for “we need to imply that even the 10-year-old wants to fuck her” reasons, and they decide to break into Jordanna’s room at her sorority house.

This sequence is just fucking gross.

Remember: Francisco is Jordanna’s friend. They’ve clearly known each other a long time, she’s familiar with his family and she obviously cares for him deeply. Stephanie supposedly thinks they’re dating. He has been kidnapped off the streets as part of a nonsensical betting plot, and Jordanna is visibly worrying about him as she comes in the door. She's been worried about him every appearance in this arc so far.

Steph, having broken into her dorm room like a creep, shows her no sympathy, calls her “self-absorbed” and opens the “interrogation” with the stated intent to terrorize her -- “let’s play bad cop and worse cop.” Her opening salvo against what she thinks is a scared girlfriend is to threaten to beat her. And if that doesn’t work, she threatens to let Damian stab her.

But again, it’s portrayed as okay, because Jordanna is just, such a bitch you gaiz.

Nonsensically, Jordanna -- who has zero connection to the whole evil supervillain betting game plot outside of her friendship with Francisco -- knows all about the secret betting website. And surprise surprise, this whole thing that Steph stumbled into completely on accident turns out to actually be a plot to lure Batman!Dick into a trap, so that Steph gets to rescue him and prove how wrong he was to ever call her "reckless" and doubt that she could be Batgirl.

We actually do get a resolution with Jordanna this time. Barely.

Some chucklefuck on either the DC wiki or (more likely) the Stephanie Brown wiki decided out of literally nowhere that these two panels mean that Francisco is gay and the nameless brown-haired dude he hugs there is "his boyfriend."

I hope I don't have to tell you how dumb that is. But it does kind of shine a light on how people who enjoy this comic are reading it. Francisco continues to blatantly flirt with Stephanie for the rest of the series.

---

From here, Jordanna is no longer directly involved with the plot, but she does turn up on occasion when the book remembers that Steph is supposed to maybe kinda-sorta give a damn about her civilian life.

In issue 10, we see her as part of one many, many nameless Gotham U student controlled by the Calculator in an attempt to get to Barbara.

This storyline is an anti-tech, anti-cell phone screed. Stephanie doesn't get mind controlled because she'd never waste her time with something as vapid and mindless as texting.

In issue 15, we learn that Steph has joined a study group with Jordanna and Francisco because..... the plot said so.

And we also learn here that Steph is one of those people who crap out on group projects, which isn't a surprise because, again, I cannot stress enough how much she does not actually want to be attending this school. She's just wasting everybody's time and a bunch of government assistance money so that she has something to complain about. And so the writer can randomly throw plot points at her and pretend that she has some kind of motivation beyond, "Tell me how good I am at punching people."

In the next issue, Jordanna has organized an anti-Batgirl protest on campus, blaming her for the murder of a student killed by a cult.

The comic, of course, tries to play this as Jordanna selfishly manipulating a tragedy to get her grades up. Grades that are down because, again, Stephanie crapped out on a group project.

I, however, will remind you that Batgirl broke into Jordanna's dorm room and threatened to beat and/or torture her for information on her kidnapped friend.

She didn't even rescue Francisco after that either, Francisco was allowed to just leave because... the plot said so. So yeah, Jordanna has damn good reason to dislike Stephanie and Batgirl. Assuming she doesn't know they're the same person, which I think she actually does, because Steph is barely even trying to hide her secret identity, and I don't think Jordanna is an idiot.

The very last time we see Jordanna is Issue 18, the nonsensical Valentine's issue where Steph just happens to stumble on the immortal witch-child Klarion and manage to charm him because, again, all the men are there to be her boytoys, even the one who magically prevents himself from hitting puberty for all eternity.

Oh and also, so we can get this delightful exchange.

In which the artistic slut-shaming is made verbal.

Notice how Jordanna and her "slutty" friends aren't allowed to show their whole faces (save for one panel where they're too small to have any individual detail), with the emphasis being on their T&A and painted, sultry lips, while Stephanie is once again dressing like a boy and always allowed to be completely in the frame.

And the last-ever mention we get of Jordanna Spence is the implication that Klarion has turned her into a frog as punishment for being slutty and unlikable.

And that's it. That's every single appearance of Jordanna Spence.

This post has been going on long enough so I'm not going to drag on the conclusion in an attempt to be academic. I subscribe to the school of thought that a feminist work can't be defined by its heroine alone, it also has to engage with the women around her like they're also three-dimension characters with their own inner lives and struggles.

Batgirl (2009) fails that standard at every single turn. The only woman it cares about -- hell, the only person it cares about -- is Stephanie herself. And, despite what some people will tell you, that's not "typical" of even solo books like this one. We know this because Stephanie wouldn't even exist if the writers on Tim Drake's run as Robin didn't treat his supporting cast like they were real people with real lives, in which Tim was only a part.

Jordanna Spence was a causality of that. She exists entirely so that Stephanie has someone to look down on, to be better, and to treat with casual disdain. She is, in short, a tool whose only purpose is to make Stephanie look good. The other women in this comic all get similar treatment. Even Barbara. Even Supergirl. Especially Cass Cain.

Jordanna deserves better. They all do.

#stephanie brown critical #jordanna spece did nothing wrong #batgirl 2009 #bagirl 2009 critical #sexism #girl hate #jordanna spence #dc comics #meta #long post under the cut #god I hope these pictures work out because if they don't I'm going to cry #comic books meta #superhero comics #batgirl #dcu #the spoiler

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serpentarii · 2 years

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my original work is not your inspiration

so, for the almost three years i’ve been on writeblr, i’ve had a few instances of suspiciously similar stories and premises from new followers and even a former mutual. i’ve seen someone exactly copy the very specific formatting i use on all of my posts for my original writing, down to the italics and bold (a format which i have been using for well over a year). the most recent incarnation of this is definitely the worst of it and i gotta say i’m sick of the bullshit.

i will be censoring the url of this person, but due to the nature of the screenshots provided, it might be easy to find their blog. DO NOT harass this person. DO NOT go out of your way to find their blog. i’m not making this post to attack them, i just want to teach two lessons: 1) how to recognize plagiarism or lifted ideas and 2) why that’s a shitty thing to do.

additionally, i don’t know what pronouns this person identifies with, so i will be referring to them with they/them pronouns, and i apologize if i’ve misgendered them in any way.

RECEIPTS

their most recent post is a wip/character introduction for a completely “new” project, but thanks to their tumblr’s default theme, you can clearly see my ahfs character post in their recent likes on the sidebar.

aside from the obvious copy-paste of my original post’s formatting, the blue highlights are where it gets into the specifics of the various terms they’ve lifted from me. my wip a hymn for serpents, which i will abbreviate to ahfs, has a heavy focus on witches, femininity, heretics, apostates, and the ancient orders that govern everything.

a lot of what’s presented could be seen as entirely coincidental, but once it all starts piling up, it turns into something that makes me extremely uncomfortable.

it was posted to their blog yesterday. it is currently thursday, august 4th, as of writing this.

the following two screenshots are from my posts. also note that i have not made a post for ahfs since december of 2021, and this person’s blog was created in july of 2022.

screenshot from their archive. reminder that this is a main blog, not a sideblog, they like and follow from this one. i soft-blocked them in the process of drafting this post, so i’m unsure of when exactly they originally followed my writeblr.

their activity in my notifs:

when i asked a few friends/mutuals about this, they said that they had also seen this person in their notifs liking my posts, as some of them i’ve privated or deleted, and were therefore unavailable on my blog. this person was actively seeking out my content.

it gets a little more complicated here, so please bear with me. the screenshots below are from their two previous wip introductions, with the dates of posting included. they’re from july 29th and june 30th respectively, but as seen above, their activity on my blog and their new wip six monsters so divine is very recent.

also notice that the formatting is almost completely divorced from what they use in their most recent post, because it’s copying mine. i’ve scrolled through their blog as well, and none of their previous posts were formatted that way either. it’s also the first and only post about six monsters so divine on their entire blog.

the names i’ve underlined also appear in their latest post, and were clearly repurposed for six monsters so divine a few days after they began searching through all of my posts.

ADDITIONAL EVIDENCE

now, if you’ve been taking note of the magenta highlights, these are relevant to my other wip and the novel i am currently in the process of writing, mordlust. both salem and aleksander are names of main characters, and i even recently made a post about their names’ meanings.

the story is somewhat of a sleeping beauty retelling as well, with a magical plague called the dornenheit (dornen meaning thorn), which makes me dubious of this person’s choice of surname “briarthorne”.

i do think it might be a bit of a stretch to say that they’ve also been lifting some elements from mordlust, but given the situation, i wouldn’t be surprised.

CONCLUSION

i’m fucking pissed, but i’m also just done. as of now i am considering no longer posting any of my original writing/excerpts and taking down all of what i currently have up on my blog, which is years worth of content.

i love writing. i love the craft. i love making worlds, characters, relationships, magic systems, prophecies, everything. i spend literal months worldbuilding and outlining to make something that i can be proud of, and to see someone just pick and choose what they like and repackage it as entirely their own is extremely upsetting and unmotivating.

at the end of the day, creative writing is a deeply personal craft that takes a lifetime to master. why not write your own story instead of gleaning what you can from a complete stranger’s work? why try to form something from someone else’s out-of-context fragments and pinterest boards? it takes all the soul out of it.

it’s ok to be inspired by others, it’s ok to have your own spin on a concept, but i’m literally just some random 19y/o posting for fun on tumblr, not an established nyt best-selling author with a massive platform and fanbase. i want to be a published author someday, and i want to publish the kind of novels that made me want to start writing.

this is not how you do it.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerly #spilled ink #plagiarism #might add transcripts for all of this at some point but i kinda just want this to be over

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ihearyou-jikook · 1 year

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Hi lovely! I'm an avid Jikook supporter and I will always be.

However, there's two things i always go back to. I really wanted your opinion on them!

Mijoo. The hugging picture and the drinks. Her managers/staff debunked the drinking photo, saying that Jungkook was doing something and then met up with her and other people, so it wasn't just them at the table.

The hug, though. Idk, it seemed intimate to me? Her managers, herself and Bighit denied the rumors, but what do you think of the whole thing? Do you think Jikook had bern broken up at the time and they had a brief fling?

2. The girl outside the meat restaurant. Theres that video of Jungkook in black clothes, he signs something and then leaves, and supposedly a girl is waiting outside. I saw the whole video and it seems like he's going to walk past her, but the vídeo ends before that. Here it is: https://youtube.com/shorts/D6khz38appQ?feature=share

Could just be a girl standing outside. But people still talk about it.

So, what do you think?

Anon Ask #2

Hi! I wanted your opinion on something i've been thinking about, with taennie coming out and stuff. Do you remember when Jungkook was seen leaving a meat restaurant and, supposedly, there was a girl with him? You can see her standing outside. What do you think of that?

In my opinion, it was more likely to be a staff, since they're always accompanied by managers/staff wherever they go. I don't think Jungkook would be that bold like Taehyung. I also believe in Jikook, but I remembered it and started thinking about it.

Does anyone know who that girl was? Besides the fake Yubi rumors?

Hello Anons!

Before we get into this, there are 2 things I wanna touch on.

First, I am not the best person to come to about "off-cam" rumor moments. I typically see it, make an opinion on my own about it and move on. I don't keep receipts and I don't have sources. So I apologize if that's what you guys were hoping for. My response to your questions won't be very long or thorough.

Second, both of these Asks were worded nicely and I appreciate that. My Jikook spidey senses tho, well, it's telling me that the next wave of trolls might be coming thru with this kind of stuff to try to drag JK in light of Taennie.

So after this post, I won't be entertaining this topic any further than this.

Alright, coffee & Anon asks, let's get it ☕☕☕

The Mijoo situation was denied first and foremost. && The whole thing seemed sus on her part. No, I don't think Jikook was broken up, nor do I think they had a fling. Why? Because if you've been watching and listening to JM & JK you see that both are romantic AF and respect each other very much. Even if they were going through a rough patch or were on a break I highly doubt they sought out other people.

Newsflash for anyone unaware: It is possible to mutually decide to take a break in a relationship to figure your shit out without being intimate or seeking validation through other partners. I have personally done this and here I am married to that person.

No, I don't think the hug was all that intimate. She had a bf. So that tells me right there, JK ain't hugging this woman, who has a bf, with any interest in her because he's respectful. And her bf would have probably felt threatened if anything intimate was going on there because JK ain't the only man who has possessive tendencies in Korea.

Everyone loves to pair JK with women which I really can't understand why. I personally don't even think he is bi. Pan maybe.

Also if I'm remembering correctly she did tattoos for him? Which he had covered up right?

For the restaurant clip where JK walked out and there was a chick standing on the street 🙄🙄🙄 IMO, looked like he was gonna walk past. The clip is so short, there really isn't much you can tell from it. I have no idea if she was identified. It could have been anyone.

This moment is a drop in the sea of JK voicing who he has loved for years on end.

K, that's all I got for ya! Baiii.

Lip biting Jai-kay inc...

#anon ask #jikook #kookmin #minkook

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flip-flop-lover-will-byers · 2 years

Text

I said I'll give prompts and I'm giving prompts. This is how I cope I'm just throwing out ideas, feel free to do whatever with them-

1) Heartstopper AU with artist-jock Will (aka letterman jacket!Will) who is neither in the closet nor out of it. One day paired up in a class with Mike Wheeler, the loser drama kid. The only cool thing about Mike is his leather jacket. He is also the straightest kid to ever straight. Or is he?

2) Divorce lawyer!Will as a meta homewrecker joke. Bonus points if you come up with an absolutely buckwild story of how he came to be a freaking divorce lawyer. Mike Wheeler, reluctant client.

3) Mermaid AU. Sorry, but I am coming out as an absolute sucker for mermaid AUs. Those things slap. Did you know the Byler tag already has like 3-4 mermaid AUs? Which is a lot. But I'm greedy. Mermaid AUs are where you go WILD. Write some totally sick shit with evolution, biology, magic, culture, worldbuilding, philosophy, DRAMA.....

Mermaid+soulmates AU. Will is sceptical of this human who claims to be his soulmate. Mermaids don't have soulmates, nor does Will want one. Mike knows Will is his soulmate- it's not unheard of for humans to have monsters as soulmates. A man though...he's never heard of men being soulmates. Dive deep into that question of what makes a monster. Who gets to decide where humanity begins and where it ends? What makes a soulmate? Can fate and free will coexist?

4) Amateur detective!Mike detecting a little too hard and finding the missing man-of-mystery!Will. Was Will running from the UD? The Lab? Lonnie? Mike is then pulled into shit he did not sign up for.

5) Millenial!Mike Wheeler has heard many stories about the kid who disappeared from the woods nearby 15 years ago. He's also heard his new house is haunted. He doesn't think much of it, until one day a man comes out of his walls.

6) Famous artist!Will and fanboy!Mike. Will doesn't know Mike's a fanboy. Mike is both a tumblrina and a Y/N fanfic writer.

7) Famous Author!Mike and fanfic author!Will. Mike comments on Will's every fic and they start chatting. Mike writes a romance novel (heterosexual!) for the first time, and the main characters are saying some suspiciously familiar stuff. Will messages coolpaladinboi69 "hey...did you read Wheeler's new book" and pulls out the receipts from their previous chats. A very on the nose joke on Mike's projection.

8) 12 year old Mike Wheeler discovers a very friendly ghost lurking inside his new house. Nobody else can see him, maybe because they don't want to. Will is so nice though, and so helpful. But wait- is he really dead? Or is his body trapped? Somewhere dark and cold...

9) Will is the guy hired to remodel Mlvn's white picket fence home. Mike is having ThoughtsTM. ANOTHER one for those meta homewrecker jokes. We got a literal homewrecker on our hands, but wait- oh that looks much better, thank you.

10) Mike Wheeler knows that something is wrong with quiet classmate Will Byers. He shows up with bruises, holding his pencil oddly while drawing. They've never had a single conversation, but one day after witnessing a terrifying scene between him and his father, Mike begs Will to let him help. Will refuses, he only has to get through a few more months, and then he's 18, and free. Two weeks later, Lonnie's car goes up in flames, taking Lonnie with it. Will is miraculously unharmed. The police names it a freak accident, but Mike suspects otherwise. He's not gonna sell Will out tho. The Chief is going to call services to take Will to his closest relatives, but before he can Will has blurted out another name. It's just a few months, surely he can spend them at his best friend Mike Wheeler's place? Somebody's gotta explore Will's Lonnie trauma pls

Bonus points if-

- Mike is as pathetic as possible. He needs to be a complete loser. Not a single cool thing about him. Not. One. He is miles below Will's league and everyone is aware of it, except Will himself.

- Lucas-Will bromeos.

- Unwitting chick magnet!Will.

- Mike and Max and their mutual disdain.

- El making at least one fruit joke. El cheering Will on as he homewrecks.

- Dustin being StraightTM and all the queerness going straight over his head. Poor kid has no clue.

#byler #will byers #gay mike wheeler #fanfic prompt

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r3inventedd · 2 years

Text

How to Master a Champion Ch. 5

Lewis Hamilton x Original Female Character

Summary: Coming out of the 2021 season Lewis Hamilton has lost all faith in Formula 1 and its rules. He needs a reset, something or someone to make him trust again. Andy Masters has something to prove. She moved halfway around the world for a man only for it to fall apart within months. When an opportunity presents itself to get her life back on track, she takes it without question. But the job is nothing like imagined.

Warnings: Asshole Lewis at first but he hold out for Soft Lewis / slow burn / co-workers / I know OC’s can be really annoying but give Andy a chance / if any real warning arise later I will update

Author Note: This is also on AO3 but I figured I would put it here too. Thank you to all of you who read, you make my day x

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4

Andy did not remember anything from the time she entered the elevator to the moment she met a shivering Marilynn on the rooftop balcony. Neither one spoke for a beat, unsure of what to say or where to start.

“Who else has seen it?” Andy blurted out.

“No one,” Marilynn let out a breath in what felt like the first time in the last ten minutes, “I saw it pop up on Toto’s email and deleted it immediately before forwarding it to you.”

Andy nodded with relief, “That’s good.”

“Andy, no part of this is good. Did you see who sent it? What else was in the document?”

Again she nodded, “A list of complaints about my behavior from Lewis. Apparently I am unprofessional, unintelligent, and power hungry to name just a few of the wonderful things he had to say about me.” Despite the cold, her face flushed with anger.

“How did he find this out? And when did this happen? Why were you arrested for assaulting someone, Andrea?” So many questions were running through Marilynn’s mind. This was the last thing she had ever expected to happen, especially with Andy.

Andy sunk against the wall, slowly falling to a sitting position. Anger, confusion, and shame made up her mind as she thought back to the day. It was not one she wanted to relive.

“I have no idea how he found it. All the charges were dropped within a day. I didn’t even think there would be a record of it,” she felt sick to her stomach.

“But what happened?” Marilynn joined her friend on the ground, her back to the window. She pulled her shawl tighter to her body to protect her from the cold.

Andy was not sure where to begin. It was the worst day of her life, at least she hoped she would never experience such an intense feeling of betrayal and despair again.

“When Ryan and I moved here, our relationship was not in a good place,” she paused to take a steadying breath, “We both knew that things were bad but I was so determined to make it work. Ryan had always complained that I didn’t put the same amount of time and effort in the relationship because of my job. Since I was unemployed, I decided to put the same amount of energy I put into work, into our relationship. So I played the role of the girl I thought he wanted. I went out for drinks and stayed until all hours of the night with the friends he made at work, only speaking when speaking when spoken to and saying all things I knew they’d want to hear. I always had dinner ready when he came home. I even asked his mom for the receipts of his favorite meals.” There was so much disdain and frustration in her voice, but Marilynn knew it was aimed at herself. “If he wanted to have sex, but I wasn’t in the mood I did it anyways. I did everything he liked and never complained when he didn’t reciprocate. I was slowly losing myself, but at least I wasn’t a ball of anxiety anymore.”

“Oh Andy, I had no idea,” Marilynn was ashamed she was not able to pick up on the signs earlier.

“I didn’t want anyone to know,” Andy shook her head vigorously, not wanting Marilynn to feel any guilt. “I was too embarrassed to admit that our relationship was crumbling before my eyes. But it really did get better for a while. One day, I even decided to surprise him at work with lunch for a picnic in the park across from his office. But when I got there, he was nowhere to be seen. I walked around his desk to his computer to check if he had a last minute meeting I did not know about. Instead I saw a reservation for two at a little Italian cafe just around the corner.”

Marilynn looked at her friend with sympathy, knowing what was coming next.

“I knew something was wrong. I knew that he was there with someone but I held on to the hope that it was just a business meeting with a colleague. But when I walked into the restaurant, I saw him with a woman I recognized from the pub we’d gone to earlier in the week. There was no mistaking why they were there. They were sitting on the same side of the booth, cuddled up, feeding their food to each other. When he kissed her, I honestly don’t remember doing what happened next. I think I blacked out.”

Marilynn fought the urge to shout What did you do?

“The next thing I remember was standing in front of them with two plates in my hand. I must have grabbed two entrees from a waiter and dumped the food all over them. I remember the woman screaming at me as I turned around and walked out the door. Ryan came after me but there was nothing left and we both knew it. He told me he was sorry and I told him the same. That was the last time I saw him.”

Marilynn’s eyebrow reached her hairline, “But did you hit her?”

Andy shook her head no, “The bitch filed an assault charge for dumping the food on her. She claimed the marinara sauce burned her face,” Andy could not help the smirk on her lips, “I was called by the police to come to the station, but before I even got there I got another call that said the charges had been dropped. The next day I found a note from Ryan outside the apartment I eventually gave up that said he’d convinced her to drop the charges and she wouldn’t bother me again.”

Despite the horrible story, Marilynn let out a sigh of relief. She thought Andy had gotten into a horrible fight and beat the girl senseless.

“I’m so sorry that happened Andy, but this can be fixed. Clearly the girl was just being dramatic. No one would blame you for the way you reacted,” her heartbeat was slowing down to a normal pace. They could explain this. It was not a career ending offense.

Sitting next to her, Andy showed no signs of improvement. Marilynn tried to reassure her friend, “Ands, this is not the end of the world. Everyone will understand or honestly we don’t have to tell them. This is not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Andy snapped, “Lewis clearly hired someone to dig up dirt on me so that Toto would have no choice but to fire me. And that list of complaints. I have no idea how I am ever supposed to form a functional working relationship with him now. And honestly, I’m not sure I want to.”

Marilynn felt panic taking hold of her chest, she reached for Andy’s hand. “Do not say that. Andy, you have not lost. That email will never reach Toto. Anyways, those complaints are completely unfounded. Anyone could see that.”

“It’s not about what other people think,” Andy raked a hand through her hair, “I don’t know if I can be in a room with that man, let alone work with him. He violated my privacy and I am not sure that is something I can forgive. “You don’t have to forgive him, you just have to tolerate him,” Marilynn pleaded.

“But at what cost?” Andy questioned, exasperated by the whole situation, “I’m barely sleeping and when I do, he’s there haunting me. I’m terrified to open my mouth around him, even breathe near him. And on top of it all, he wants me gone. Maybe I should do something to finally make him happy and just go home.”

Marilynn twisted herself to her eyes, flinching at the cold stone. She grabbed her friend’s shoulders, forcing her to look her in the eye, “You are not going to let him win. Do you hear me? He does not get to push out after everything you have done. I saw the presentation you put together for his sponsors. You absolutely killed it. You got seven major brands to change their contracts with zero stipulations in one meeting. You were made for this job, whether he likes it or not. At this point, I don’t give a flying fuck what makes him happy. I want to see you happy and thriving at this job. If I have to force happy pills into his stupid vegan smoothies I will. Do. Not. Let. Him. Win.”

Andy heard and appreciated everything her mentor said, but she needed time.

“Give me a night to process everything. I need to figure out what I want.”

Marilynn let go of Andy’s shoulders in defeat. She knew that there was nothing more she could say. Only time would tell if Andy was willing to persevere.

“Take the rest of the day off. I’ll clear it with Toto, make up an excuse about a family emergency or something. Let me know your decision tomorrow morning. I’ll respect whatever you decide.”

Andy nodded in thanks. The two women helped the other get to their feet. Marilynn gave her friend a reassuring smile that Andy could not bring herself to return.

Having nothing left to say, Andy left Marilynn on the balcony to go collect her things. On her way to her desk, much to her chagrin she ran into Toto. He was just exiting his office, no doubt on his way to another meeting. “Ah, Ms. Masters,” any hope that he would just smile and keep walking evaporating, “I heard about your presentation from Marilynn. I must say I’m very impressed.”

Andy gave him a smile that did reach her eyes.

“Have you told Lewis?”

Andy nearly flinched at the name, “Um not yet sir. He has a busy day. And actually I had a family emergency come up so I am going to leave a bit early.”

“I hope everything is alright,” concern flashing across his face. Guilt washed over her for lying to him.

“Yeah, I think it will be fine but I’ve got to help my mom figure a few things out. Help in any way I can across the world,” she shifted back and forth on her feet, wanting to end the conversation and get the hell out of the building as quickly as possible.

“Well take all the time you need. Tomorrow I’ll have Marilynn schedule a meeting between the three of us and Lewis so that you can deliver the news. I want to see the look on his face when he realizes that I was right about you all along.” Andy’s heart broke a bit inside her chest, thinking about the real possibility that she would not be there in the morning.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Mr Wolff. I appreciate it more than you know,” Andy said. It felt like a goodbye.

“Don’t mention it, yeah? Just thank me by getting our Champion ready for next season,” He gave her a quick wink before continuing on to his destination.

Andy felt tears pricking at her green eyes. She gathered her things as quickly she could, taking the stairs to avoid any more surprise encounters.

As she exited the building she saw Ed waiting for her. She silently thanked Marilynn for calling him. She was planning on walking all the way home if necessary.

She climbed into the car, trying to keep the tears from falling.

“Everything alright, Ms. Andy?” Ed questioned, peering at her through the rear view mirror.

“No,” she sniffed, not having any strength left to lie.

Ed was silent as he put the car in gear and began to drive. Andy stared out the window, watching the rain drops collect on the glass. She never much cared for the rain, but right now she was grateful for gray weather, not sure if she could stand the sunshine.

It was a good ten minutes before she realized that she did not recognize the buildings around her.

“Um, Ed? I thought you were going to take me home,” a spike of panic in her chest.

“Indeed I will,” he took a left turn down a narrow street, “but first I’m buying you a pint.”

…

The pub was small, covered in dark wood and local sporting memorabilia. Local soccer team jerseys were hung proudly alongside Mercedes racing kits. Andy did her best to avoid looking at anything that had to do with F1 as she sat next to Ed at the end of the bar.

Ed had just ordered two pints of beer, which he informed were both for her. Andy cracked a small smile at his generosity, but said nothing. She had no idea where to start and she was not sure she wanted to.

“Since it’s clear you’re not ready to tell me what ‘appened,” he gave her a sideways glance, “I’ll tell you about mine.” Andy was grateful to listen to someone else’s life for a change.

“It started off well, I picked up a charming las and took her to work,” And blushed as she took a large sip of beer, “But it all went to rubbish when I got a call but my son’s school letting me know the little bugger got into scrap with some other lads.”

Andy’s eyes widened in surprise while Ed sighed in clear disappointment.

“You do all you can to raise ‘em right but once they're out in the world, it’s up a creek from there. He’s been having some trouble with a particular bloke that always seems to tear the mick out of ‘im for anything he does. The kid always makes my boy the butt of the joke, embarrassin’ ‘im in front of all ‘is mates. According to Oscar, my boy, the cantankerous little knob was rippin into ‘im for getting friendly with a heavier girl in their year. I won’t go into detail as I’m in the presence of a lady, but the words he used were less than gentlemanly.”

Andy could imagine the horrible things a middle school aged boy could say. That had to be the worst time in every kid’s life.

“My boy was getting tired of listening to the sod go on and on about a young woman ‘e finds quite charming. So the boy decided to give ‘im a right pop in the eye. Of course, the rest of the lads joined in turning it into an all out brawl. The hormones running through these kids' bodies,” he shook with amazement, “It’s a wonder they survive it.”

“I think I barely did,” Andy commented, taking another sip of her drink.

“Only by the skin of our teeth,” Ed chortled, deep and full of mirth. “But I couldn’t just let the boy off without giving him a good talking to. Violence is not to be tolerated in my house.”

“Here, here,” Andy raised her glass in solidarity.

“So I sat ‘im down and I said to ‘im ‘Oscar, you got to learn ‘ow to rise above all the rubbish.’ The lad has got to learn that there ain’t nothin we can do about ‘ow other people treats. All we can do is control the way we deal with it. If we all let one rotten egg control our life, every single one of us would get nowhere real fast,” Ed studied Andy as she shifted uncomfortably before finishing off her first drink, going right to the second. She found the story fit a bit too much with her own situation.

“Ye’ can take it easy on that brew, darlin,” Ed said, a bit bewildered by her large gulps. “It ain’t gonna run off.”

Andy set down the glass, a bit self-conscious of her ability to down a beer.

“Sorry, it’s just been a very long day and that story hits a bit too close to home.”

“Call it a father’s intuition,” He gave her a knowing look, waiting for her to elaborate.

Andy sighed, feeling like she owed it to him after he bought her two drinks.

“I’ve got a bit of a bully myself,” she looked at Ed to see if she could stop there. Raised an eyebrow waiting for her to continue, “It’s actually my boss. From the moment he saw he, was determined to hate me. Which sucked, but I was working through it. Trying to see it from his perspective and have a little empathy for his situation. I spent the last week working on a deal that would keep him from losing some very lucrative deals and it was all for nothing.”

“And why is that?”

“He went behind my back and hired someone to look into my past for anything remotely fire-able. Even accompanied the evidence with a dissertation on why I am utterly incompetent at my job. He can’t fire me himself so he’s doing everything he can to make it impossible for the company to keep me.”

Now it was Ed’s turn to be speechless. “And I know that I should just let roll of my shoulders but I don’t know how the hell I am supposed to be in the same room with him, let alone work for the fuck. Excuse the language.”

“Why do you feel the need to let it ‘roll off your shoulders’?” Ed questioned. Andy took another long chug of her beer.

“Because it’s the opportunity of a lifetime with a company I could have only dreamed of working with,” Andy explained as if it were obvious.

“But you ‘ave to keep working the bugger?” he asked. Andy nodded her head ruefully, fighting the urge to band her head against the wooden bar. “Well Ms. Andy, not that you need my advice, but you should kiss that place goodbye.”

“What?” She was not expecting such a blunt response.

“Clearly that sod is out to get ya.”

“Well yea, but don’t you think I should stick it out to prove to him and myself that I can do it?” This was not the victory pep talk she’d anticipated.

“Why? Just to be miserable for the sake of money?” Ed retorted.

“Because I know that I can do it! Because I’m tired of letting other people dictate my life. Because I did not leave everything behind just to go home empty handed with my tail between my legs.” Andy was growing frustrated with the driver. How could he tell her to give up so easily?

“So it’s for pride?” Ed watched with a skeptical eye.

“No! Well maybe a little. But mostly because I genuinely believe that I can help get him back on track and help him be better than he’s ever been. I know there’s good in there somewhere, I just have to find it.” Andy said in defiance.

It took more time than she would care to admit to realize the knowing smile on Ed’s face was due to the satisfaction of getting Andy give herself the pep talk she needed.

“Oh that was some Jedi shit, Ed.”

Ed gave a great big laugh before ordering one last beer for her and a soda for himself. As she laughed from a joke he made so hard that she nearly snorted her ale, she found herself thanking the universe for bringing her so much pain so that she could meet the man that redirected the course of her life.

…

The rain and gloomy skies had given way to a brilliant blue sky as Lewis walked into the Mercedes office with a spring in his step. He had yet to hear anything back from Toto, but considering that Andy was nowhere to be found the previous afternoon he assumed it had all gone according to plan. He blamed Toto’s pride for the lack of response to the information he sent to him. He did not mind. In fact the fact that his friend and boss was too angry to respond made the victory all the more sweet.

He greeted the receptionists at the front desk with a wide grin. Telling the brunette how lovely she looked in red. Nothing would ruin his day.

“Morning Russell,” announcing his presence to the younger driver leaning against the wall scrolling through his phone.

“Morning, Hamilton,” George replied, looking up in surprise from his phone.

“It’s a beautiful day isn’t it? So much potential in the air,” Lewis smiled to himself as he waited for the elevator.

George's eyes narrow in confusion, puzzled by his teammate’s sudden change in demeanor. The way Lewis was smiling to himself did not offer any comfort.

Once the elevator doors opened, Lewis stepped inside holding his hand in front of the door to keep them from closing. “You coming?”

George shook his head no, “I’m waiting for Andy. Thanks though.”

Lewis’s forehead crinkled in confusion, “What for?”

“We always meet each other in the morning now. She brings me coffee,” he said matter of factly. The lines in Lewis’s forehead deepened deeply bewildered at the statement. He had never noticed the two of them together, certainly not that they had developed a morning ritual. It irked him in a way that he did not understand

“Well,” he prevented his train of thought from going any further, “I’m afraid you’ll be waiting for a long time mate.”

Before George could ask him what he meant, Lewis let the doors close and take him to the third floor. Per usual, his day was to start with training. He would have normally driven with Angela, but she had to spend the morning with her family. Lewis did not mind, knowing that she already sacrificed so much of her time for the sake of his fitness everyday.

He exited the elevator and made his way to drop off his things at his locker. He smiled at everyone he passed. The surprise on everyone’s faces was not lost on him. He knew that he had been somewhat unsavory since the end of last season.

It was never his intention to let his personal feelings seep into the rest of his life, but the pressure he’d been feeling was crushing him. Every person that spoke to him either treated him with pity or satisfaction at him finally being dethroned. Walking into Mercedes for the first time since contemplating retirement was one of the hardest moments of his life. All eyes were on him, waiting with bated breath to see when he would crack. He could not stand it.

When he learned that Toto had brought in an outside person to “work with him,” it made him feel like a broken toy in need of fixing. Then to see that she was so young and inexperienced, it felt like a slap in the face. Not only did he need constant supervision, in people’s eyes, he was such a lost cause they were willing to take a chance on a girl who could not handle the pressure of Formula One. If he needed anyone, it was someone with a backbone.

A smirk found its way onto his lips when he remembered that the little problem had been taken care of and he was ready to focus on getting into the best racing shape of his life.

A voice from the back of his mind reminded him that he still had to answer to his sponsors, would need to start coordinating all of his own meetings and events, find care for Roscoe when he was too busy, book his own flights, and deal with the press all by himself. A tightness in his chest began to form, but he pushed it away deciding that a run would help clear his head.

But that voice was not going away no matter how loud he made his music. He needed help. I wonder how that could have been solved, the voice taunted. Shut it .

#lewis hamilton #lh44 #how to master a champion #lewis hamilton fic #George Russell #toto wolff #fanfiction #Formula 1 #F1 #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton x oc

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